Tag Archives: Life

by - 6 Comments

The (Wo)man in the Mirror

It’s because of my Moon in Scorpio, according to my mother. It’s because I don’t see how truly beautiful I really am, according to my father. It’s because I don’t pay attention to men who walk past me on the street, according to my friends. It’s because, maybe, I’m just not attractive, according to my self-defeating mentality.

Regardless of whom is right (if at all) – I’m admittedly a very jealous person. And I always compare myself to every single woman I see.

I don’t think it matters where you are – New York City or North Carolina – there will always be pretty girls. There are the girls who have the best fashion sense you could ever dream of and always seem to know what to wear now, and anticipate what to wear next. There are the girls who have kick-ass bodies and yet still eat greasy cheeseburgers and Snickers, and never go above a size 2. There are the girls who have beautiful, flawless skin with rosy cheeks that just naturally radiate without any makeup whatsoever. There are the girls who have sleek long hair that’s super soft and looks great even when it’s pouring. There are the girls who have perfectly sculpted and long, lean legs that look amazing in everything.

Now, I always think: I’m not any of these girls.

I think: I’m a petite, just-about 5’4” 20-something who still looks like a teen-something. I work out five days a week to maintain a curvy (and hopefully thin) figure. My skin is very far from flawless and I hate wearing makeup, but feel the need to do it anyways. I wish I could dress more New Yorkish, but I don’t have the money or the attitude (and I can’t give up my Southern roots). My hair isn’t frizzy, but it also doesn’t grow, and when it rains, I might as well bury myself under a hat (which I don’t own). And as for my legs, well – I do love my heels.

Now, I’m not complaining and I sincerely don’t think I’m unattractive – but I also know that I’m not perfect (and I also know those girls are not perfect either) I am an all-American girl who has flaws and things that make her lovely, too. I know my qualities and my pitfalls, and for the most part I accept them.

But, there is always this nagging little thought in the back of my head when I do walk by a girl I’m jealous of:

Why would a guy ever pick me when he can have her?

Now, with my new found confidence and overcoming love-addiction mission, I have shifted my thinking to be a little more rational. I do remind myself that looks aren’t everything, that while all humans are a tad superficial (c’mon, you know it), a pretty face or smokin’ body won’t keep someone interested forever. I do remind myself that I don’t even know these women and they could be a not-so-great-catch and just have been blessed with looks. I do remind myself that guys also look at me – and regardless if they do or if they don’t, I still know what I have to offer, and that’s all that should matter.

Yeah, yeah, yeah.

It is so difficult not to compare yourself to other girls. It is so hard to not turn my head down when a more attractive woman gets on the train. It is so hard to go out with friends who you know are ten times more beautiful than you are – and if I’m being honest, it’s hard to friends with super-model-look-alikes in the first place.

Does that make me petty and ridiculous? Absolutely. Does it make me human and a typical girl who judges herself? Of course.

Certainly, I should never tell myself I’m not worthy of someone’s attention or affection. They may be able to have the other girl walking by and she may turn their head longer – but I have something that no one will ever have. And that’s me.

It is only when we officially accept who we – imperfections, beauty, and all that’s in between – that we are even close to being ready to share it with someone else.

So you, whoever you are reading this, go right now, and look in the mirror (I’m not joking), and tell yourself (out loud!) that you’re beautiful.

Because you are. Without a doubt.

by - 23 Comments

These Streets Will Make You Feel Brand New

A not-so-long time ago, a brown haired, blue-eyed little girl saw New York City for the first time. She came out of the tunnel that brought her from Pennsylvania to this new land, stepped out onto the glittering pavement and stopped.

First, she told her mom how much it smelled and then with a two-front-teeth missing smile, spun around in the streets, and said “I’m going to live here one day!”

And so she did.

Now, 15 years later, that same starry-eyed young woman still feels the urge to dance in the streets and thank her lucky stars that they aligned so she can have a New York, NY address.

There are moments when I’m doing everyday, ordinary things, and I feel such an immense amount of love and thankfulness in my soul that I literally swell.

My New York story is one that’s like many other hopeful artists who grace the streets with only high-heeled bootstraps and raw ambition to be their guide. I’m not alone –there are endless writers, musicians, models, actresses, dancers, and performers who move to Gotham knowing that all they ever wanted will reveal itself before their eyes. The universe, surely, will move and shift to make fate play its magic cards.

This city has been a large portion of my focus, who I am (and who I will be), and what gives me encouragement for so long. I sincerely cannot imagine my life without it –especially now that I’ve had a taste of how much it feels like home.

And if this blog, this experience, this journey and multi-step program is about being honest with myself –I’ve got to be open about everything that New York means to me.

I didn’t move here in a relationship. I didn’t move here tied down to anyone or anything or any flame. I didn’t move here with hesitation or thoughts of failure. I didn’t move here thinking returning to NC was an option.

But I did move here to build my career. To work for a magazine. To be a voice for women everywhere. To learn the street personally. To meet friends I will have for the rest of my life. To explore everything that the city embodies.

And to fall magically, perfectly, idealistically, and incredibly in love.

Not a big surprise, I know – but I’ve been trying to tell myself that I moved here only for my career. But that’s a lie. And this journey is teaching me to stop lying to myself. To stop ignoring how I feel or how I react or the thoughts and language I use to speak to myself.

I’ve dreamt of working for a magazine since I got my first column job at 15 with The Clay County Progress (titled ‘TLC: Thoughts, Lessons, and Creations from a Teen”). And of course, I’ve known I wanted to live in New York. Thus, I knew that if Manhattan was my place, my very first one true love – my very last love must be here. Right?

As I’ve admitted earlier, I thought I would move to NYC and instantly find Mr. Right. I never listened to anyone when they said dating would be hard (or rather impossible in this city) or that it would take time. I just believed it would be simple and right there just waiting for 5’3”-me to step on solid ground.

Obviously, that hasn’t happened and I’m not losing hope of it. But I’m also not focusing on it. I’m trying so hard not to make “finding love” or “meeting the right man” at the top of my priority list or the greatest source of my disappointment or sadness. I’m believing in myself (and in my higher power) and surrendering away the thoughts that hold me back.

And I think telling myself that part of New York’s draw is the fact that I hope to find love (it’s by far, not the biggest attraction for me), and the NYC-happiness recipe wouldn’t taste correctly without that desire.

I still have moments when I cry. I still have moments when I’m down or get discouraged or feel ugly or not worthy. I still have moments where I’m jealous or I reach out and seek attention for the sake of the flattery. I still have moments where things that should be inspiring, are painful.

Like when my friend R, full of excitement for seeing the city for the first time (as I remember all too fondly) showed me a picture from The Wish Tree at the MoMA. It’s a place where you can place your most coveted wish on a tree with hundreds of other wishes of people who pass by. The wishes make the tree grow and give it the nourishment it needs to keep spreading its limbs. It’s truly a beautiful idea.

R had taken a picture of a wish that said:


“I wish I could fall in love like I moved to New York to do.”

Maybe that should have made me feel less alone or supported or that there are other people who feel the same way I do. Maybe it should have given me some hope. But, it made my heart sink. It sunk so hardly and so deeply that I about lost my breath. It reminded me of part of the reason I moved to New York – a reason I had been avoiding admitting. It reminded me of the dozens of images and dreams I have stored away in my head (and clipped out of magazines stored under my bed) of what romance I want to experience on this island.

It is hard. It’s not always funny or empowering or hopeful. There are these moments where even the city who always make you feel brand new – can’t take away the longing. Or even a blog that I love to write so much.

But, if I can move to a New York and find a job and an apartment in three weeks, and still maintain a constant glow for the city – I bet I’m capable of just about anything.

And one day, I’ll make the shoe fit on my single self (without someone’s help), and I’ll have that contentment I keep wishing to find. But sorry, Prince Charming – I’m won’t lose a shoe at some enchanted castle tucked away behind Fifth Avenue –so you’ll have to find me in another way.

by - 11 Comments

Pasta for One

They say you’re given signs in strange ways to let you know you’re on the right path.

For me, apparently, all it took was a box of $1.50 pasta.

Going into this journey, I wasn’t sure if the process would work. I knew I could write about it. I knew I could talk about it. I knew I could actually do it (or I at least hoped) – but for the whole idea to produce results…I had no clue.

Slowly and gradually, I’ve noticed subtle changes in the way I think and the way I talk to myself. I’ve noticed a little bit more confidence and a little less negativity. I’ve noticed different feelings and different approaches and a kinda-different me.

But yesterday, I noticed a sincere transformation…without even trying.

After a very wonderful 40-minute run at the gym (beat my time!) and a lovely nighttime talk with my parents, I headed towards my neighborhood grocery store to buy what I had been thinking about all day: spinach and garlic pasta. Smothered in butter, garlic, and olive oil. Yummm.

I admired the sight and the smell of the barrels of apples on the way in (amazed they put them outside), took a sample of a cheesecake as I passed (hurried actually) by the bakery, and then headed down the escalator for some pasta and spinach.

I wasn’t really paying attention to what I was doing, stopping to smell the flowers on the stand, taking a double look at the produce, and as I approached the spinach – I about ran right into a handsome stranger reaching for the leafy-greens too.

We both said “Excuse me!” and smiled, and then continued studying what we would like. I figured out which one fit my fancy before he did and I politely scooped past him to head to the aisle over. I didn’t really think too much of the encounter (I did turn around to check out his backside…just because I could) and quickly got distracted by the cookies calling my name.

As I was deciding if I wanted cinnamon, chocolate chip, or sugar, I noticed the same guy walk by out of the corner of my eye as he passed the aisle. Again, I didn’t pay extreme attention to his presence, but then, he stopped and came by the aisle just as I was reaching for my cookies (I went with cinnamon, if you’re wondering). We both laughed and shared a smile as he went by me. He turned red, grabbed a box of something, grinned again, and walked away.

At this point, I’m flattered and intrigued, but not too worried about it. I continued my shopping and then headed upstairs to checkout. I crossed by the sushi bar and again, barely out of my sight I saw the same dark haired, dark-eyed, and handsome stranger in the green jacket buying some meat in the deli.

I got in line and then looked back at him again. My mind started to read into things a little bit, “He is very cute. He is in my sight. I mean, basically he is right in front of me. We ran into each other twice. Not just once, but two times. That means something…maybe? That’s a romantic way to meet The One, right?”

I looked around at the line, which was quickly wrapping itself around the middle of the floor. “If I get out now, how long will I have to wait? I still have Dancing with the Stars and Desperate Housewives to catch up on. And my spinach pasta! I mean…I’m in workout clothes. But hey, it’s spandex. And he is cute…”

I tried to think about if I had business cards or what I would say. I didn’t really need any meat, but should I pass up on this opportunity? What if I never see him again?

And then, I snapped out of it. He’s just a guy. He’s a guy I’ve never heard his voice before. He’s just some guy getting some groceries. He isn’t worth losing my spot in line, delaying my pasta, or making me nervous.

So I didn’t do anything. I turned right back around, waited in line, and bought my groceries. I hit the streets and didn’t look back once.

As I walked home, I realized that I had taken the pressure off myself in an instant. I talked myself back down to reality, out of the love-addict mentality, and moved on. I wasn’t upset or disappointed (as I shouldn’t have been) that he didn’t come chasing after me – I just accepted the random multi-meeting as just that.

When I returned to my apartment, I was so at peace, so excited, and just content with where I was in my life. Of course, my apartment is smaller than most Manhattan cubicles and I’m not living in luxury – but I do have myself. And this gal is making some progress in her love-seeking madness. And this gal is fine – regardless of any handsome stranger or chance encounter happens or not.

After all, sometimes, pasta for one just simply hits the spot.

by - 6 Comments

Can’t Tame This Tigar

As much as I’m a love-addict, sometimes if I think about the seriousness behind marriage –I feel like I’m going to throw up.

Given, I haven’t met someone who I have sincerely thought I would spend the rest of my life with (without any reservations, at least), but when I think of happily-ever-after, until-death-do-we-part, when your balls and my boobs sag – I feel intense anxiety.

When you find that special someone or you enter into a long-term relationship –you ultimately have to change who you are somewhat. Not necessarily your personality or actions or day-to-day doings, but your lifestyle changes when you have to consider someone else into the mix. “I” becomes “we” and Friday night’s question isn’t “Where’s happy hour?” but rather “What are you in the mood to do, dear?” Yes, you have me-time or girl-time – but when you say “I do” or accept a relationship request on Facebook, you sign (or click) away a part of your life.

A friend of mine, B, recently wrote to me and said “I’m starting to think that maybe I’m not meant to be tamed. I’m not willing to change who I am for a man, and I shouldn’t have to. I love being able to do what I want, when I want. I don’t have to let anybody know where I am, or call somebody before I do something, and I don’t have to think about questions like ‘Will we spend this holiday with your family or mine?’”

Tamed? To be in a healthy, loving, and committed relationship, does that mean you’re tamed? Is the reason it’s called “settling down” is because you literally settle down? After receiving this message from B, I decided to poll readers and friends about being “tamed” and how it relates to being in a relationship. (And sorry, I didn’t ask Miley Cyrus).

Here are the responses I received:

Single

“I feel like it should and it shouldn’t, ya know? Should because relationship is commitment, but shouldn’t because the reason someone wants a relationship with you is because you’re you.” –N

“No you’re only more tame in social situations because you don’t have to flirt, but in the bedroom, you must be super wild.” –S

“Once you’re in a long-term relationship, then you have someone else to consider so I suppose it does tame your behavior.” –S

“Being in a relationship doesn’t really have to mean that you are ‘tamed.’ I think a lot of it has to do with your personality and the personality of the person you are in a relationship with, as well as the dynamics of the relationship…Quite frankly, if you find the right person, you can do all the things you love and just simply have a partner in it.” -A

“No. I act just as I always do regardless if I’m in a relationship or not. If I’m not acting like myself, then I need to get out of the relationship.” –E

“I’ve found in most cases yes, but I’m waiting for a relationship where you still love and care about the other person (and vice versa) and they let you do whatever makes you happy.” -D

Taken (Married or in a relationship)

“Tamed? Did you need a trainer or tamer? No. Being in a stable relationship may make you more secure to embrace your wild side and explore more facets of yourself.” –P

“If ‘tamed’ means that you stop dancing on bars, then yes. But I’ve gone out more with my boyfriend than I ever would if I was alone. We go out every Monday and Wednesday for trivia night usually every Friday and Saturday for darts.” –A

“Well, you learn to do things differently. You do the things they want to do and how they want to do it. Just for the sake of keeping the peace.” –L

“It can. My boyfriend knows what my dreams are and what I want to accomplish, and he’s willing to let me run wild, as long as he can be part of it.” –S

“I do think you have to become tame in order for your relationship to work. I guess tamed is a strange word for it because you have to be yourself but you want to make the other person happy, so you don’t even think about that part of it, if it’s truly a relationship that you want.” –E

“I would say that I am a lot less reserved now that I’m in a serious and committed relationship because I feel like I can be as crazy as I can possibly be within moral bounds, and I don’t have to fear messing things up. I still have the freedom to do whatever I want, but what I want in a lot of aspects has changed.” -F

“Ohhhhhh no!  Here’s my philosophy: I wanted to marry him, so I could REALLY go hog wild….but just with him.” -J

So, you do have to be tamed (or maybe not), but you still do all that you want (but do things their way to keep the peace), you don’t dance on tables, but you should be incredibly ridiculous in the bedroom, make your partner part of your adventures (but make sure they love you for who you are) – but all of it, of course, depends on the relationship and the person you’re in a relationship with.

Quite contradictory right?

B highlights what’s considered a perk of being single: the ability to be completely and totally selfish. And I’ll be the first (along with all of you other single ladies who are addicted to love or not, I’m sure) that sometimes, not having to answer to anyone or anything or shape my plans around someone else’s schedule or desires is wonderful. I almost always get to do exactly what I want, when I want to do it, and my money, for the most part, is for me.

A pro of being a single gal is being able to sincerely focus on yourself, to run untamed and free (regardless if you act wild or not) and explore all of the things your curiosity sparks. I truly, 100 percent agree that by being single for longer (as in not getting married super early), you allow yourself a lot of time to grow and develop without having to consider who is laying next to you.

But most of us do want someone to share our lives with –tamed or untamed –doing it their way or our way or a way you create together. Eventually, we will have discussions about what to do, where we want to do it, and how to go about it with our partner.

So really, it’s not necessarily about being tamed. It’s more about learning how to compromise and figuring out what it is we’re willing to change and what we’re not about our lives or ourselves for another person. Then, the task is making sure the person you’re in a relationship with is okay with that.

But until that day, until I finish clearing my head of self-hating and love-obsessing thoughts, I will relish, just like B, in being selfishly single. In eating cupcakes at midnight, taking up my entire bed, painting my toenails while eating pudding, spending an hour at the grocery store and leaving with nothing, taking random trips because I can, and walking around my apartment in heels, a face mask, and drinking red wine singing along to old Backstreet Boys songs.

I’m not sure I’ll ever be “tamed” by my own definition of the word (submissive and obedient, like a dog), but I may be willing to share my cupcake. And maybe a sip of my wine. And especially if he can somewhat sing “Shape of My Heart.”

by - 9 Comments

A Single Soulmate?

I’ve never really liked the word soulmate.

Some may claim it’s because I haven’t met mine but I would argue that there is no such thing. A soulmate, by definition, is someone who is perfectly, identically, and spiritually aligned with your soul. Your everything because something you share, sparks fly the second you lay eyes on one another, and your interests, you values, your ideas are all in sync. If they are not matching, they at least compliment one another, and they fit the space that was never filled before.

Oh and of course, you can only have one. Soulmates don’t come in packs of 4 for a better-bang-for-your-buck deal and you can’t get a month-by-month subscription that you can cancel for a small fee. Nope, you only get one shot, one make-it-or-break-it decision, and you only have one individual who gets this special title.

And, frankly, that’s pretty limiting.

Over the weekend, I had a few friends in town – one I’ve known for over five years through the good, the bad, and all of it, and one who is the founder of a magazine that I’ve worked for since my sophomore year of college, but I had never actually met her in person until this weekend.

Both of these ladies I consider my soulmates. Along with a handful of other people, including old boyfriends and guys I dated (or made out with) for barely six weeks. And my mom. The list goes on-and-on –and I’ve always believed a person gets more than one soulmate in a lifetime.

Somehow seeing my old friend and meeting this new friend, who are both so full of beauty, integrity, wisdom, and vivid sincerity, solidified my thoughts towards soulmates (which, by the way, is taken from American writer, Richard Bach): a soulmate is the one who makes life come to life.

And the people who light up your life –they include more than a romantic interest. They include more than someone we go to bed with and more than someone we wonder how their last name will fit with our first.

You may not feel butterflies with a best friend, but you’ll feel that feeling –the incredible, incomparable notion that something is just right. That this person was meant to come into your life, meant to teach you something, and meant to be part of your happiness.

C and I were sitting across the table at this lovely restaurant, sipping champagne and wine, and catching up on years’ worth of stories and memories –and something just clicked. Deep inside of me, I felt like the stars had aligned, and this woman was sent to me to guide me, mentor me, and advise me. And of course, for me to listen to as well. Even though we had never had cocktails, as we were then, we had shared so many delicate and private details about our lives and struggles –and more often than not, we both knew exactly what to say to one another to ease the pain.

And then, there was my friend, R, who is a few years younger than me, but ten times stronger. We walked, arm-in-arm, with a few beers lagging behind us, as the chilly city fall air blowing against us, and something else clicked. I had been talking, analyzing, dreaming, doodling, and writing about living in Manhattan ever since I’ve known this girl. She gave me a sweatshirt and mints that said “New York” on them when I graduated from high school, created countless mixed CDs about city-living, made me posters, and given me encouragement when nothing else seemed to be a fix. And here she was, walking with me on our way to Columbus Circle to catch the train that would take her to my NYC apartment. It’s like again, the universe decided to lend a hand and put some pieces together.

I couldn’t imagine my life without either of these women. And they do make my life come alive. Just like my mother does. Just like my puppy Suzie, for that matter.

So what’s this talk about a soulmate by happily-ever-after definition? Why are we so hung up on finding that one person, when we can have several? Surrender those thoughts of a singular soulmate – and let those lovely ladies you adore so much to light up your life.

(To be overly cliché, isn’t it Carrie from Sex & the City (yes, I love this show, total confession that I will never try to hide) –who says “our girlfriends are our soulmates and guys are just who we have fun with.”)