Tag Archives: Life

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C’mon Baby, Make it Hurt So Good

To overcome fear –must you feel pain?

I’ve been reading a daily mediation book since the start of the year. It was a suggestion from my mother (by the way, I love reading suggestions, so if you have one, please share!) that she recommended because it helped calm her nerves.

I should have taken it as a sign that I would ultimately write this blog, but it’s an everyday “food for thought and prayer” that was written based from Alcoholics Anonymous, and my mother used it for anxiety issues. However, I think most of the material can relate to any addiction…or just those of us who tend to be utterly obsessive.

Regardless, The Language of Letting Go has proven to be helpful –and a bit of a mind reader. It almost always seems to know exactly what I need to read. It’s like it knows what days of the week are more difficult and about all the different moods I cycle through.

Yesterday –the entry was about “feeling the pain”. In a nutshell, it says to overcome fear –you must feel through all of your discomfort. Of course, acknowledging is part of that, but even more –is allowing yourself to physically go through the ordeals.

To believe my higher power can take away my distress and my fears and intensity towards not being in a relationship or being single –I’ve got to feel my way through it. I have to let myself cry, let myself get upset, let myself get angry, and let myself…

…let go.

It makes sense to me now why Step 3: surrendering all of the negativity to a higher power comes after Step 2: believing. Before you can give up anything – you have to figure out why you need to get it away from you in the first place.

Letting myself feel the longing, the regret, the sadness, the loneliness –all of it…is actually kind of refreshing. Maybe that makes me a sadistic love lady, but crying it out, yelling/screaming it out, writing it out, talking it out –just flat-out getting it out gives me a little bit of freedom.

I’m not exactly sure how I’m going to “surrender it” or how long it may take me –but I think I’m ready to approach it. My longtime friend, T, said in a comment on a previous blog that “I think this is one of those steps that you have to keep coming back to, that you have to keep reminding yourself of.”

I agree with her. There are always going to be periods of highs and lows, and moments where you believe with your whole heart and moments when you just want to eat some peanut butter.

I’m human. I’m single. I’m struggling. I may believe today and tomorrow I may not. But for now, I’m accepting myself as I am and attempting to keep my head held high. And, even as it hurts (hurt so good, actually) –I’ll keep pushing through.

Because one day – all will make sense and all will unfold as it should.

As soon as I figure out how to surrender….and all that.

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Sex(less) & the City

Sometimes I wish I was a skank.

Pardon my language –but sometimes, I think it’d be easier. If I could just jump from one bed to the other, not feeling (or at least pretending not to) anything, having incredible orgasms, and not worrying if they would call or if it would turn into love –I think I’d be a lot happier.

If I could be just nonchalant and easy-going, enjoy great sex just as much as I enjoy great wine and travel –maybe I’d be a little more “cool” or one of those elusive girls that men are always drawn to. But then, again I wouldn’t care if men were drawn to me –because I’d be mysterious and aloof.

While I tend to be forward-thinking about many things, sex isn’t one of them. Like love (big surprise here, huh?), I tend to find sex to be this very intimate, personal, and powerful thing that should only be shared with two people who sincerely care about each other. I think it can be very stress-relieving and dirty-passionate too, but I don’t feel comfortable letting my inhibitions and my panties go –unless I’m committed and in love with someone.

This kind of mentality, in my opinion, makes me classy (or a prude) –but at the same time, it can make for some pretty lengthy kiss-less and sex-less periods. I plan on the payoff one day being well worth it –but sometimes it just flat out sucks.

Even though I know how serious I take intimacy, and even though I’m doing the 12-steps, I decided that part of trying not to be a love addict is taking the pressure off things. If I want to make out with some cute guy or if I want him to run his hand down my back (or thigh, or both?) –I should be able to do that without freaking out.

Right? Ehhh…

Mr. Unavailable and I had a little too much red wine on Friday night and we took our platonic friendship to a different level that involved some kissing, some holding, and some regrettable thoughts the next day…on my part anyways. So of course, like any good love addict, I then spent the rest of the weekend obsessing about what in the world I had done.

No, I didn’t have sex. No, I didn’t sleep around. No, I didn’t fall in love or fall in hate. No, I just acted on the naturally burning and ever-evolving desire inside of me. I was longing to be cuddled, to feel sexy, to feel the weight of a man pressed up against me, and to feel secure –so I took an opportunity.

The problem is –no matter how much recovery I go through or steps I take –kissing and making out and being physical –will always mean something to me. And while I don’t think this is a bad thing, I also don’t think it makes me very good at being “single.” I mean, even Julia Roberts couldn’t handle it in “Pretty Woman” – she ended up falling in love and packing up her sexy hooker boots (they’re coming back in style, yay!) and letting her guard down with Richard Gere –and we never blamed her once for it.

My friend L says I should be using this time in my life to “have fun.” In her terms and before she was in her relationship, this meant random drunken kisses and sometimes even sexual partners. I think my friend is beautiful and wonderful –and so much freer than I am. If she would have made out with Mr. Unavailable, it wouldn’t have mattered much to her the next few days…but for me, it consumed my weekend.

And it hurt me. He didn’t hurt me. The situation didn’t hurt me. The kissing and the fire didn’t hurt me. The friendship didn’t hurt me.

The thoughts hurt me.

The punishing myself for “letting go” or “trying something new.” The pit in the bottom of my stomach that continued to grow because I know it would never become anything more than just a friends-with-benefits (term I hate, by the way). Even if I didn’t want more, knowing that it wouldn’t be more –hurt. And it hurt that I thought of my actions and the experience the rest of the weekend –during drinks, at dinner, while shopping, while sitting at the laundry mat writing this entry.

So why do I feel guilty? Or is it that I feel rejected? Or betrayed? And if betrayed –by who? By myself? By my morals? I knew what cards were on the table and I willingly made the decision to play the hand I played. There was no poker face, no leading-on, no mystery, no question –we both knew exactly what we were doing and we both said what we expected.

If I had no expectations and wasn’t even certain of my feelings or of what it would mean to me –why does it hurt?

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The Battle of Belief

The beauty of a new life. New York’s ability to give me a glimpse of hope in the most unusual places.  The comfort of my father’s chicken noodle soup. The smell of my mom’s hair when she gives me a heart-to-heart hug. The lines on my best friend’s face when she smiles. My puppy’s ever-lasting and faithful playful spirit. The peacefulness of the first leaf falling in Autumn, first bloom in Spring, first tiny fluttering flake in winter, and the first warm ray from the summer sky. The feeling of reaching something you thought was unattainable.

There are many, many things I believe in.

And in myself, I also believe in many truths. I believe I was born to be a writer. I believe I am brave, diligent, and strong. I believe in the power of my dreams and my power to turn my dreams into realities. I believe I am capable of doing anything I put my mind to –physically or emotionally. I believe I am blessed in so many different ways. I believe I can turn even tiny spaces into homes and I believe I was given the heart of a humanitarian.

Step 2 is about belief. I have to believe all negativity and fears of being single forever or being hard on myself can be lifted away. I have to believe that something higher than me can lighten my load and ease my worries.

I have to believe.  And I don’t.

This isn’t to say I will always feel this way –but Step 2 is going slower and is full of more difficulty than Step 1. I get to a point where I start to feel like everything will change, that I will grow and mature, and not let self-defeating thoughts and fears get to me. I’ll have a day where I feel completely secure with just being me-and-only-me, and then the next day, I see something that makes me lonely…and the sense of longing is right back where it was –the pit of my heart rocking my everything.

How do I make myself have that sincere feeling of complete trust all the time? Why can’t I just believe that a higher being can just take all of this away? Is a feeling of contentment something that’s not constant? Is it always just going to come and go, make me hopeful and then scared, together and then messy?

Belief in something out of our hands. Why is that so much more difficult than things we see, things we touch, things we’ve experienced to be true and real? Why is belief in something that is not proven, not guaranteed, not a matter of fate –so difficult to retain?

Why is the constant battle between faith and fear a fight we have to go through? Why can’t we just believe that all that is meant to be, all that’s meant to happen, all that we’re meant to be part of, feel, and endure –will just happen.

Why can’t we just let the control go? Why can’t I believe?

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Why’d You Write a Love Story?

Every other Friday I volunteer as a Young Author Mentor for 4th and 5th graders who have difficulty with writing. It’s been one of the most rewarding experiences I’ve had in the city, and while they are extremely rowdy -I look forward to seeing them and teaching them the skills of the trade.

Yesterday, we were showing the kids how to create an outline for a story. We read a short story out loud to them and then asked them to identify the different parts of the story: the setting, the conflict, the characters, the theme, etc. Then, of course, they had to write their own outlines so they could put what they just learned in practice.

This particular session, I’m paired with two girls and a boy. The girls are writing their outlines, which happen to be about “not fitting in” or “being part of the popular crowd” or “being pretty”, and the boy is in the process of writing his outline that had something to do with scaring people on Halloween, someone wanting him to stop scaring people, and he wouldn’t, and then something big happened? I’m still not quite sure.

As they are writing and I’m answering their questions, the boy sweetly asked, “Ms. Tigar, where’s your outline?”

I hadn’t been writing anything because I was too preoccupied helping them, so I decided to make something up off the top of my head (that’s what you’re supposed to do, right?). I started scribbling down some story about a guy named Adam and a girl named Lucy and how every Saturday they would go running in Central Park and then get coffee at this cute little corner shop. Then one day, Adam trips and falls and they have to rush him to the emergency room, and in a panic, because Lucy is so upset, she professes her undying love for him.

As I describe this story, all three of them look at me confused, and the rather smarty-pants girl says, “Your story is a love story?” I nodded, and the other girl asked, “But they end up happily ever after, right?” I nodded again, and they both seemed satisfied. The boy in true typical man fashion asked, “Why did you want to write a love story?”

That’s a good question, kid.

Back when I was their age, I probably would have written about not fitting in or not feeling pretty (I really doubt I’d ever write about something scary) -but the first thing that popped into my head was to write a story about two people who have to find their way to each other and then they fall in love and end up in perfect bliss. So realistic, right?

Hmm. Maybe I need to take a writing lesson from the kids I’m teaching, eh?

My current chapter in the story of my life isn’t about romance or intrigue or passion. It’s not even about lust or crushes or incredible sex (although, I wouldn’t complain). This time in my life is more like this:

Lindsay’s Outline

Character(s): Lindsay

Setting: NYC

Conflict: Lindsay has an internal conflict where she hates being single, doesn’t love herself how she should, and has to learn how to be content as an individual before finding Prince Charming.

Plot: Lindsay moves to NYC, finds a job and an apartment, goes on lots of dates, breaks up with her ex-boyfriend in a dramatic series of unfortunate fights, realizes she sincerely has a problem, embarks on the journey of 12-steps to solve her issue…

Theme: No matter where you are, who you’re with, what adversary you’re facing, or what happens in your life -you have to have faith in and love yourself.

The Beginning.

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Second-Hand Flowers

Life is funny sometimes.

Last week, I wrote about how my co-worker, J, was sent flowers to work and the jealousy that spewed out of me because of it (FYI- he was sent flowers 3 days in a row…not kidding. Yeah, I know –my jaw dropped too). At the time, I was so annoyed and sad that someone didn’t send me flowers or that no one was thinking of me or just that…there is no one who is even a possibility in my life right now.

And then this week, I was sent second-hand flowers. Now –I’m not complaining in the least. Flowers are flowers and seeing them sit so elegantly on my desk brings a smile to my face, not to mention they smell incredible.

But –I was the second person to receive them. Mr. Unavailable’s grand gesture didn’t sit well with his ex and so she returned the $200 chocolates and the bouquet of beautiful oriential lilies to him. Even though his heart was aching something awful, he sent me a message that said:

“You know how you told me you believe all that’s meant to be will be? Well I think these are ending up right where they were to be: with someone who appreciates and deserves them.”

Now, don’t get excited –it’s not a love signal or come-on, but more just a sincere and kind way of giving these items to someone who would like them instead of just throwing them away. I’m positive he didn’t want to look at them anymore and I don’t blame him. They arrived in my office, just as they arrived at her doorstep, and my co-workers enjoyed the champagne truffles (as did I) while I placed the lilies in water.

All flowers represent something, and though he gave her lilies because they are her favorite, they actually mean: “very simple and beautiful, the universal symbol of beauty, an expression of decadence, purity and innocent beauty.”

Central theme? Beauty.

Lilies are also often used at funerals, symbolizing the end of one life and the start of a new one –something I think is very fitting to this program. I’m starting over, in a sense, trying to cultivate a new attitude and loving myself for all the beauty I have (inside and out), and going down a new path.

I’m learning to believe in my own beauty and in what I have to offer, and more importantly, I’m starting to trust in the beauty of destiny or fate, as Mr. Unavailable noted. These flowers were not purchased with me in mind, but they ended up with me. By accident? I don’t really think so.

Without pushing or pulling or wondering or pleading or dreaming –flowers ended up my desk, exactly a week-to-the-day I was steaming with envy about someone else receiving flowers. And I’ve been feeling down about my looks lately and these specific flower represents all things beautiful and pure.

Step 2 is about learning to having faith in a higher power that is capable of getting rid of negativity and self-defeating thoughts and actions. That this higher power can bring me peace and sanity…and love of course.

Yesterday, as I was cleaning up around my desk, I noticed that one of the lilies had bloomed. It was so absolutely gorgeous that I touched it to make sure it was real:  It radiated a fragrance that fills up my little space and I swear it is the whitest flower I’ve ever seen. I was so amazed by the simple bloom that I brought the flowers around to my co-workers, E & J to show them what happened overnight.

These 12-steps aren’t going to happen in 24-hours, in a few weeks, or even a few months –but they will happen.

And with this gorgeous, flourishing, and enchanting flower right in front of me –I know there is someone up there guiding me in the process. There is someone who is helping me to come out of my own comfortable bud and routine, and bloom into the person I was meant to be. This intoxicating and brand-new bloom symbolizes me.

It’s just going to take a little shower of self-love and the glowing light of hope. After all, all things grow with love –even if it’s second-hand gestures and self-admiration. Right?