Tag Archives: Men

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Merry Christmas, With Love

Maybe it is under the mistletoe or under the tree. Maybe it is in the eyes of your grandmother who giggles at the slightest joke. Maybe it is in watching your mom so thrilled to give you a gift she knows you’ll love. Maybe it is your dad’s awful singing as he carves the ham in the kitchen. Maybe it is in your puppy’s excitement as she “opens” her Christmas present well before the actual day comes. Maybe it is in the hopes you have for the holidays to come with your Mr. Right and the children that you can’t imagine their faces, but one day, will look up at you with rosy cheeks and excited eyes.

Maybe we all long for that romantic love, for a man with a big jacket for us to stick our cold hands in, and somehow feel that magic with someone…and it not to go away. But maybe in all of our desiring, all of our hoping, all of our dreaming – we lose sight of the fact that love is truly everywhere. And many of us, even though we’d rather tell Santa to bring us a man instead of another scarf or necklace, forget that the true blessing of the season doesn’t come from a person, but from ourselves.

I’m under the belief that much of our happiness and our sadness is direcly correlated to the decisions we make. When we’re feeling down-in-the-dumps about a relationship that could have been that now never will or upset with the universe for leaving us alone, again, at Christmas – to snap out of the rut, it really is our choice. No present with a red bow or apple pie can turn it around for us – no matter how many we rip open or bites we take.

So while I’m recovering from food poisioning and wasn’t exactly able to overeat on Christmas Eve as I usually do, and even though things with Mr. Possibility have become quite shaky in the last few days – I’m making a decision – or rather, a demand on myself – to choose to keep the Christmas spirit. To not let any illness or emotional rollercoaster take away from the brilliance, from the wonder, the beauty that this special time brings.

In celebration of all things love, I must share my blog lovers: those men and women who are such avid supporters of what I write and my journey. Of those who comment and click, tweet, and tumble, and keep me motivated and encouraged – no matter what is going on in my life.

So while you’re recovering from a food-coma and getting up entirely too early or spending way too much time with extended family members – take a stop by these blogs to meet my “love addicts” who are truly a blessing in my life. I’m so thankful for each of you.

Merry Christmas, from my heart to yours, with love:

Courting Adell

DearExGirlfriend

From Falling Water

Medaniellemarie

Tallbrewnette

Jenn’s Blog

Binary Boyfriend

Cat’s City Life

Leila Castaneda

Kternes

iTiffTaffTuff

Kacey R. Wherley

BeReal BeHappy

From the Mind of Moose

Life of Sarah

Michelle Joni

Ahuvah Berger

Alesya Bags

Kuldeep Brar

Eternally Single Kelly

The Blind Leading the Blonde

Allison Gee

Opportunity Speaks

Jenny MD

Flickery

Lexamantis’s Blog

Bookspotting

Small Things. Big Dreams.

Simply Solo

Gathers No Moss

I Won’t Go Back to How it Was

To Be Incognito

Shay Rae’s Diary

Shades of Bright

Trains and Sunsets

Ever Perceived

Little Miss Graham

Lucy’s Entries

The Good, the Bad & The Kitsch

Lynaima’s Blog

Divorcing Mr. Wrong

Live for Each Moment

Slam Dunks

It’s The Pits

A Love Train

In Search of Serene

Food Law

Ava Aston

She Who Will Be Tamed?

If I missed you, please know I still appreciate your support. Shoot me an email and I’ll add you!


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Ex on the Shelf

A few months ago when I booked my ticket to come home for the holidays, my mother tenderly and carefully asked: “You think when you’re home, maybe you could go through your room and get rid of some of your stuff?”

At the time, I quickly agreed and apologized for keeping so much at the house I grew up in for my parents to look after. While my mom and dad will both promise me that I’ll have a place in their home until I get married (and even after, if I need it) – I know they want to transform my bedroom into something more than a glorified storage unit.

Yesterday, as I went through piles of clothes, boxes full of old notebooks, letters and cards from high school and college, makeup that expired years ago, books I haven’t read in years, and writings that date back to the 1990s – I came across something I had long forgotten about while gallivanting in New York.

The classic ex-boyfriend box.

I’ve heard them called “Love Boxes”, “Remember When Boxes” , “Past Flame Memorabilia” – but inevitably, every single friend I’ve had or just woman I’ve known has some collection of stuff from a man she once dated.

When I pulled down the box, opened it, and discovered what it was – I immediately pulled away. In year’s past, my ex-boyfriend box had been a part of my room I only teetered with in those sad, desperate moments of being a single-something when I wanted to remember what it felt like to be in love. When I wanted to smell an old t-shirt, that while I’m sure lost the scent of the man who gave it to me many moons ago, somehow still reminded me what it was like to be in that comfortable nook. It would be the item I’d use to excuse crying or remind me that while I “simply can’t find love” that I have in fact, been in love, and if I just hold onto these sentiments, I’ll never forget what it was like to be romantically happy.

I sat on the edge of my bed for a little while, gazing at the box, all four flaps open revealing the corner of a blue t-shirt that I knew was from Mr. Idea. I thought about my journey, my experiences in New York, and the growth I’ve been feeling, and knew I didn’t want to willingly push myself into a crying fest.

I mean, if I’m doing a 12-step program to recovery – I can’t purposefully take a few steps backward, can I? C’mon now.

I looked over at the box, racking my brain to try and determine what exactly was inside of it. If it didn’t include any of the men from the city – it was surely jammed-full of every pre-Manhattan dude who swept me away in his arms or swept me under the rug before stepping on it. I remembered the last time I went through the box; just a few days before I headed North – my eyes still swollen from crying myself to sleep more times than I would like to admit over the bittersweet end with Mr. Idea.

But – if I’m ever going to reach a point of self-love, of complete security in my single self, I certainly can’t let the Ex on the Shelf who is looking down at me, keep me from releasing the fear of being sad. Because sometimes, with a little bit of pain, comes a hell of a lot of change.

So, I dug into my Ex-Boyfriend Box of Memories.

I pulled out every last t-shirt and smelled them each. I looked at every picture, smiled at the memory of each man who has had his grip on my heart and my back. I read (and re-read) the words that these men, who at the time absolutely adored me, and felt my heart swell with thankfulness that I’ve been lucky enough to experience the blessing of  love from another person.  I held the ticket stubs and the plane tickets and thought of the experiences I had with each man, regardless if the flame died sooner than I wished upon it, or if the love was real or unrequited.

And not one letter, snapshot from the past, anniversary card, or sweatshirt made me cry. None of them crushed me. And more importantly, the memories this love memorabilia evoked – didn’t sadden me or make me long for old love – but they just made me remember how magical, how powerful, how life-altering, how incredible love can be.

Maybe because the timing wasn’t right, the romance wasn’t compatible, the desire wasn’t equal, the taking was more than the giving or due to him or due to me, or due to us – the love with the men of the box didn’t work out. It wasn’t designed by the fates to be everlasting, unconditional, and concrete enough for the commitment and upkeep of a lifetime. It took me a long time to realize that just because a relationship ended or a man walked away or put on my boots that were made for walkin‘ – that all love was lost. And to preserve those feelings, to hold onto to the images in my head that I valued so much I needed to catalog their apparel, their handwriting, and their handsome faces in a box on a shelf 600 miles away.

As I looked at all of my mementos and physical shadows of boyfriends-past (praying my parents didn’t open my door and ask what I was up to) – I decided I didn’t need any of it anymore. Well at least, not most of it, anyways. Of everything in that rather large box – I kept only two envelopes.  One with a few notes and another with a handful of photos. The rest of it was either tossed away or placed in a box for charity.

Because I don’t need a box to put my past behind glass or keep old love filed away. My exes don’t belong on a shelf – but rather, in special place in my heart, in my soul, and in my mind. And those memories, those images, those moments I shared with some very special men can never be contained to a single box or an entire blog, anyways. They are far too immense and have helped me become the woman I am more than any memorabilia I could ever keep.

After all, the love I’m searching for in myself, in the brilliance of being bold, beautiful, and single, in the bliss that comes with being independent – is partly due to the experiences of the past. Of the love I’ve shared and the heartbreak I’ve endured. Of the reminients of love that linger in my heart and will forever hope to find a love that not only stains, but stays. Of the process of not only admitting to the difficulties of the journey to loving myself, but accepting and learning from them, too.

If I’m going to free my mind and liberate my heart – I can’t keep all the exes on the shelf. Especially when the thought of them no longer makes me yearn, but makes me grateful for what was…and even more excited about meeting the man who I will share my life with, and hopefully much more than what could fit in any box ever created.

 

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Love Don’t Cost a Thing

For whatever reason, since the time I was a little girl, I’ve had a knack for people giving me things for free. In fact, my mom always says “People are drawn to you and want to give you whatever you want. You’re the Queen of Free!”

Maybe that’s true, or maybe I’m just lucky? Nevertheless, growing up, I’d walk into a store with my family and some employee or owner would hand me a stuffed animal, just because. As I got older, I was freely awarded with half-off dinner for no reason, free goods, and of course, once I was legal – free drinks.

And, being a journalist – I’m constantly sent different items to review for coverage. From high-end beauty products and at-home soda making machines to office supplies and my personal favorite – attendance at some expensive, snazzy events that I wouldn’t be able to go to otherwise, one of the reasons we accept being severely underpaid is for the perks.

Recently, to celebrate my royalties, a new great friend of mine, C, and I went to a fundraiser benefit for an animal shelter. Their marketing was excellent: free booze and puppies to greet you at the door. I mean, what woman couldn’t say no to that? (Or man for the matter?)

We arrive in the meatpacking district, decked out in heels and sparkle – and to our incredible surprise, we ordered a glass of Merlot and within seconds, an adorable puppy was in our hands. Needless to say, we were both in alcohol and adorable– induced heaven.

An hour later when the puppies reached their bedtime, they cranked up the music, and introduced a dance floor for the rest of the four-hour open bar. C and I did our rounds around the club, chatted with men from all over the world – which included South Africa, Detroit, Spain, and Rochester. We danced the night away with an array of talented dudes, including someone I’d like to call Mr. Moves, who while is far from my type, was thoroughly entertaining for the evening. We snapped pictures that even landed on a local New York website and consumed just enough wine to keep us warm and giggly.

As the evening came to a close, around two in the morning, we hobbled out of the club into the cold rain – and as expected, I sniffed some great smelling food coming from a food vendor and I managed to get a group of guys to buy both C and I munchies before we caught the train home. I believe we blew them a kiss as we disappeared into the New York night.

On the way back to my apartment, where my bed was calling my name (and a lovely air mattress for C) – I found myself singing on the train, happily satisfied with the evening I had, and more than ready to have an easy night’s rest.

The next day, after C and I laughed endlessly about the fun event, recounted stories, and appropriately downed orange juice and Advil – I thought about how so much of what I love the most…is free.

Sure, I may be given tangible things, like tickets to events, products, and food – but nothing compares to shakin’ it with a good friend or being able to laugh like little girls into the night because the Merlot made you feel merry. Or the feeling when I’m walking through the city, knowing that a moment’s notice – I could be in Rockefeller Center, Times Square, Central Park, the West Village, or Soho.

And admittedly, when Mr. Possibility kisses the side of my head as we walk (not hand-in-hand) through little shops and pop-up craft fairs. Even though we desire it so much, hope that it is meant for us, and feel like it cost us everything if we lose it – J.Lo is right, love don’t cost a thing. Not just romantically-inclined love, but the love you have between girlfriends, between your family members, between your city and yourself. And though we worry about giving our love away freely – there is no other way to present it.

While receiving goodies for free always makes my day (having a package in front of my door still excites me like a child) – what makes it even more is feeling that immense love in my soul. Feeling my heart swell up with so much cheerfulness, so much thanksgiving, so much wonder – that no material thing on this Earth could compare.

Being the Queen of Free is fine by me, but I think I’d rather call myself the Queen of Love, who has the freedom to love everything around her, man or no man, Dior or no Dior – and still be absolutely happy.

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All I Want for Christmas is Me

There is something about this time of the year that makes everyone, young and old, near and far – want to be less of a “patridge in a pear tree” and rather one of two turtle doves. With less than 12 days left to Christmas – how’s a girl supposed to get through this season without wanting five gold rings (or just a diamond one), a kiss under the mistletoe, and someone to prove to us that really, every kiss does begin with Kay.

Since I started college, and freshman, sophomore, and junior year passed swiftly without a significant other to dote on me during the holiday season – Christmas has served as a nagging reminder that I was (and am) in fact, single. As my friends and their newly found college sweethearts would plan out trips to their respective hometowns (and now are married, by the way), and obsessively describe what they wanted and what they were getting their boyfriend – I silently wished they would all just shut up.

During breaks, I’d work at a retail store at the local mall and constantly watch couples cooing and smiling with their little shopping bags and hand-holding techniques that made me want to gag myself. And of course, at my Southern-inspired Christmas dinner, where at the ripe ol’ age of 20 – I was the strange one who was not only without a boyfriend, but also with no intentions of getting married right after graduation. Nope, I was the crazy misfit who wanted to move far, far away to a scary place called New York City and be a writer. Though they supported me, I’m not sure they ever quite understood.

But this year, this Christmas, this season, something in me is different. In fact – I hadn’t even noticed that I was single for the holidays until a dear friend of mine, K, sought my counsel and said “You know, it is just really hard to be single right now.”

Don’t get me wrong – I’ve been well aware that Christmas is quickly approaching. I’m flying home on Friday to spend some much-needed time with my family and long-lost friends whom I haven’t seen in ages. I’ve toured all the window-displays on Fifth Avenue both with my friend E, and Mr. Possibility. I had front-row tickets to watch the tree at Rockefeller Center light up with Mr. Unavailable. I saw the Rockettes in complete style and everlasting wonder with my friend J, and I’ve walked throughout the city admiring the lights and the peace that seems to come with this time of year. Mr. Possibility took me ice skating and we went to Macy’s to check off gifts on our shopping lists. Right this very second and for the last few weeks, my Pandora “Christmas” station has been getting quite the workout. And most important of all, when that first flake fluttered to the Manhattan ground, I was completely alone and completely in awe.

I’ve embraced Christmas, and without even knowing, I’ve been perfectly content without a boyfriend. I haven’t been putting myself down because for the fourth year in a row, one of my best friends, L, will be my date to our Christmas Eve dinner. I haven’t felt ashamed that I’ll reunite with my extended family and they will probably ask me when I’m getting married. I haven’t wished and hoped and dreamed of being proposed to on Christmas morning (as I used to carefully plan out in my head). I haven’t cursed the smitten couples or the newlyweds who are so excited to spend their very first Christmas together.

But for the longest time, this season was so difficult, so grueling, so sad, so disappointing – because isn’t Christmas or any type of holiday at this time of year – supposed to be about love? About celebrating miracles and hoping for all that is to come? Or trusting that even if you can’t see it, it is out there – waiting to come into your life and shower you with gifts not only under the tree, but also helping you hang ornaments on the top limb.

But really, aren’t all of those ideas applicable to being single? Even when we relate it more about being a pair?

That while we think meeting Mr. Right will be a miracle, the true amazement is that before him, we get this incredible time to just love and concentrate on ourselves. We hope to see our children’s faces light up and ask us about Santa and play with our hubby in the snow – but don’t we also hope that we don’t lose ourselves in a relationship, and that we continue to adore the person we’ll see staring back at us in the mirror, each and every day for the rest of our lives? That sometimes it is so tough to believe there is a light at the end of the single tunnel or a glimmer of positivity in truly, finding peace in being alone – but even if we can’t feel it, we know it is possible, we know it can be ours.

This anticipation of a man to enter, to make the holidays brighter and fuller, to give us little boxes with bows, and to love how we look in our red sweater dresses – tears us up inside. Because really, we fear it will never happen. But instead of doubting the process, doubting the fates, and even worse, doubting ourselves – we miss out on how magical and truly beautiful a Christmas can be without a man. How experiencing flickering lights, parties, and travel can be just as entertaining when we’re out of love.

I don’t feel like I’m waiting on something. I don’t feel like I’m missing something from Christmas or that the universe is depriving me of a companion to make the holidays bearable. But instead, I’m excited. I’m so ready to shout from the rooftops that I’m single and that I’m happy. That I have a life that I created, that the presents you see were bought by only me and my money. That while I’m not kissing under the mistletoe – I haven’t lost hope that one day I will. Besides, it isn’t the number one priority anymore – not at Christmas, not at New Year’s, not at all. Right now, in this moment, in the snow, in the lights– the only thing to focus on is myself and this journey. And I can say with confidence that I disagree with you, Mariah Carey – I don’t want you (whichever man that represents) for Christmas, but all I really want is me.

Tis Christmastime in the city, and my, oh, my is the weather frightful –

…but the feeling I have inside is so delightful. It is a feeling of wholeness, of completeness, of security, of magic – that derives from the greatest blessing, the most thoughtful gift, and the most incredible miracle I could ever experience – and that’s celebrating self-love. Celebrating…me.

 

 

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The Freak in Me

She dresses well, speaks eloquently, goes above-and-beyond her responsibilities, and believes in the power of ambition. She walks like she owns the city and she’s never doubted her abilities to be successful and brilliant in her career.

She flirts with the charming stranger who strides past her on the block, and she’d make you wonder if she was born in heels with her alluring grace. She recalls every name she’s introduced to, and she’s got a face you won’t forget.

And underneath all of these qualities, abilities, and beauty – she sincerely, fully, and ridiculously freaks out. Because even the most confident, most independent, most self-sufficient women in the world have a little bit of a freak in them.

Or maybe, even a whole lot.

God bless my ex-boyfriend, Mr. Idea. Between him and the last serious relationship was a long list of dudes who were anything but dependable and loving (Mr. Rebound, Mr. Buddy, Mr. Fire, Mr. Fling, Mr. Disappear…). So when he walked into my life promising (and sometimes delivering) the world on a shiny platter – I did everything but turn the plate upside down and throw it in his face.

I questioned every intention. I cried at the silliest of things he said that somehow, in my mind, meant something different than what he actually said. When he would go hours without texting (oh, because he was at work) – I was convinced I wouldn’t hear from him again…ever. I don’t even want to get into the metrics behind the “I love you” conversation.

Through it all, though – he stuck around. Our reasons for breaking up were not related to my “freak outs”, as he so lovingly called them. He took them with stride, remained calm, cool, and collected – and talked to me rationally and reassuringly. Thus, the freak-in-me got smaller and made less appearances as our relationship continued.

Yet, every time I would have an “episode” I would apologize profusely for “freaking out.” I would blame it on my period, on school stressing me out, on an impending deadline, on an imaginary disagreement with a friend, or on anything that I deemed worthy of cause.

But in all actuality – the freaky-me was coming out because I was worried. Because I was scared. Because I was insecure in myself and in the relationship. Because I was unsure and confused or frustrated.

And really that isn’t all that freaky – but just natural human emotions. Being a freak sometimes just means being me. So why did I beat myself up for bursting into tears, asking a million questions (and not believing the answers), or feel that fear in the pit of my stomach that I’ll “scare him away” after he promised not to leave?

Because I expressed these feelings, these emotions, these insecurities to the person I thought they were coming from. I thought it was something he was doing – he wasn’t giving enough or saying the right things or really proving that he cared. I was sure he had opportunities he wasn’t telling me about, that someone more wonderful than me would come around and steal him away, or that he wasn’t really as sincere and honest as he came across.

I thought my freak outs were due to him (and to the many other men who have experienced my insanity) – but really, it was always me.

While it is natural to have times of insecurity and times where you question and read between the lines – more often than not, those are choices and actions you decide to do on your own. If you play into fears, they will continue to grow. And the only defender against them is trust – which, by all means, takes a lot of faith and maturity to sustain.

Sometimes there are times in a relationship, in dating, or in “talking” (whatever that means, exactly) – where a discussion needs to happen because one partner is genuinely upset about something. Other times, like when we give too much energy to trying to make meaning out of simplicity – don’t require including the other person. Those freak outs aren’t caused by the men themselves (sorry, can’t always blame ‘em) – but by our own junk-in the-trunk from the past or from anxieties of our futures.

When these emotions bubble up and threaten to overflow into madness – that’s when we seek our internal counsel of personal-grounding or our external network of loving girlfriends who’ve experienced there own share of freak outs. Addressing the groans and pains that make us jittery and nervous is important because thinking they mean absolutely nothing would be dishonest to ourselves and not allow us to gain strength as individuals. Ignoring the freak out would be unfair and only cause the intensity to magnify – but keep in mind, that Mr. Boyfriend doesn’t always need to know every single timidity.

Nor do we need to label ourselves as freaks because even if someone thinks we truly are too much to handle or if they get scared away – they don’t deserve (and probably couldn’t take it) when we are freaky in other departments.