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All the She-Fishes in the Sea

I’ve never been “one of the guys.” When I younger, I longed to be called me a “tomboy” – but now in hindsight, I haven’t fit that nickname once in my entire life.

And because I’m not coined as a guy’s girl, I’ve gladly and proudly accepted being a girly girl. Being a feminine lady has a lot of perks, in my opinion, and the best of all – is having a ton of lovely girlfriends. My friends have helped me cope when nothing else could get worse, when my heart was crumbled, and when I felt far from beautiful. They’ve also been there to celebrate my victories with champagne, hugs, squeals, and night’s out on the town. There is nothing more sacred, precious, or beautiful then the bond between two women who were meant to be the very best of friends. Like I’ve said before, my group of closest ladies are my soulmates, through-and-through, 24-7, forever-and-always, and no matter how ugly or old we become one day.

Before I moved, I knew I’d have to find a job and a place to live. I was prepared to live off of Ramen noodles and PB&J sandwiches for months or take a waitressing gig if that’s what it took to stay in this magical city. But what I never anticipated was how insanely difficult it is to make friends.

Making this transition in my life meant I would have to leave behind everything I’d ever known and everyone who had meant everything to me. I knew by chasing this dream, I would go alone, far away from the rolling North Carolina hills – and pounding that city pavement would be my own personal quest, without a companion. In many ways, the decision to move to Manhattan was a selfish one, and something that I did just for me, and in no way would I ever go back and make the jump with a friend or boyfriend. Part of the victory beauty, and accomplishment to me, is that I did it as a single woman.

And while I’ve learned how to enjoy dates with myself and evenings in solitary confinement – sometimes, I just get lonely. And this loneliness doesn’t stem from needing or desiring a man – but from needing and longing for my friends. I miss laughing and being ridiculous. I miss getting all dressed up for no reason other then its Tuesday and we feel like it. I miss parading around to powerhouse woman songs and someone (or me) asking twenty times “Do I look fat? Now, really, tell me if I do. You’d tell me, right?”

Don’t get me wrong, being the go-getter I am, I have wasted no time in attempting to find women with similar interests. I’ve gone to happy hours in my industry, joined volunteer groups, signed up for the gym, and tried to get some of the many gay men in my life to introduce me to their “wives.” And yes, I’ve made a few amazing and dependable friends this way – but I still find myself sitting alone with a movie and a dustpan some Friday nights, wondering where in the world my social life has gone.

I realize building everlasting friendships is always a work in progress and that no one on this planet could ever replace my core group of friends growing up. But that doesn’t mean I don’t want someone here to vent my life to, share our mutual achievements and difficulties with, or go get fruity drinks and flirt with boys we’re not interested in at bars…simply because they’ll pick up the tab (sorry, it’s the sad truth, guys).

So what’s a gal gotta do to find her group of friends in a brand-spanking-new zip code? If we all want the Sex & the City lifestyle – no matter how far from the actual reality of New York as it is – you can’t have a Mr. Big without a Charlotte, Miranda, and Samantha to talk about him to.

In some way, I think my love addiction intensifies when I’m bored at my apartment and feeling un-friendable makes me reach out to men that I’m not even remotely interested in. Or it makes me consider texting those Mr’s from my past simply for the attention I know they’ll give me. And meeting new men almost seems virtually impossible, unless I want to sit alone at the bar alone, which makes me look like I have a different type of addiction. Right?

Finding friends feels like a chore and a part of my recovery that I never thought would be such a critical component. To overcome something that’s so insanely burned into your DNA – you need support and guidance. And while my friends from home are constantly emailing, texting, messaging, and calling me with their endless wisdom, honesty, and kindness – sometimes all I really need is a hug. Or a night out without any male interruptions.

Is it possible to be heartbroken because you simply can’t find a best girlfriend in the very best city in the world? If it has never been hard for me to meet friends, why is it so difficult now, in a city with millions of people?

What part of the friendship puzzle, secret handshake, or girl code…am I missing? If there are so many friend–she-fishes in the sea, why can’t I find a few who fit me?

 

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Breaking New Ground

As a thank you for listening to and helping him with a difficult period in his life – Mr. Unavailable, the “New Yorker” (I don’t know Queens technically counts), wanted to show me a night on the town from his perspective. Even though there wasn’t an underlying romantic notion, we both called it “The New York Date”.

He treated me to a chocolate diner, dinner and drinks, followed by a comedy show – and though neither of us is interested in dating one another, it was nice to be around a guy, without putting that pressure on myself. Where I knew there was no need to impress or to dazzle, but instead just be myself (and be accepted for it). I don’t know if I truly believe men and women can ever be friends (thank you, When Harry Met Sally), without a little tension, but for the time being, I’m enjoying the friendly company.

Mid-date, as limos passed by and lights flashed around me; I silently looked out the window of The Standard Hotel’s restaurant in downtown Manhattan and in what seemed like an hour, but was only barely a minute, I caught myself spacing out. I turned to my “date”, smiled and he all-so casually asked me: What are you thinking about over there?

I felt myself blush, smiled back at him, and replied: I just can’t believe this is my life. To think of where I was a year ago and where I am right now – it’s amazing. I’m right where I’ve always wanted to be. It’s real.

Knowing all about the grand adventure to the big city, he grinned and even though we haven’t known each other very long he confidently said: “And you did all of this.”

Now of course, I’ve known that moving to New York, landing my job, and finding an apartment was all of my own doing. If the pavement would have fallen out from underneath me – there would have been no one else to blame but myself. And if I happen to see the whole world crash down around me tomorrow – that’s all on my shoulders, too.

But somehow, in that easy moment with beautiful people surrounding me (and one sitting across from me), the street lights shining in on my face, and a flirty pear-tini in front of me – it sunk in.

It’s not that it took a man for me to realize I’ve “partially made it” – but rather, it was the feeling that I felt in the pit of my stomach so intensely that it made me catch my breath. I could have been anywhere and felt that sensation inside of me. Here in this fancy restaurant that I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to afford on my own, it occurred to me that I was living in the moment.

I’ve talked about how I have been doing more of the here-and-the-now lately, and that’s true – but in that experience, in that twilight, I broke new ground.

I realized there is no pushing or pulling or waiting or hoping to live in New York. Or to work in publishing or to be a writer. Given, I don’t think I’ll ever stop working towards the next thing in terms of my career and a fabulous apartment – but the act of actually getting here…is done. I don’t have to pull my hair out wondering if I’ll ever get a byline or pushing myself into reality when I get too-down-in-the-dumps about the cost of living in the city (you really just have to grin and bare it).

And even more impressive, there I was, in a silk dress, my hair curled up on a date with a man I know I’ll never actually date. Not because there is anything wrong with him or wrong with me or wrong with the time we do spend together – but because we’re really just friends. For anyone else, this isn’t a revelation, but for me to willingly be okay with simple friendship with a man I’m attracted to – is also stomping out a completely new pavement.

Because for once, it didn’t matter if I was courting him or if I wanted a relationship or if I didn’t. There were no expectations and I didn’t feel the need to live up to any standard, any qualification, or any look. He’s not my Mr. Right (like I’m not his Mrs) and even if he was, those rules for being perfect no longer apply – because of the progress I’ve made on this journey.

For the duration of our friendship, he’s always been a very vocal and open guy who says he sees big things ahead of me (I won’t disagree) and that I should live and do everything I’ve wanted. I should think on my toes while planning ahead. I shouldn’t let love get away before there is time to say just how much they mean to me. I should travel and I should speak and communicate with the same honesty in which I write. And of course, I should never stop being the me that I am and never compromise any of my own character for a man, for a career – for anything.

He’s right. And yes, I did just agree with a man. Part of why this experience has no age-limit and no selected amount of time that it’ll last is because it’s all about how I feel and about me –  as a person who has genuine down days, up days, and all that’s in between. Even if that me, at times, doesn’t live in the moment as easily as I did on Saturday evening. And even if I’ve let love get away or not taken that study abroad because to me, New York is a completely different country.

There is so much more to look forward to, chances to take, lessons to learn, and people to meet, like Mr. Unavailable, for whatever reason – come into your life and help you realize and accept things that have been right before your eyes for months. So why worry about what tomorrow will bring or why yesterday was an awful mess?

Why not, instead, keep chasing the pavement of today until I break a new surface that reveals a whole new chapter, a whole new…me?

Following our dinner, he wanted to show me the highline, which is where old ground-level train tracks were preserved into a trail with breath-taking views. We strolled along and looked at the skyline and I pointed out again, that there were in fact, stars in New York. (See, Queens doesn’t count!)

As we were walking, I must have been unusually quiet and again, he asked me “What’s wrong? Are you okay?”

If I was on a serious date, as the pre-recovery me, I probably would have shook my head enthusiastically and not talked about how I was feeling. But not this time. Instead, I was truthful and with my whole heart replied, “I’m really, truly, just happy, right here, right now.”

And I still am.

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Today, I Pick Me

I’m afraid that every man I ever date will always pick another woman over me.

There, I said it.

As someone who is pretty self-confident and considers herself successful, independent, and attractive – it is so hard to admit feeling inadequate. And this fear that swells up in my heart and my eyes frequently is a big one to overcome.

Part of this journey is noticing trends, both in my past and in my current thinking, and one thing I’ve always battled is not feeling “good enough” or “pretty enough” or “cool enough”. I know I have alluring qualities and I’m easy to be around, but when it comes to hooking a  guy and keeping his interest, I tend to feel like there is always another girl out there who does it better.

With all of the men I’ve dated (Mr. Faithful, Mr. Rebound, Mr. Fire, Mr. Curls, Mr. Buddy, and most recently Mr. Idea), they all found and fell in love with another girl shortly after things ended with me. For some it was a month or two, or a few weeks, and with one, only a day. Knowing that these men who I’ve given parts of myself to, both literally and emotionally, can just move on to the next gal without batting an eyelash has made me feel so invisible. And even more so, like my love, my presence, my feelings were just disposable.

I’ve made a vow to not bash anyone – male or female – on this blog, but rather talk about what I’ve learned, instead of what I resent. However, the women who have followed after me have been completely opposite of me. Given, I don’t know them very well (or if at all), but they look and act differently. They have totally dissimilar interests or goals or ways of speaking or looking at life.

While I don’t think there is anything wrong with these women, and if I actually spent time with any of them, I may hit it off and we’d be the best of friends (though I doubt it) – what does it say about me that men I’ve loved or dated, have made complete 360’s in the post-me gal they choose to date?

And what about the fact that all of them have not only started dating another woman, but fell madly in love with them, too? Or for the ones who wouldn’t agree to commit to me, they suddenly can be exclusive with someone else?

While I’ve made progress in this journey and feel more in-tuned with who I am and what I want, and especially what I deserve – I still compare myself to most girls and I still wonder, “When a guy could have any of the beautiful women who grace and strut the streets of Manhattan – why, oh, why, would he pick me? And if he does, won’t he just pick someone else later?”

I think the new question I need to be asking myself is: “Why do I think it’s about him chosing me?”

I’m not a pro on relationships (honestly, I don’t think anyone ever truly is), but to be “successful” in a relationship, you have to pick one another. I think that magical, mystical, and unbelievable passion is there at the beginning, but after a while, and especially when you’re married – you choose to stay in love. You choose to preserve the reasons and the feelings and the memories of why you agreed to be together in the first place. And while those men I dated chose me at some point, over the course of the relationship, we stopped chosing one another, and they inevitably picked another one out of the single-lady-fied line. And eventually, I picked someone else, too.

It’s not about deciding to go to another girl over me or not being good enough – it’s a matter of the difficult choices we make in life and in love every minute, moment, hour, and day. It’s not me. It’s not her. It’s not him. It’s just the natural progression of being in, falling into, and getting out of a relationship. And though I realize this, I think I’ll have to still aim to be genuinely happy for each of them…one day.

A part of me knows that I’ll chose someone one day and he will pick me, too – a larger part of me has decided against selecting a man right now. Because my life isn’t defined about what happened in my past or what man is in my life. It’s not about the girl with the long, brown, hair and pretty smile. Or the woman who takes the place in the bed where I used to lay. And it’s not about why the man decided to walk away or allow me to leave. It’s not about them – it’s about this woman, right here, looking back me in this mirror, in this tiny NYC apartment.

And today, this woman picks herself.

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How To Measure the Return on Love

When I moved to New York, jobless, with my entire life packed into two suitcases – I never doubted my ability to break into publishing. Sure, I knew it wasn’t going to be a walk-in-the-park and my first job wouldn’t be my big break or my dream magazine –but something inside of me said: “Just go, it’ll all work out.”

Fast forward three weeks after my plane touched ground and I find myself jumping-up-and-down frantically while accepting my first Editorial Assistant position at a… business magazine.

My first day on the job, my wonderful editor, D (whom I admire so much!) assigned me a few articles and told me to get started. As I sat down and started to read the results from a survey I would be writing about – I realized: I have no idea what any of this means.

My background is in women’s interest which has included everything from women’s rights and fashion to sex and beauty. I never took one business class in college and truth-be-told, hardly read any business articles until I accepted this job.

When my first article came back, bleeding in red markups, my editor asked questions like: “How much was the investment?” and “Where did they focus their marketing efforts and how did they reel in the ideal customer in their industry?” and finally, “Well, what is their ROI?” ROI is one of the many ways to measure the success of a business.

Although it may make me look like a total idiot, I quickly Googled “ROI” and figured out it meant “Return on Investment” which is usually expressed in a percentage based on total costs balanced with revenues. Basically, it’s asking: I pumped all of this money into this idea or this business or this marketing strategy, and I got what in return?

But what about return in love? We invest so much of our thoughts, our time, our hearts, our minds, and our bodies into a relationship or almost–relationship, risking the possibility of being totally let down or heart broken, and what do we get in exchange?

How do you measure ROL (Return on Love)?

Though relationships should be pretty evenly balanced, unavoidably, there tends to be someone who gives more than they take. The same is true in platonic friendships, in the working environment, and when it’s all in the family. My role, both as the giver and the taker, has changed in every relationship I’ve been in – but if I’m honest with myself about what role I play most of the time –it’s the giver. While Mr. Faithful put way more into the relationship than I ever did, with Mr. Curls, Mr. Fire, Mr. Fling, Mr. Buddy, Mr. Rebound, and Mr. Idea – I was the one left upset or burned by the ending of the relationship.

So really, the older I’ve become, the more I’ve given – which has resulted in more hardship. Does this mean my ROL has been low? Have I placed much more of my heart and my time into relationships, than I’ve received in return?

I can’t say that choosing the role between the lender or the borrower can predict what someone’s return will be when they take the chance at falling in love. But what you can measure is how you handle yourself when it’s time to calculate the risk you took.

Sure we get disappointed and we feel that awful sting of resentment and of heartache when a relationship comes to a close that’s not on our terms. And yes, we reserve the right to mourn the loss of the end of a chapter, a dent in our hearts (and pride), and the sadness that comes with realizing what we thought would be, will not.

We’re meant to fall in love and fall out of it. We’re meant to be bruised and broken down at times – that is part of life, and that is human nature. Those personal sized Ben & Jerry’s cartons, Nicholas Sparks books and movies, and Beyonce’s “Single Ladies” are successful for a reason. We all feel those rushes of ups and downs, highs and lows, and beliefs and denials – it’s how we process and how we cope.

But it’s after those days of exhaustion and of crying, of hating and of chasing “what-ifs” away – that we learn how much we truly learned. And if we can take some piece of clarity about what we want and how we’ve grown from the investment we put into a relationship, then I believe our ROL is quite high. If we can see the conclusion of a relationship as not the end-all-be-all, but instead the first day of the rest of our lives – then anything we’ve invested or planned for or put into love, goes straight back to us. In that way, we take back our control and our power, instead of giving it away to the person who left us broken.

Every person that has filtered through our hearts, lives, and legs has been there to show us something. I’m under the belief that fate has a magic hand in everything and when a relationship ends, it opens the door to something more incredible, more powerful, and more everlasting: the opportunity to redefine yourself. To fall in love with yourself again and remember who you are, outside of the icky relationship residue you’ve been swimming in. To pick up the pieces, collect your debts, count your losses, and figure out how you’re going to boost up the return in the next quarter. Just like you have to pump some sort of funds into a business to make it grow, to become a better-you, and more lovingly-profitable in a relationship, you have to go through several good and bad quarters before you find your traction.

Because single women (and men) are much like the entrepreneurs I write about – when they fail or hit a rough spot or lose their hope, they bounce back with a fierce diligence…that ultimately, that hope and passion – leads to their success.

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Frankly, I Do Give a Damn

When I start liking a guy – I change.

No matter how confident I am in my career, with my life, with how I look – when I start feeling those little butterflies or sense possibility, I alter myself somewhat. And I hate it.

Now, I’m not Julia Roberts in Runaway Bride who doesn’t know how she likes her eggs, but because I fear losing a guy’s interest or his attention, I almost always become this needy, overly obsessed and ridiculous girl while I’m “dating” or “talking” to someone. In no shape, form, or fashion am I out-of-my-character unless I’m with a dude I’m intrigued by. Instead of keeping up my fierce, go-getter nature, I almost always crumble into someone who is readily available, kind and inviting, and overly easy to get along with.

In my true form (or normal state), I question. I always want to figure out the next adventure. I’m a planner but like random decisions too. I’m bold and brilliant and I am pretty fearless of doing most anything. My friends always select me as the gal who goes up to the group of guys at the bar, and my co-workers deem me the one to be the “bitchy” receptionist when we need it. I am a naturally kind and thoughtful person, but I also stand up for myself and what I believe. I wouldn’t call myself brave because taking risks just comes easy to me. I have this sense that everything will work out and I’ll be fine, so I tend to just go for it.

This mentality holds true in every section of my life except with men. I don’t want to say the wrong thing or act the wrong way or be too disagreeable because if they see this vivacious, argumentative, daring, inquisitive, real me – they may be turned off, intimidated, or just not like it. And then they’d leave.

But why does that matter?

If they don’t like who I am at my core and how I am when I’m emotionally naked – are they even worth my time? I mean, Marilyn Monroe in all of her infinite beauty, says if a man can’t handle you at your worse, then he doesn’t deserve you at your best. But what if they can’t handle you at your best? When you’re the happiest and most in-tune with who you are? Is dating a journalist, a woman, a powerhouse, like me (and all of you) really that difficult? I mean, c’mon!

I’m so tired of morphing into a person I’m not to try and keep a man’s attention. While I don’t think age has much to do with it –I’m sincerely at a point where I’m falling in love with myself, with my life, with my city, and no man has the right to come and stomp all over that so he can remain satisfied. I have wants, needs, desires, and qualities that are just as important as any guy’s, and I don’t want to surrender them anymore. I would much rather be alone and happily single then to be with someone who doesn’t appreciate, adore, and love me for who I am – no questions asked.

In honor of proclaiming my over-the-top and completely ridiculous personality that I will now keep the same, regardless of what man walks into my life, I’ve made a list of some of the things that are important to me. These are things that I normally apologize for or don’t mention because I don’t want to be difficult to get along with. But now, I don’t care anymore.

-If you say you’re going to call, then call. If you say you’re going to text, then text. If you say you’re going to be somewhere, be there. I’m not your mother or personal assistant. Stay true to your word and don’t make me remind you.

-I like wearing high heels. Wait, I love wearing high heels. If this means you have to walk slower, that’s just how it is. I’m a girly-girl and I make no excuses for it.

-I wear makeup. When you kiss me or hug me, it may get on you. I don’t think that’s a bad trade for getting to touch my body or my lips. If you do, move on.

-If I say I don’t care where we go for dinner, I don’t. Make a decision.

-Drinks are not a date to me. Drinks are hanging out. If you want to ask me on a date, be more creative.

-I will compliment you and try and help you work through your problems. I will not support a whiny, depressed funk for very long. Learn how to take care of yourself.

-I may not agree with your viewpoints, but have them. No, it’s not okay for you to be okay with everything. The best of life comes from passion.

-I don’t want to hear that you don’t like your job or your career. You’re a grown-up and have the ability to change it. Life is too short to go to a place you hate every single day.

-I’d prefer not to know your ex-girlfriend’s name. If you feel the need to bring her up or reference to her, then maybe you should give her a call.

-I don’t mind watching sports and drinking beer with you sometimes. That doesn’t mean I want to do it every single Monday night.

-The hard work I put into my figure has nothing to do with you. Running is for me, so stop telling me to run for you.

-I’m a journalist. This means I like questions and I like answers. If you feel interrogated, maybe you should have a stronger back bone.

-I expect you to remember things that are important to me because I’ll always do the same for you. If I say something is special to me, please don’t disregard it.

-I need at least 24-hours notice before hanging out with you most of the time. Sometimes, I’m okay with spontaneity but my days are packed, and if I’ve deemed you someone I want to hang out with, please be reliable.

-Yes, my last name is Tigar. You don’t need to growl at me or sing “Eye of the Tiger” to me. It’s okay.

-Most of the time, I’m very happy, optimistic, bubbly, and full of energy. If you’re not like this, or if you don’t like this type of personality, then ta-ta.

-I’m not incredibly tidy, but I will try to be if I’m in your space. If you scold me for it more than once, I’m done.

-I need girl time and me time. And I don’t need to see you every single second of every single day, but I need to know you’re there.

-If you need an instructional manual to my body, I think we should see other people. Yes, every union is different, but if you can’t kiss at this age, I’m not interested.

-I was raised as a lady and I expect you to treat me that way. Open doors. Mind your P’s & Q’s. I will do the same.

-No, it’s not okay that you cancel plans an hour before we’re supposed to have them. That’s rude.

-Shower.

I promise I’m really a sweet, generous person, but I also need to embrace and enforce my values. I realize that everyone puts their best face first when they are starting to see someone, but being up front about who you are and what you need – is so important. Because if someone can’t put up with me or fall for me when I’m being myself, they aren’t the person that I’m meant for.

So here is to being me, the beautiful mess and everything. Frankly, when it comes to what I want and who I am, I do give a damn.