Tag Archives: Music

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Make-Believe Boyfriends

When I was a kid, I played a lot of make believe.

From cops and robbers with my next door neighbor and Mary Kate & Olsen detectives (forgive me, please) with my childhood best friend to Peter Pan & Wendy with my pre-school playmate – I was always imagining a world outside of my own. And, when my friends and I took a more classic approach and played “house” – I refused to be anything but the girl because well, I am a girl, after all.

I can remember full days of pretending to be something else – a princess, a mermaid, a singer, a movie star, and of course, a reporter. There was something magical and wildly entertaining about escaping from reality and entering into a new realm where I could be free to explore and to capture a persona I didn’t actually embody. Plus, who doesn’t enjoy a great dress up (even today!)?

As we get older, the masks we put on and the roles we play change, and while it’s not make-believe, per se, we present ourselves in different manners depending on what the time or situation calls for. We can turn on happy-and-enthralled while at a networking event, or super-duper professional for work, or pseudo-interested for a date that’s going all wrong.

And sometimes, if we are clever enough to trick even our most difficult critic, ourselves, we can pretend we’re in a relationship when we’re not. We can even call them non-dates and non-relationships and non-love because we’re calm, cool, and collected about the situation. We can even have sex without terms or conditions or without saying the infamous three words or without spoken expectations.

But – in terms of love and well, dignity – is it ever healthy to play make-believe with a man? Or is it better to send Mr. Non-Committal back to where he came from?

I can’t say I’m in the situation where I’m seeing someone I want to call my boyfriend or I want to be exclusive with. But, I will admit, without giving names or specifics, that I’ve dated a few guys that could have possibility in this big, beautiful city. Somehow, though, my relationship with myself is currently trumping all of them. Call me selfish and self-absorbed with this journey, and I’ll nod my head in agreement – but somehow, the getting to self-love is helping me grow in leaps-and-bounds, without requiring a man in the mix.

Though, as I’ve been going on non-dates and kissing non-boyfriends – I’ve thought a lot about the relationships we go through as single ladies that never “technically” (by Facebook standards, anyways) ever become official. Does a lack of a title or commitment make them less important or influential? Or is a label something we place on a courtship because with commitment comes a promise that we can depend on?

I’m not sure if actually becoming a pair as opposed to just mimicking one, truly changes the relationship – but I will say that playing make-believe with love doesn’t result in a happy ending…in the long run. But at the beginning, before happily ever after, I think a period of pretend is necessary.

The reasons for make-believe and dress up in the first place – where it be as a little girl or a 20-something woman – are to test the waters and try something new that you enjoy. How do we know if we will ever be a famous celebrity if we never act? Or how can we be sure we’d accept the princess lifestyle if we don’t give it a whirl in our minds? (I doubt any of us would decline putting on Kate’s shoes, though). The same goes with any new courtship with a dude – if we don’t act like we’re in a relationship, without the title or the supporting documents, we can’t be sure we really want to be part of an “us” with them.

At some point, the talk we all dread bringing up needs to be addressed – but when you’re just starting to get to know someone, why rush? Before I started this journey, as soon as I started remotely liking a guy, I was damned-and-determined to reel him ‘em and put a “taken” bow on his forehead (and profile). I wanted to do everything and anything in my power to make sure he made me his girlfriend so that I wouldn’t risk losing him to another chick.

But now, instead of letting myself get lost in the rush and the romance and visions of our kids and what my last name would be – I step back, I enjoy his company, and most importantly, I just take it slow. I picture in my head and feel what it would be like to be by his side, on a permanent basis, and I figure out if I want to move to the reality of a relationship or if playing pretend for a while is all I really need. While I do want a committed relationship one day, there is no need to be Ms. Committed when I first meet someone.

There is no hurry, no reason to worry – because if during playtime you realize you don’t want to be a fairy princess or a famous musician or a girlfriend – you just take off the crown, put down the mic, and let go of his hand…and go back to you. But if you do happen to enjoy it, while playing make-believe, that magic you feel reminds you that anything is possible.

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Just Because You’re a Bird, Doesn’t Mean I Am

As the taxi pulls around at Columbus Circle, the young woman with long brown hair and piercing blue eyes, looks out the window. When the car comes to a stop, she steps out, her Louboutins leading her way, tosses her hair around and a panoramic view of Manhattan flashes in her stare.

She struts to her high-profile, wildly successful job where she has the corner office, and men answering her calls for her. Her day is filled with important meetings, entertaining lunches, and calls from best friends who are slightly more neurotic and ridiculous then she is. Although, she has her little quirks, has a hard time letting go, and organizes her life to the ultimate degree. Though she may not realize it (or she actually might), her life lacks meaning and she often spends nights tucked away in her fancy apartment in a doorman building…wondering what piece of her existence is missing.  Those who know her best would call her high strung, and someone in her family, a mother, a grandmother, or an aunt twice-removed tell her she needs to just relax.

But of course, she can’t. That is – until she meets him.

This is a guy who she doesn’t like. A man who doesn’t fit into her checklist of required qualities to be dating material. He doesn’t work in her five-year plan or into the space of her heart she’s reserved for love. In fact, he is everything opposite of what she ever wanted. But of course, he’s smitten. He sees her and instantly falls in love with all of beauty and all of the flaws that define her. And even though he as some shady past or a past love who stole away his heart (making him a player of course) – he knows he will overcome it to win this gal’s admiration. This is his woman, after all.

But before he can claim her, something happens.

She is transfered somewhere else. She’s forced to pick her career. He completely screws up. She finds out a secret that makes her question everything. He won’t commit. She can’t believe he is actually different from every other guy. He can’t man up. The love that changed both of them, just isn’t designed by the fates…

…until it is.

He makes a grand gesture or she flies half-way across the world to be with him. She gives up her career for the Harry Winston or he goes back to school to make her satisfied. They both pack up everything they own and move to Africa. Nothing else matters, all other situations and issues are solved, because even if it’s hard, it is all worth it as long as they have the love they share. Of course, they live happily ever after, until death do they part, in perfect bliss and matrimony.

Why, oh why, are all romantic comedies the same?

My friend, S, and I spent an evening in with greasy street meat (but so good!) and two girly chick flicks. Now sometimes, there are no better nights then the ones you spend with a friend you can talk to and not feel guilty about eating food that you know is going straight to your hips. Somehow, if you eat it with someone else, it doesn’t seem to count. Right?

The movies had different leading stars and were set in opposite ends of the world – but the message was exactly the same. And really, the path it took to get from hating-the-dude to loving-the-dude was identical. The women were both highly organized and particular and the dudes, laid back and chummy. But yet, the girl broke up with the seemingly ideal man who she was dating to be with the guy who was from a completely different league then her. That is, once she whipped him into shape and forced him into a grand gesture.

I can’t say a man has ever performed or thought up a big hoopla to win me back, but I have to wonder: why do movies make the public display of affection and admiration, so alluring? Does a relationship have to have struggle and conflict and fights to make it work? Does a woman have to leave to make a man realize he absolutely needs to have her in his life? And, if we do happen to want to give a dude a second go-around – does he really have to do a grand gesture to get our heart strings back in tune?

Is it really about the love letters and the flowers and the chocolates or remembering initimate details that makes us swoon for a man? Do we need to have that drama and that dazzle to leave us dazed and confused, but ultimately – madly in love?

Maybe I’m coming from a place of inexperience or I haven’t read enough romantic novels or watched enough boy-wins-the-girl comedies, but I don’t believe true love should be that complicated. Sure, I know relationships take work and they don’t magically morph into something perfect when situations require compromise and change. However, I’m under the belief, that if after months of trying or weeks of crying and questioning – sometimes a relationship is more work than it’s worth. When it stops being supportive and progressive, loving, and passionate – and starts becoming nothing but a hassle, a harm, and full of  arguments that go on for six-week periods, what’s the point?

I don’t want to be with a man that I have to push to the limits to make him realize he has something good when he has me. I don’t want to have to leave to make him want to stay. I don’t want him to have to think of some beautiful, romantic, gesture that makes me weak in my knees and forget any hostility I ever had towards him or the relationship. I don’t want to be won back, I just want to be The One for him. It isn’t about being completed or about a dozen tulips and a marching band playing “I Want You Baby” as a man cascades up stadium stairs. There isn’t always a boombox outside the window or a single glove on Wollman rink, 10 years after we first met.

I don’t believe that life is like a romantic comedy and I certainly don’t think we should ever measure up men to the characters we see flirting with their leading ladies on the silver screen. Because real relationships may be messy and dramatic, but they are not prescribed by the directors and producers who play on our desire for true love to make millions. Because, as love addicts, or what I’d like to call, hopeful romantics – we will always stick around to the end so we can get a glimpse at a happy ending.

But in reality, that happy ending doesn’t always involve breaking up and getting back together, fighting and making wild monkey sex afterwards – sometimes, it is just about the simplicity of being together. About two people who share the same affinity for events, culture, travel, morals, and values.

So maybe I’ll stop living vicariously through the love stories I grew up watching and continue to rent and go see in the theaters. While I do love seeing the good rejoice over the bad and the guy and the girl finally finding each other – what I love more is thinking of the reality of a real relationship.

One that is about two people who want the same things, and while they may disagree – they never have to declare they are a bird because there partner is a bird. I mean, really?

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I’m Not Ms. Fix It

There’s this common belief that love cures all things.

That once you meet this dream person, that he or she in their infinite wonderfulness will take away every ache and pain, scar and bruise – and you’ll feel absolutely, totally brand new. Anything that was wrong or imperfect before, anything you worried about, or anything that made you self-conscious instantly disappears and because you have this person’s attention and they are giving you unyielding love – you’re fixed.

Now, I haven’t met someone who I could seriously consider spending until-death-do-we-part with, so I can’t say if this belief is true and I can’t completely discredit the late Dr. Karl Menniger when he said: “Love cures people – both the ones who give it and the ones who receive it.” I do believe that love (and not just romantic) is good medicine. However, it’s not a cure-all.

But what I can confirm with total confidence is that I’m no Ms. Fix It. At least not, anymore.

Tuesday night I was walking home after dumplings with Mr. Unavailable (I swear he’s addicted to those things) and I was in a particularly great mood. I usually do not listen to my iPod when I walk because the North Carolina in me is still a little on-guard in her neighborhood, but I was in the mood for jammin’, so jammin’ is what I did. I put my playlist on shuffle and the first song that came on was “Fix You” by Coldplay.

As I walked down my block, listening to the somber words and feeling my boots click against the streets and the wind blow my hair in unattractive circles, I thought of the men I’ve dated, the men I’ve touched, and the men I’ve loved (or all three). And I realized that in every relationship I’ve been in – I’ve tried to “fix” the guys.

Now, this doesn’t mean I tried to change who they were, shape their beliefs, or dress them up how I would like (though, maybe a few times with Mr. Faithful, but that was high school) – but more so, make them feel better. In a way, turn all of their frowns upside down all the time, and anytime they felt poorly about some function or faucet of their lives – I attempted to be the one to change it for them.

I tried to be Ms. Fix It, and though with some I excelled at helping them grow into a stronger, better, and more confident person – with others, I failed miserably. Mr. Idea had a fit for six weeks where he was rather unaffectionate (among other things) and I lovingly called this episode a “funk” and disregarded each and every feeling I had to focus on him and his needs. With Mr. Fire, I  pretended to lose my desire for commitment so I could fit into this box I thought he wanted me in.

I always, always put what they wanted, how they wanted it, and when they wanted it (“it” being a constant rotating wish-list) before what was important to me. In an effort to be the “girl who changed everything” or “the woman who made him a better man” or “the lady who swept away every badness and blessed him with goodness” – I stopped focusing on me and started concealing my dreams.

Now, I’ve already said that frankly, I do give a damn – and that’s still true, but even more so, I realize that I can’t make a man’s world. I can’t make a man who he is. And I don’t want to.

I don’t want to be the woman who swoops down and takes all of his pain and troubles away. I will listen to someone (man or woman) talk about the troubles they experience, the sadness they can’t get rid of, and the heartache that constantly tugs at them – but at some point, they have to get it together and deal with it. Sometimes, you just put your big gal panties on and you force yourself to push through it because it’s all you can do. I don’t want to be the one who jiggles his ego until it feels good or makes him realize his worth.

I would much rather be with someone who knows what they have going for them without me having to constantly remind them or solve their issues so they can reach happiness. It isn’t my responsibility to ensure someone’s joy or the success of their life or dreams by being the one to place them on a pedestal and shower them with compliments. My role, as a girlfriend, a lover, or a friend is to be there when they need me, and of course, to encourage them – but never, ever, define who they are. Or put them back together.

Part of the journey to learning to love myself is be just fine on my single two feet (pun intended). And to of course, fix my own problems. To be secure and wise and independent and value the power I have within to move forward through any situation. At times, I stumble and I fall, and I admit and face my weakeness straight on.  But it is me, in my single-ness, who picks up the pieces and glues them back together. No man-part required for construction.

So, for the next one I get involved with or for the guy I will ultimately marry (or not) – please realize right this very second that I do not come with hammers and nails and screwdrivers. Whatever issues you’ve dealt with before you met me, deal with them, and I’ll deal with mine. When we are both complete and self-assured individuals – then we’ll meet. Then we’ll put our gorgeously chipped but stable whole pieces together and make something bigger than both of us.

Until then, I’ll be just fine here, collecting all of my many shortcomings and chaotic disasters and celebrating the beautiful mess that I am. Because I know, that with or without a love to “cure every inch” – I’ll be perfectly happy just in my own company.

And most liberating, I don’t have to be Ms. Fix It for anyone but myself.

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And The Beat Goes On

I’ve always felt a sincere connection to my heart. Maybe it comes with love addiction or I pay way too much attention to subtle changes – but when I feel something, I feel it to my core. Surely, if there is anything at the center of me, it’s my heart.

And in that heart, the ever-beating, ever-growing heart… lives a lot of love.

I’m a fan of Eat, Pray, Love (more so the book than the movie), and in it, Elizabeth Gilbert says everyone gets a word. This word can change at certain points in our lives or in different places, but this word, at whatever point you’re at in your life, defines what’s important and represents who you are.

Two separate friends, A and R, who know me extremely well told me that my word is “love.” R went as far as to say: “You love your parents. You love your friends. You love your city. You want to feel love, give love, understand love. You love yourself – that’s why you do everything you set out to do, accomplish all of the things you want to accomplish – because you love your dreams. And that love means everything to you. It’s not just romantic. It’s meaningful and it’s yours.”

I’ll admit I’m in love with the idea of love, but I will also attest to the fact that I see love all around me. Romantically or not, when I care about something, someone, some place, some activity, some ritual – I don’t just like it, I fall in love with it. I embrace it face-on, relentlessly, and with the velocity of a wildfire.

And sometimes, that heart opens up to someone who may seem promising. It allows itself to be vulnerable and real, beautifully messy, and extraordinarily human. And at times, that heart gets some cracks in it. Some breaks, rips, and tears from love that was, love that never came to be, and love that changed me – for better or for worse. Those imprints aren’t something that I can prevent or transform, nor would I really want to.

This heart, which will forever find love in all of the places around it, wears those scars with courage. And it also realizes that while Neosporin can’t be applied to the actual heart, when it hurts – some much-needed time and self-support can erase those bruises that once broke it down.

Too many women (and men for the matter) call their hearts “damaged” and declare they will never be able to love again –because it just hurts too much. That whoever it was who took their once-full heart and then pounded it into the pavement, somehow shattered any chance or desire they had for love again.

I beg to differ.

The heart is meant to feel love and it’s also meant to feel pain. When you start feeling those butterflies or the lovely beat of anticipation in a new relationship – you literally can feel your heart inside your chest. And when you’re broken down, let down, and keeping yourself down –that inevitable sting will find its way to you, too.

But the majestic truth about the heart – is that it knows all of this. And more importantly, regardless if it’s felt that way before or been in the same predicament at a time previous, it realizes that this impairment is only temporary.

In time, especially when you allow the heart to open again. When you give it permission to go out on another limb and push your way through the fear and the wounds. When you rip off the band-aid to reveal the once ugly and painful cut that you covered up (for dread that it may get worse), has now disappeared…and maybe only a slight reminder remains.

And learning to love yourself, even with those little and large scars that remind us of the love we shared and the ones we’ve cared for will always be part of us, but…we’re still surviving. Our hearts are pounding and filling us with the breath it takes to keep moving. Our blood is still pumping, warming us and ensuring that we can once again feel it boil with passion again. It goes where you go, it stays alive and vibrant – regardless of the trials fate insists we go through.

When I’m nervous or when I’m afraid, or when that this-could-be-love knot is growing in the depths of my heart – I put my hand over my chest and I feel the beat. I tell myself to go ahead and jump, relax and believe I can do anything. That no matter if I’m single or if I’m married, employed or broke, hundreds of miles away from my best friends or sitting right next to them – my heart, my core, my center – stays in me. It sustains me, gives me hope, and triggers my next move, next chapter, next stage. All I have to do is listen and feel and trust. And even if my heart is grieving or having a hard time believing, I know it’s still beating.

And that no matter who or what comes and goes, that love will remain inside of me. And regardless if it is faint or fierce, the beat will always go on.

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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.