Tag Archives: My Life

by - 7 Comments

A Love of My Own

As he has since the moment I met him, Mr. Possibility never fails to make me think.

He’s the type of guy who knows what he knows, but still seeks advice and listens to other’s opinions. Anything that’s said or shared, while not always carefully thought out, has meaning to him. He is the first in my long list of Mr’s who has fully supported and embraced my writing – something that I always hoped I would find in a mate. He even edits these blogs from time-to-time and emails me with suggestions, to “help me improve.” God bless him, but sometimes I just want to smack him.

Nevertheless, he’s been gone for the last three weeks overseas for business and for me, it has really tested our connection. We stay in touch thanks to the many technological wonders of the world and the lovely perk that his company pays for international text messaging (God bless them too). But of course, apart from the random coincidences where we both have enough time to Skype, I don’t get to see his face or spend time in his presence. And for us, that’s been a huge part of what’s brought us together, and personally, being face-to-face helps me trust in the early stages of a courtship.

While he’s been gone, I’ve had this blessed opportunity to take a step back from the butterflies in my tummy, the lingering smell of him on my clothes, and the anticipation for a night out for dumplings, and really figure out what I want. Because, really, a possibility is just that – not out of the question, not set-in-stone, but yet a chance for something more. And though my love addiction qualities will plead that the decision to become less possible and more definite is completely up to him, my heart knows it is as much my decision as it is his.

In the past, I’ve rushed into a relationship for fear that if I didn’t hurry and nail in the man I was eying, he’d lose interest and be gone before I had a moment to think. But now, for the first time, it feels like I’m going about things maturely and with a realistic attitude, as opposed to an emotional one. I’m not only taking into account what it is that I feel, how passionate and incredible the under-the-sheets action is, what I could see down the road, but also listening to what he says (and believing him), paying attention to his actions and choices, and getting to know him for who he is…not for the idea of him. And by balancing a level-mind with the bravery to let myself start to fall for him, I’ve been able to keep my head above the romantic tidal waves, and most importantly – not lose myself in the ga-ganess that dating can bring. My eyes aren’t closed, nor are they wide open – but they are looking inward as much as they are looking forward.

As I sent him a good-night email from the States, knowing I’d wake up to a good morning one from his newfound temporary oasis, it occurred to me that for once, I felt like I was doing the right thing. And not in a relationship or with a man or with a love that could be – but by my own standards. I’m being who I am (freak outs and beauty and all), I’m standing up for what I believe in, saying what I think, and not changing myself to be what I think Mr. Possibility wants me to be.

I may be my hardest critic and the one person in my life that is the most difficult to impress and appease- but when it comes down to it, I count on me for happiness and for contentment. Others will contribute to different parts of my satisifcation, and some may come and they may leave, be a possibility and then impossible, but at the end of the day and the end of my life, I know I have two feet that have served me quite well. And the person I’ve become, the woman I’m still growing into, is a beautiful thing – and not necessary for transformation for the mere purpose of pleasing someone else. It is the one relationship that I know regardless of the troubles or the ups and the downs, is worth any struggle. To create a love of my own, that belongs to me, derives from me, and is between me, will help me be ready for the love of tomorrow and the love of forever.

But no matter what, no one will ever love me, like I love me. And that’s how it should be.

by - 12 Comments

Sign, Sign, Everywhere A Sign

In high school and at most of the fraternity parties I attended in college – I was always amazed by people’s obsession with stealing road signs. Whenever I would comment on the Yield or the Stop sign serving as decor in their apartment, the new owners of the signs in question would instantly light up and go into detail about the elaborate story behind their abduction.

While I was never impressed and frankly confused by the allure – I will say I’m a sucker for looking for (and often creating illusionary) signs when I’m in a relationship or interested in someone.

My friends who often poke fun of me for being the romantic “wishes, rainbows, and unicorns” type of gal (though I’m trying to come a little above idealistic water) – always tell me that I make anything and everything into a sign. It could be from the way we met, how his hands look next to mine, a shared interest we have that’s out-of-the-norm, how his last name sounds with mine, the words he writes in hidden notes – to how he remembers my favorite flower and when my freelancing article is coming out and how even though I don’t really “just know” – I’d like to think that I could.

And more often times than not, when a real or pseudo relationship comes to a close – it is not really the man himself, the intimate moments I shared with him, or our long incredible conversations, that I have such a hard time releasing – it is the signs. These minute symbolic matters that made me believe that whatever love I was feeling or hope I was having regarding this man were really not signs of fate or of forever – but rather, just coincidences that I gave meaning to.

Recently, I discovered some information about Mr. Possibility that has made me question not only him, but my feelings towards the road we were easily traveling through. While I haven’t decided if it is a deal-breaker in my book or something I can get over quickly – it has made me realize that sometimes, I just read into things too much. I spend more time trying to dissect meaning between the lines, determine what someone really means (instead of taking them at their word), and often times, I make several somethings out of a hell of a lot of nothing.

One of the guidelines I made clear when I decided to embark on this path and the 12-step program to overcoming my self-proclaimed love addiction was that I would make no rules for myself. I was not going to hold back, I was still going to date, I was still going to fall head over heels if the wind blew me that way, and I was still going to live my life normally – because that is what a journey is. There are ups and downs, sometimes you take three steps back instead of one forward, sometimes you have bumps in the road and sometimes you fly all the way to cloud 9 one day (with 30 tulips), and then reality takes you back down to Earth (with a text message that shakes you up).

So, when Mr. Possibility and I met and started to see one another casually, I decided I would continue because it only would make my goal to reach self-love that much stronger in the long run. And though I went about things differently, opened myself up to different ways of looking at relationships, and allowed myself to let go, even in the slightest way – I did revert back to old-Lindsay habits by looking for signs of love, instead of looking at the signs before my eyes.

Because sometimes, even when you’re trying so hard to be independent and carefree, to put yourself before any relationship or man, to focus on the reality instead of the dream – you get lost in making excuses and seeing what you want to see, instead of listening to your gut.

And when you are able to wake up or something is admitted to you that stirs up some not-so-pleasant feelings – instead of looking for the symbolic reasons behind them or how you can curve the news to be favorable, it is time to start creating our own signs.

To know when to proceed with caution if something doesn’t sit well, to stop a relationship or stop an action or stop in the name of yourself (not in love) if you aren’t happy or satisfied.  To yield to what you want as much as you yield to emotions and others. To place a speed limit in your dating life that feels comfortable to you and isn’t based on someone else’s standards. To know how to look for icy conditions ahead and learn how to break with precision and caution, instead of sliding into danger. To look out for the dead end ahead instead of trying out your tires to battle a rocky path to make a road when maybe there was never supposed to be one. To know that sometimes there is only one way to go about something and to not enter when deep down, you know the outcome will only hurt you. That is, unless road construction – not of only your effort, but the man in question’s willpower too, can restructure the route.

And also, to know that even when all the signs point to safety and to “yes” – sometimes you have to be the one to take a step back, let off the gas, and determine what is acceptable for you. To decide if this is a road you want to travel down or if you’d rather turn around and take a left. Because there really are signs all around us and maybe one day when a relationship does work out, when a man is true and trustworthy, when love does last across a distance, and promises are made and kept – we will celebrate all of the seemingly-indicative directions that brought us to this person.

But until then, the best road to take, the route that will give you the most profitable gas mileage, and the clearest conditions you can face – is the path that points directly to you. The signs on that highway will remind you to not stop believing, to let you know you always have the right of way, and while not encouraged, U-turns are allowed, if you so decide to make one.

by - 9 Comments

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!


by - 5 Comments

Toxic Emotions

Twas the night before Christmas and all through the house, not a creature was stirring, except for the young woman home from NYC, hugging a toilet, and trying to figure out if she had bad tacos or caught a stomach virus.

Merry Christmas to me!

I’m a terrible sick person because no matter how independent, how successful, how self-sufficient, when I’m sick- I turn into a big, pathetic, baby. Growing up, when I would throw up or find myself feeling absolutely awful – I wanted my yellow blanket, orange juice brought to me, lots of sleep and cuddling, and to get the sickness over with as soon as possible. I can remember crying as I laid on the floor, praying that there was nothing left for me to heave up, and for me to feel a little less rumble so I could just sleep.

Now, as I lay in bed, water and trashcan by my side, trying to write as coherently as possible in between trips to the bathroom, I notice that for the first time, I don’t want any help. My parents have asked repeatably if they can bring me anything, if they can hold my hair, if they can get medicine for me, or if they can lay with me until I fall asleep. And to each response, I’ve thanked them and begged them to just leave me alone.

Sometimes, when you feel the need to let all of your messiness, all of your imperfections, all of your fears, all of everything in your tummy – the last thing you want is the company or audience of another person. When working through and processing all of our personal toxins – the best place to be is alone.

A huge portion of this journey to self-love has been learning to fall in love with who I am – even when I’m not on my A-game. When I take two steps back instead of one forward. When I allow my insecurities to rule my alluring characteristics. When I blame myself for things that are beyond my control and entirely not my fault. When what I bring to the table isn’t as substantial as what I hoped.

And weeding through the field of self-defeating and destructive mentalities has proven to be a job for no one else but myself. Often times, when we’re entering into new relationships, when we’re dating the trenches of men who come and go effortlessly – we are ignoring all of the muck we need to deal with before bringing someone into the mix.

While it is nice to have someone to pat our backs, tell us we’re wonderful and all is well, and hold us tight until we feel better – unless we sincerely release all that is brewing inside of us – we’ll never make progress in self-love or in romantic love. Because no matter how hard we try to prevent it or hope it won’t come – eventually, those toxins will take over and demand to leave. And more times than not – they will be spewing all over someone who didn’t create them in the first place.

Maybe it is growing up or developing coping skills, or this journey that continuously surprises me –  but even though I can barely keep my head above the covers to type these words, my stomach is as empty as it has been in a long time, and I can’t seem to get warm – I’m glad I don’t have someone here to trying to soothe me. And not because I’m vain or afraid of looking vulnerable – but rather, when dealing with sickness (in whatever form) independently, there comes a sense of power.

A certain strength that makes me realize I can handle most anything that comes my way, that my imperfections are my own and merely needed to be accepted by me, and that if there was a reason for it to come up, I should deal with it in a way that makes me healthier.

And most importantly, it gives me the peace of mind that almost all difficulties and bad chemicals are only temporary – that once all is gone, accepted, and I’m able to stand again, the feelings or the pain that got me so down or made me hug a toilet – were just meant to teach me something.

To help me let go of the icky, so I can find the promising. And for now, the thing that sounds the most beautiful is taking a nice long sleep with prayers that all is gone, and Christmas will be stomach-bug/food-poisoning free.

by - 21 Comments

A Dive Into the Unknown

As a huge adrenalin junkie who absolutely adores all things fast, dangerous, and super-high (heels included) – when I was given the opportunity to go bungee jumping last year, I gladly accepted the challenge.

The experience wasn’t in some exotic land off of a waterfall or a bridge into tropical waters – but rather, just part of the attractions at a North Carolina stupidly-small town that catered to the country-bumpkin in all of us. At the time, I was dating Mr. Idea and it was the only “weekend getaway” he could afford. Nevertheless, I was excited to be with someone who was willing to take the plunge into a large blow-up pillow from the top of a 65-foot tower.

We climbed a winding staircase chatting and mentally preparing ourselves for the moment when we turned the corner, caught a glimpse of the cascading mountains in the distance…and all of the people who looked super tiny below us. We took our place in line, and because it was one of the items on my ever-flowing bucket list, I wanted to go first. Mr. Idea stood behind me, tickling my waist, and pulling me into him – and I noticed a girl, probably around 13, royally freaking out in front of me. After a few minutes of observing her, I gathered that not only was she alone, but she really, truly did not want to nose-dive off of this platform like I did.

I pulled away from Mr. Idea, patted her shoulder, and asked if she was alright. She instantly burst into tears, said her dad was waiting below, and she thought she wanted to bungee jump, but now is terrified. My southern comfort came out as I wrapped my arms around her, reassured her that if she didn’t want to jump, she certainly didn’t have to, and that I was sure her dad would understand what she called “wasting his money” (Had he minded, I would have gladly given him the $25 fee that I paid). She tucked herself away in my chest and asked if I would walk her back down the stairs. Mr. Idea rubbed my back and asked me if I wanted him to wait, and I told him to just go on without me. Now, I was invested in this scared teen.

The closer we got to the ground, the more she started the breathe, and the less she cried and held on to me. By the time we reached the first level, her father had walked up to meet her, and hen she laid eyes on him, she spurted out apologies between sniffles. He just picked up all 95-pounds of her, consoled her, and ran his fingers through her hair. He then thanked me and she waved good-bye as they walked away, seeing me as this stranger who came to her rescue. I watched them leave for a minute before making my way back up the tower, my legs and my heart heavy from the exhaustion. And once I finally made it to the edge and the instructor was checking all my straps and buckles and giving me pointers and direction- I finally realized what I was doing.

I looked down at the ground with crowds watching, including Mr. Idea who successfully completed his jump and was now shouting up words of encouragement. I looked over at the instructor-dude, who did not look very charming or college-educated, or even like he cared too awful much, and wondered if I was comfortable placing my trust in him. I looked down at the many clips and cords wrapped around me and the wires attaching me to the tower and questioned if one of the never-fail contraptions, had ever, well…failed.

Clearly noticing I was spacing out, the instructor asked, “Ms., are you ready to jump?”

Now, nearly two years later, I open my eyes and see myself on a slightly different platform that’s not as elevated, but the stakes seem even higher. My palms are just as sweaty, I find myself searching for intriguing excuses to turn around, and the support that promises to protect me from plummeting – seems a little shaky.

In every dating situation where imagining a future doesn’t seem so far fetched – there comes a point where you feel yourself on the edge of an emotional cliff and you have two decisions: to jump or to leave.

Once you’ve experienced this pivotal call of heads or tails, love or fail – you know what it feels like to be falling for someone. You can feel your lips curling at the thought of them, your mind wondering into their direction, your heart anticipating the next time you’ll see them or hear from them. You can feel it when you’re enveloped in their arms, reading an e-mail written just for you, or when you meet their eyes.  More than likely- your friends and family notice a difference too, and if they are anything like mine, they are inquisitive into the glow behind your beaming cheeks.

And with this realization that you are falling and you know you must decide if the jump is worth the possible destruction – you become scared shitless. (Pardon my language, but it is really the best way to describe it).

Evaluating the risk becomes a personal strategy and mental coping mechansim where you make deals with yourself: “Okay, if I do act like I really do like him, if I do tell him how I feel, and he rejects me – I’ll still be okay. I will still be able to get up, go to work, and make that happy hour on Thursday. I’ll be cool. And who knows, he may even feel the same way! He could be falling too! ” But then, your emotional side takes over and pleads: “But it will hurt!! OMG, Lindsay, don’t you remember what it felt like? You’ll want to go home, crawl into bed, and those 10 pounds are gonna come back with all the cake you’ll be downing. It isn’t worth it.”

But does love or the chance of it, always have to be so black and white? Does it always have to be to fall or to protect? To take a deep breath and move forward or tuck your tail, throw up your flag to surrender? To walk forward or to walk away? To be the girl who needs to be escorted down 65-feet or the girl who takes a step off the platform, no matter how scary it is?

Is it impossible to fall into shades of gray?

I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t falling for Mr. Possibility and I’d also be telling a white lie if I didn’t admit it makes me a little uneasy and fearful for my heart that has experienced a fair share of breaks. But, as I’m realizing with this journey – not everything can fit into one of two categories. Not everything needs a big red bow on it of approval or a scary red “x” of rejection. And in terms of love – where guarntees are never made – falling into the unknown is just part of the game. Plus – regardless if it is in the form of cords and cables, or friends, margaritas, or strangers on tall platforms – we will always have some type of support to back us up if we need it.

So while hesitation is rightfully-justified when we’re about to take a plunge (the instructor had to count to three twice for me) – there is no better feeling, no better thrill, no better rush than the moment where you decide that regardless of the outcome or the final destination, diving into the unknown is less risky than turning around and always wondering…if you should have just held your breath, said a prayer, and jumped in.