Tag Archives: My Life

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My Mother, The Moon

As one of the most important components of the solar system – the moon controls many parts of the universe. It has different planets pass in front of it, it guides in sailors when they are lost at sea, it brings in the tide and releases it, and it takes on different forms as the days of the month pass by.

Sometimes, when I’m walking through dark city streets with flickering lamp posts, and I feel the ache of longing for my sweet Carolina roots – I look up to the moon and somehow, in some magical, mystical way, I feel connected to the one person who can always turn anything around.

My mother.

Yesterday, my mom turned 50 years old, and we’ve been celebrating her half-century anniversary since I returned from New York. On Sunday, her friends from all over, from all different points in her life – traveled to our humble home in North Carolina to honor the woman who has meant so much to them. The drinks and the laughter were plenty and my mother, with her encouraging sincerity and loving aura – glowed from each corner of the room. And of course, because she doesn’t like to be the one on display or in the spotlight (unlike her daughter), her cheeks and her chest were red when the attention or the toasts turned to her.

Through it all, it only confirmed what I feel towards my mother: she’s not only a woman I admire, deeply respect, and enjoy the company of – but she’s my very best friend. While my dad was sick, when I was going through the ups and the downs with each Mr. – she was always there telling me all is well, and that I can never, under any circumstance, screw up what’s meant to be. She also has always encouraged me to make my own choices, be my own support system (yet know when to ask for help), and trust in the power I have within myself to make my dreams a reality. Not to mention, she’s the queen of the astrological universe and lets me know when Mars is in retrograde, and which signs to stray away from. God bless her, and though sometimes I hate to admit it, the planets can be quite accurate in their predictions.

The older I get, the more experiences I go through, the more lessons I learn, the more grown-up decisions I make, and the more men I weed through – I realize how much I depend on my mom. She is there to field my phone calls, give me all sorts of advice – from finances and futures to sex and sewing – she always knows just what to say and how to respond. We’ve always had such an honest, open, non-judgmental, and empowering relationship and I’ve never felt unsure or unsteady sharing just about everything (and sometimes more than she’d like me to) with her.

Yesterday, after we spend an afternoon shopping – an frequent tradition we withheld before I packed my bags for Manhattan – we were driving back home to prepare for our evening out for her actual birthday, and she said something that struck me in a profound way. We were talking about the different elements of my life in the city, how her priorities and mindset has morphed since I’ve moved, and how we’re both adjusting, and she said, “You know, Linds, I was just like you in my twenties, it is just now, my body is older. You don’t ever really lose that fire – if you’re lucky, that is.”

I laughed along and glanced over at my mom and saw all of her 50-year-old beauty: highlighted hair to hide the gray, anti-aging creme that’s eliminated some of her mini-wrinkles, the mineral makeup she swears makes her look younger, and the necklace that I was so excited to buy for her. And in her face, in her mannerisms, and in her charm – I saw myself…25 years down the road.

Not too long ago, my mom was in my same position – climbing up the ladder in her career, painting the town red with her girlfriends, and wondering where her life would go. She was scoping out the dating scene, demanding her own independence, and making (and effectively breaking) rules in romance and in reasoning. She was wearing the same sorts of clothes I sport and anyone who knew her when she was my age always remarks: “Wow, it is like seeing you years ago! She looks just like you!” When she so willingly shares these words of wisdom and reassures me in my freak outs and crying fits that everything will work out – she’s not just being a consoling mother and encouraging BFF – but she’s speaking from experience.

No matter how old we get, where we live, who we marry, how many children we have, how our hips spread, our boobs sag, our addresses spread further away from one another, or how our girl’s nights out dishing about dating turn into discussing the actual dishes – in our hearts, we’re those 20-somethings searching for ourselves. And underneath the Oil of Olay, the makeup under our eyes, and the blond disguising our gray strands – we’re those same young women remembering the brilliance of our youth, the endless spirits we had that diligently believed nothing was impossible.

With her grace and her integrity, she  helps to guide me in from the storms, with her light that she shines down as my biggest fan in all that I do, and with the support she has to stand behind in constant guidance allowing me to steal the spotlight – is more than just the woman who gave me life. She’s more than a Northern star to direct my path and she is warmer than the sunshine who steals the thunder from the blue skies.

She is my moon – my pillar of brilliance and energy. She is who I resemble now and who I will see in myself as I look through the mirrors in my own home decades to come. But no matter what changes or when she decides to dance among the stars she follows so intently – her ageless beauty and fruitful wisdom, will stay with me wherever I go, as long as I raise my head to meet the midnight sky.


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All the (Uncensored) Single Ladies

Last night, I held a holiday potluck with my friends from high school and college at my house to reconnect, catch up, and share the exciting stories of our current adventures. As guests gradually rolled in, along with the beer and the wine, our conversation turned more towards old school truth-or-dare and the drinking games we all hope we’ll grow tired of, but never quite do.

As we went around the table, each sharing pieces of our most embarrassing, most scandalous, and well, most entertaining moments in recent history – I noticed a very distinctive divide between the couples and the singles.

While the pairs stood or sat next to one another, sharing private conversations, and exchanging glances, the singles were busy mingling with the rest of the party (including my parents who joined in), and they were not being controlled or concerned by someone else. When it came time to answer the questions that sometimes don’t have the most flattering answers or do-a-little-dance to stir up some giggles – the couples refrained from participating and kept to themselves, in whatever alternate universe they were part of in my kitchen. I wasn’t invited and would have declined invitation, if I was.

And while I understand that to be in a successful partnership, you must always think of your counterpart – what irked me was the two friends with their boyfriends (one I’ve known for 13 years, another since day-one of college) – were not acting like themselves. They were guarded. Protective. Holding extremely back. Not being true to the women I know them to be. Hiding the parts of themselves that are so endearing, so powerful, so radiant.

To be frank – they were so censored.

Now – regardless of how hard we try or how much we hope or strive to relate to our lady-friends who are giddily in love or happily wed, there is always a difference in our experiences. And especially in our day-to-day.  Though they may have been there before, walking in our single shoes,  somehow- something changes when you get into a relationship. Priorities, along with viewpoints and schedules, gradually transform as the Mr becomes more prominent, and suddenly every word out of your gal pal’s mouth is about him. I know some coupled women have mastered the art of keeping themselves in tact, but it is a feat for anyone who tackles it.  Believe me, I’ve done this countless times with countless men (which can be found in all the many pages of this blog) – but it is something I’m hoping to correct as the journey continues.

And because of that, because of my progress, because I’m recognizing varying actions and reactions, both in myself and in others – I have to wonder – will I become censored when I meet the next Mr? Or when Mr. Possibility possibly becomes Mr. Definite?

When two become one – does the one that we once were fade away? Do fragments of the supreme single ladies and the fabulous lives we lead while flying solo, become distant memories of who we once were and what we once did? When we accept a Facebook relationship request, when we agree to wear that little (or large) rock on our left hand, and when we sign our name on a dotted line, promising forever – where does our independence go?

And even more so, what about our charm? Our character? Our personality? Our humor? I mean…just who we are, period?

I haven’t been in a relationship since I started writing this blog or since I decided to admit to myself (and to the World Wide Web) that I was obsessed with finding a boyfriend – so I can’t say for sure that I won’t ever lose myself again in a relationship. But what I can say – is that when Mr. Possibility came along, I was more upfront, honest, and sincere than I have ever been with any man.

I laid out what I wanted, what I was doing, what was important, what meant something to me, what I would accept and what I wouldn’t – and I made no excuses. I admitted that I like to be the belle of the ball, I’m confident, but can be needy; I’m a giver, but I can be greedy; I believe in myself and don’t want to be questioned, but I still want to feel supported. And in return, he put all of his cards on the table, too. There was no beating around the bush, no role to play, no mask to put on, and in any social setting we’ve been in, I haven’t hid behind him, and I haven’t censored myself or shrunken my personality to fit into the crowd.

And guess what? I feel better about who I am, my friends are vocal about the fact that I’ve remained ballsy and true to me, and Mr. Possibility respects me….and still likes me. Well, at least, we’ll hope so, right?

After the couples left, all the single ladies sat around, sharing our most recent dating stories, complaining about the men who have not-a-clue what to do, and how we still have that hope for love – and I realized that for the first time, I didn’t envy my coupled friends. I didn’t want to be the lady who had a sub-par evening and rushed home to be with my man. I didn’t long to be the one at the end of the table, doting on my boyfriend instead of catching up with my friend who I hadn’t seen in months. I didn’t wish for a relationship or love or partnership.

Because right there, E, with her most surprising and sexy tales of men she’s allowed into her life and on the brink of a brilliant new chapter; R, with dreams and hopes of international love affairs and letting go of a man who never deserved her; and J, who appreciates being single, but just wishes she would meet one fling to show her having sex can be enjoyable – were honest, free, radiating…

…and uncensored by a man. By even the possibility of love. By being in a relationship. They were just themselves – and that’s the company I prefer over any duo, any love interest, or anyone. Because it is when you can be yourself, when you can show every tangled, tortured, and unattractive feature you have to another person, that you never run the risk of having to censor yourself in their presence. Instead, you just let it all hang out and they encourage you to keep going – just like E, R, and J.

And if we can just capture that mindset and make demands on ourselves to never lose that freedom of expression – we can find that same acceptance, that same admiration, that same companionship…when we trade in our single shoes for a pair of love.

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When You Just Know

When Romeo saw Juliet. When Harry met Sally. When Carrie bumped into Mr. Big. When Lancelot sought Guinevere. When John Lennon admired Yoko’s art. When Minnie was created to be next to Mickey. When my dad laid eyes on my mom across a smoky bar in the 1980s.

Of the great love stories I know and admire, they all began because one element of the pair just knew. Regardless if they had actually met them or not, brushed up against their lips, touched their hand, or heard the sweet rhyme of their voice – they still had an inkling that inclined them to believe that this person, this stranger – was the person meant for them.

There were no doubts – and if any thoughts begged questions, they were quickly shot down by reassuring love. Something in them, something that no one can ever put into words or describe eloquently – made them realize that this was their person, their love, their partner, that missing element and need that had to be fulfilled to find romantic happiness.

Maybe this is the question coming from every solo-lady who ever walked the face of the Earth, while she was searching for self-love and that love – but, how do you know? (Refrain from singing the song from Enchanted, please).

And of course, me being me, it is the question that inadvertently came up in conversation last night.

My mother’s childhood best friend and her husband were over to visit and we all sat around the kitchen table, playing cards, drinking wine, and catching up about our respective lives. They asked about my adventures in the city, my magazine career that’s starting to boom, this blog that’s gaining recognition, and how I was faring becoming a Northerner. They were both incredibly supportive and complimentary, and even though they aren’t part of the North Carolina crew who do not understand why I’m still unwed – they of course wanted to know about my love life.

I briefly touched upon Mr. Possibility and followed up by saying: “But it just isn’t a priority right now – I’m incredibly more focused on other things. If it comes, then I will welcome it, but if it doesn’t, I’m really learning to be fine on my own.” They admired my independence and self-assurance, but then, the man of the couple said “But when it does come along – you know it will knock you off of your socks.”

I replied with, “Oh, I’m sure it will but…” as the Mrs. interrupted me to reaffirm, “It will.  It will knock you off your socks. And you’ll be scared, but it will feel right. You will just know.” I paused, tucked my hair behind my ear, looked down to gain some strength, took a breath and a sip of wine – and said, “But how is it that you just know? What is it that you just know?”

They both grinned, he placed his hand on her knee, she patted his grasp, and he said: “Something just feels so right. Unlike anything you’ve ever felt before. You know you can’t lose it – but unlike with everyone else you’ve dated in the past – you know you won’t. You have the trust that they will just stay.”

I was dumbfounded.

So when we meet Mr or Mrs Right – the fear of vulnerability becomes obsolete? We will have the ability, the freedom, the opportunity to finally lay our guard to rest, dismantle the barricade protecting our most valuable asset – our heart – and allow this incomparable person into our most intimate parts? And we become convinced we’ve never had our heart swell in such a way, our insides be as gooey, or our mind so full of images of not what we hope tomorrow will be, but what we know will be our destiny?

That sounds too much like a fairytale and so little like reality. I mean, is this really how it works in the real world of love? Have I just been out of practice or have I cleverly avoided actually walking into this no-single-woman’s land of finding true, unconditional, completely intertwining loving, bliss?

Or as every engaged or happily married couple (and Michael Bublé, for the matter) will tell me – you just haven’t met him yet. Or if I have, I don’t realize it (though for the record, that contradicts the “you just know” sentiment). And when I do – all of my questioning will cease and all will be well in my soul.

I guess, maybe, they could be right – but before we just know about love, don’t we just know about other things?

In this journey to self-love and truly by supporting who I am without relying on the word or the encouragement of another person – I have found that there are many things that I do just know. I know what I want – both in my career and in love. I know I was meant to write this blog – both for my own sanity and for the sanity of others. I know I had to meet and fall for each and every Mr that’s been in and out of my life. I know that moving to New York City was a transition that was designed by the universe in divine alignment. I just know that my beautiful girlfriends who are there for me through the thick and the thin – give me a peace of mind and security that will always be needed in my life.

I also just know that in due time, I will meet that Mr. Right and he won’t just be a possibility, he won’t be unavailable, he won’t just based on fire or ideas, he won’t be a fling or just my buddy – he will be that someone who is just different.

But even more than knowing I will find my match – I know that in the meantime, I just know myself, and that’s the most important information anyone can ever discover.

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Until We Meet Again

Yesterday morning, as I rolled (or dragged) my red suitcase up and down several flights of stairs on my way to the airport – I took a mini-trip back in time.

Almost a year ago now, I lugged this same suitcase (along with two additional ones) from North Carolina all the way to a friend’s couch in Brooklyn. I distinctively remember stepping out of the cab on my friend’s block and the March air hitting my face as if it was saying: “What the hell are you doing? Don’t you know you don’t have a job? Or a place to live for very long? Are you out of your mind?”

Maybe I was crazy (perhaps I still am) – but somehow, I found myself moving those same three suitcases into an apartment uptown and starting my first day at my job, three weeks later, on April 5. When I think of my journey to New York, I’m often dumbfounded by how, for whatever reason, by whatever twist of good fortune and faith, all that I wanted…happened.

The decision to move to the city wasn’t ever really a choice in the first place. I made my mind up a long time ago that I would live in New York (not a borough, but Manhattan), I would be a writer (magazine first, then an author), I would run in Central Park (except in the winter), and I would find the love of my life.

And I believe I have. If anything challenges me, brings me unsurpassed joy, makes me feel adored and lucky – it is the boisterous and beautiful island of Manhattan.

Leaving yesterday, I felt a sense of dread. Of guilt. Of sadness. Because here I was, leaving my love at such a special time of year. I could hear the city saying, “But Lindsay, don’t you still love me? Don’t you want to spend your Christmas here? Look at how much we’ve been through together, why are you going back to the South?”

Don’t get me wrong, I was excited to see my mother’s and father’s face light up when they see me walking towards them or celebrating the holidays with childhood friends. I could almost taste the sweet tea, the biscuits with honey, and the fried-is-fine-by-me seasoning. I was looking forward to having a puppy to keep me company at night, sleeping in until 10 in the morning, and of course – Christmas morning with those I enjoy the very most.

But as that airplane took off, as I watched the glittering skyline disappear behind the tailwind – it was as if I was abandoning a piece of my heart. While I didn’t tear up, I did sigh and dive into my New Yorker magazine which outlined 20 reasons why I should love New York. I did thoroughly enjoy the issue (as I do every year), and it inspired me to make a list of my own.

So, my dearest love, since I’m leaving you on your own for ten days, don’t forget just a handful of reasons why I adore thee:

1-     At any given moment, you can step outside of your office, onto the train, or just walk down the street and hear a few different languages.

2-     It harbors and caters to the artists, to the dreamers, to the crazies, and those who dare to light up the lives of others. The passionate and determined are the successful.

3-     While the single women may outnumber the single men, it is nearly impossible to not be bought a drink on a Friday night. Hmm – or really any night.

4-     I can go anywhere in the five boroughs for $2.25 (soon to be $2.50, sigh).

5-     Even though it has a bad rep, there is always someone there to open a door, help you carry something heavy, or hold the train or elevator door open for you.

6-     The moments on the train when you see another train on a different rail and catch the eye of a stranger – fully knowing you will probably never see them again, but in that second, you shared a moment that somehow, in a strange way, meant something.

7-     An entire afternoon can be spent in Central Park and there is never enough time to give any museum a justified tour.

8-     If you’re feeling down, upset, discouraged, or just frankly pissed off – walking through an un-crowded portion of the streets will energize you.

9-     Those moments where the city seems silent. And those where it is filled with so much enthusiasm you have to smile.

10- Heels are not only accepted, but highly encouraged and those fashions that were frowned upon in the south, are gladly gawked at here.

11- Heartbreak be damned – there are more than enough pastry, ice cream, cookie, and Gelato bakeries or cafes. Not to mention endless amounts of fantastic wine and interesting people to meet who will force you to forget about Mr. Yesterday.

12- Staring in the city is not only allowed, but supported. And the views, where they be characters or skylines, are beautiful and entertaining.

13- If you have a day where you stop believing in love, all you have to do is look around. There is kindness, compassion, and romance on every corner.

14- You can decide to be in your own little world with headphones and high heels or simply take them off and be welcomed back into the Manhattan universe.

15- The city forgives you if you curse it one minute and apologize the next. Doesn’t even ask why – it just gets it.

16- If ever in doubt, throw up a hand, get a cab, and go home.

17- Possibilities lurk even on buses coming to and from the airport.

18- There are a million and one resources to help you find not only friends, but people who have similar interests and passions that you do.

19- You can play tourist whenever you want and then decide they are the enemy the next morning.

20- After a while, or maybe just a short span, the lights, the wonder, the people, the food, the sights, the experiences – still feel just as magical, but even more so, they start to feel like home.

And that’s what it is. The love I always wished for, the address I used to doodle in my notebooks, the bylines I use to imagine – are not the dreams of a young girl anymore, but the reality of, the home for – a woman. Even better, a single woman, who has the freedom, the opportunity, the brilliance, and the bravery to tackle this location, this decade of being a 20-something – on her own.

Well, maybe not completely alone. This city will always be on my side, calling me ridiculous, yet sweetly reminding me: “You’ve got this, lady.”

And just so you know, New York, I’ve got you, too. And I’ll be back – I may bring you a little sweet from the south to up your charm a notch. Until we meet again…

 

 

 

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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.