Tag Archives: My Life

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Our Greatest Fear: Mr. Disappear

Once upon a summer mid-morning, I met a guy at the retail store I was working at in between freshman and sophomore year of college. He wasn’t outlandishly beautiful – more like the Southern-traditional type with light-hair and light-eyes, and a little twang to make him a tad-bit sexy.

Being the go-getter gal I am, I approached him, and as he watched me casually drop subtle hints of my attraction – he responded by flirting in return. Within ten minutes, he had my name and my number, and a date was soon to follow. Let a few weeks pass by and Mr. Disappear and I became an item that was syndicated by Facebook and everything.

While we lived two hours away from one another, the fireworks bursting between us were too intense for us to ignore, so we vowed to just make it work. I made the first trek to his town and we enjoyed a weekend of snuggling, kissing, and going on mini-adventures to restaurants and amusement parks. All the while, he showered me with compliments and long lists of reasons why he adored me. In the weeks that followed, we spent countless hours on the phone, constantly exchanged text messages, and he did what he said he would do when he said he would do it.

I was a little afraid (alright, maybe a lot) of falling for him, but I allowed myself to because he gave me no other indication that I should do anything else. I accounted my fear of crashing to old emotional wrecks I’d barely lived through – and deemed that he deserved a fair chance.

So, we moved forward with the relationship – easily, forgivingly, and ever so openly. We never had sex and never took it too far, but I could feel the walls around my heart crumbling, and though my barricade was faltering – I felt protected by the promise he made to me in our intimate moments.

One weekend, he was supposed to come to my college town to spend a few days with me. My roommate was kind enough to go home Friday through Sunday so we could have the whole room to ourselves (remember dorm living?). Unknown to Mr. Disappear, I had planned on finally doing-the-deed with him because I felt comfortable enough to trust him and knew that giving that side of me to him, would feel right and feel wonderful with my newfound confidence in our union.

On the Friday he was to arrive, I had a class until 12:30 in the afternoon and we had planned on him being outside my residence hall around 1 p.m. As soon as my professor let us out, I sprinted towards my room, while my friends in the same lecture called out after me “Have fun!” I opened the door, automatically changed into sexy lingerie and put on a tight wrap sweater dress that showed off my every curve. I added some extra curl to my already-wavy hair, touched up my makeup, and dabbed a splash of my expensive, luxury perfume in selective places. A friend of mine who was over 21 at the time had supplied me with a six-pack of Mr. Disappear’s favorite beer, which I had stashed in my mini-fridge to surprise him with – so I checked on those to make sure they were getting cold.

I finally got around to looking at my phone and realized I hadn’t heard from Mr. Disappear yet – so I sent him a text making sure he was alright, while silently saying a prayer for his safety traveling up the mountain. Then, I sat down at my computer, checked my email, and then my Facebook. I noticed I had a new message, and never one to let any inbox get cluttered, I automatically opened it.

When I noticed it was from Mr. Disappear, I swear I could physically feel my heart break. I read through the message quickly, which was easy because it was simple and short, and read: “I’m not coming this weekend. I’m sorry, I can’t. Don’t hate me.”

My first reaction, of course, was to call him. Shaking and my heart running away from me, I dialed him and his phone was shut off. I called him again, and it went straight to voicemail. Then, I started to panic and my stomach turned into deeply embedded knots –and I called my mom. When I heard her voice on the other end, I completely fell apart and any sentence I tried to make was indiscernible. The only thing she managed to say other than “Breathe” and “Calm down” was “Come home.” In haste, I threw a random assortment of clothes, my cosmetic bag, and one pair of shoes together, and rushed out to my car, tears violently splashing down my cheeks.

I’m not sure how I made it home without crashing, but the minute I reached my driveway, I ran into my mother’s arms, felt my body collapse, and then headed to my room to sleep. And sleep is what I did all weekend. I also called him several times in the day and night throughout the weekend, and his phone never returned on. He also didn’t respond to a text or to any Facebook messages. When it was time for me to head back to school for a newspaper meeting on Sunday, I blocked him from my account before I drove, and with a sullen-stance and sweatpants on, I made it through deadline without crying.

That night, he called and gave me a range of excuses that included “I just wasn’t ready for a relationship” and “Things were moving too quickly” and “You’re just too wonderful for me” – all of which did nothing but make me more depressed and angrier. I replied by calling him a coward and to be honest, we haven’t spoken much since.

I wouldn’t include him on a list of men I’ve loved or men who have meant the world to me. But he did have an everlasting effect and it is one that this journey is attempting to rid of. I’m sure this issue is rooted from more than Mr. Disappear – but in my book, he’s the one who intensified it.

I’m afraid of being left. Of being abandoned. Of letting myself love without boundaries, without hesitation, and with the fruit of hope – and then having this person I trusted with so much…just walk away. And even worse than breaking up with me is completely disappearing to the point where it feels like I don’t matter, like anything we shared, or anything that was special and unique…was really just an illusion. Just a dream that turned into a cruel nightmare.

Ever since Mr. Disappear, I’ve had this irrational (but maybe rational?) fear every time I start liking someone new that they will just get-up-and-leave. That for whatever reason – that I will become not “good enough” or things are will be “just not right” or “I’m not worth staying around for” – and then, any investment I made into the relationship would become obsolete. The men who followed Mr. Disappear did everything in their power to reassure me that they would stick around through the thick-and-the-thin, the good and the bad – but to no avail, I haven’t been fully comfortable with a man ever since. Even if Mr. Disappear wasn’t a man who I loved, he was a man who left – and as great as love feels, when someone decides to leave, it hurts to the same degree.

Going through this journey, I’ve discovered how many people, men and women alike, have this fear of abandonment and I believe it’s due to the fact that to be in love, to feel magic, to explore relationship-territory, you have to be vulnerable. You have to let yourself take a risk and you have to trust in the unknown. But just like a child learns not to touch a hot stove after they’ve felt the initial sting – once you’ve been burned once, you’re hesitant to extend your hand out again.

I’ve also realized that no man, no blog, no woman – can make taking that dive any smoother. I’m still going to hold my breath, bite my tongue, and take a while to let someone in. I’m still going to have an alarm that goes off in the back of my head that begs, “Well what if you never hear from him again?”

However, this step process to gain self-love has taught me something about listening to my rational side instead of my emotional one. And when that fear of being left enters my mind, I think: “Alright, Lindsay – so what if you never hear from him again? Would your world come to an end? Would you go home crying to your parents? Would you put your life on hold?”

And now, at my age and in my city, the answer to all of those questions is no. Because I’m no longer that 19-year-old girl who wants nothing more than to be loved by a guy who she was smitten over. I no longer make a man the center of my world. I no longer depend on a guy to bring me fulfillment and happiness. While I would be upset if certain dudes disappeared – I know myself better and I surely know what I deserve in terms of love, and thus, while I may crack, I won’t be broken.

Because no matter what – even with a ring, even with a title, even with saying those damned three little words we all desire – nothing is guaranteed. A person can always leave. But if you’re lucky, and if you’re smart – you know that regardless of who comes and goes, who breaks promises and who keeps them, at the end of the day, at the end of the path, there is always one person who will never leave you. And that’s yourself. So, if you can depend on that constant, on that relentless love, then you can go forward to the next partner, the next fling or even The One – and know that if they do decide to disappear, you’re still never alone.

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A Post a Day to Keep the Love Addiction Away

With New Year’s on the foreseeable horizon, I’ve been thinking a lot about what my resolution will be for 2011. In many ways, I feel like this blog is one giant promise to myself to…well, love myself endlessly. If that isn’t a resolution, I’m not quite sure what is.

However, in years past, I’ve resolved to not go on a date for three months (so I stop freaking out about being single), take a cooking class, spend more time in prayer, or of course, the old classic of to lose weight. I wouldn’t say I’ve ever had a weight-problem, but my figure has definitely changed over the years and for the first time, I can honestly say I’m very happy with how I look.

Part of the reason why picking “dropping 10 pounds by March!” is not only a popular resolution, but also a prescription for failure is due to the fact that dieting isn’t really what makes a person healthy. As the all adage says, you really must change your lifestyle and your eating/exercising habits permanently to see consistent and worthwhile results. You can’t just cut out sweets and carbs until you see a little fat slide away – or you’ll just watch it all sneak back up on you faster than it left.

I think the same goes with my love addiction and journey to self-love. Furthermore – I think it is the hardest part to accept.

I’ve had a few close friends and some readers ask me a few simple questions: “Well, what happens to the 12-steps and to the posts if you do get a boyfriend? What if you meet Mr. Perfect-for-You before you complete everything?”

Well, that’s quite the question, isn’t it?

I can’t technically write a blog about the experience of learning to love being single and love myself sans a man, if I am in fact, falling in love, right? If I become part of a “we” instead of just a “me”. If I am not struggling with wondering if any dude on this planet will ever find me irresistible and irreplaceable because I have someone whispering those anything-but-nothings in my ear every night. If Mr. Unavailable suddenly becomes Mr. Available, or I happen to stumble across or be swept away by Mr. Princey-Poo.

But something I was very specific about when I started this blog and still hold true to three months after writing a daily post is that I’m making no rules for myself. I am not limiting dating, nor am I putting a complete stop to negative thinking. I am not giving myself a deadline for when this blog ends or when I complete all of the steps. I’m not against meeting the right guy or being in a relationship – but my attitude, or should I say, my dating lifestyle – has to shift. Part of the reason I didn’t place restrictions is the result of realizing single isn’t a stage, it isn’t just something we “get through” – but a part of our lives that’s necessary for growth and for strength. Being single doesn’t stop your life, it progresses it. So why put anything else, even love, on pause, or shift your life completely, just because you’re a solo lady? Instead – why not just change yourself?

If I’m going to ween myself off obsessive thinking, worrying about being single for the rest of my Earthly existence, and putting myself down – I have to literally change who I am a bit. These habits have grown into dirty little pests and to rid them of my daily life requires me to resolve to be a new person and be a better woman. The reason I decided to solve these issues is not due to a man telling me I needed to or to beef up my resume or make myself more alluring to the opposite sex.

I simply did it because I had to for my own sanity and to progress myself as an individual. And in many ways, this journey is like losing weight – I have to shed the reoccurring beliefs and languague I was using that caused me pain. And to do this, I can’t just go on a ” dating diet” for a year or six months or four years until I find my husband-to-be. Instead, I have to make trusting positive reinforcements and engaging in an empowering attitude towards embracing myself for everything I am and everything I’m not – a normal routine.

Even when the day comes when I exchange vows with someone, I still want to be in a place of self-security. I still want to have strength and confidence in myself without someone else validating or reassuring me. I still want to speak to myself with words that are loving and promising, instead of self-defeating. I still want to be my greatest fan and my best friend. While the 12-steps will ultimately come to an end, the journey to self-love is a lifelong adventure that I will continue to trek through – even after marriage, babies, menopause, and retirement.

So, what if I do get a boyfriend? Would a boyfriend break my progressing healthy self-image? Would it ruin my self-proscribed: a post-a-day that keeps my love addiction away, medicine? I don’t have a prospect in mind currently, but if he happens to cross my path or lock eyes with me on the train, I won’t look away. I also won’t pursue. Because the focus isn’t on him or getting to a place in loving myself so I can finally meet whoever this dream-man is. He isn’t the prize at the end of the game or the victory to be won through all of this hard work. He isn’t the pot of gold at the edge of the rainbow or the breeze that follows a good thunderstorm.

No, the beauty of the journey isn’t in it one day stopping or meeting my “goal love weight”.  It is rather in the fact that it really…never ends. Because love for myself doesn’t cease when I start loving someone else. It actually, just grows more.

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A Man of His Word

As a journalist, it’s my responsibility to get under people’s skin. This doesn’t always mean in a negative way, but to get a story or to get the best angle – sometimes you have to ask a lot of questions. Even more so, you are drawn by this idea that there is something more than what people initially reveal and it is your job to evoke those concealed emotions out of them.

And usually, I do a pretty good job at interviewing  by fiercely, yet kindly, easing out information that’s below the surface. Because of this so-called “talent” – I’ve been pretty successful in my career, but I’ve allowed this skill to throw me off course in relationships.

Why? I don’t really take a man at his word.

He may say something, but as far as I’m concerned – it goes in one ear and right out the other. Maybe even more destructive, I tend to hear what I want to hear and heed red flags until I have to pull out my white one and surrender. Somehow, even if a guy has laid it all out there for me – the good or the bad or the very ugly – I’ve questioned it. I’ve debated it. I’ve wrapped it around my head three or four times and drawn my own conclusions instead of taking what he’s promised or said at face value.

As I’ve described, I’ve met Mr. Faithful, Mr. Fling, Mr. Fire, Mr. Idea, and Mr. Unavailable over the course of my dating history. Now, I’ll admit that men (and women, too) sometimes promise things or relationships or feelings or promises they can’t fully deliver. I think at our core, we all want to do right by those who make an impression on us, romantically or not, and I highly doubt anyone goes into a committment thinking “I’ll break this one day, even though I said I wouldn’t!” If you do, I suggest you stop reading my words and seek serious help, alrighty?

Nevertheless, if I go back to these dudes, all of which have left and continue to leave distinctive impressions on my soul, and think about the words they’ve used to describe themselves or their intentions – I may have saved myself a little heartbreak if I would have listened. If a guy tells you right at the start that he isn’t over his ex-girlfriend and isn’t ready for a relationship: that’s what he means. This isn’t a line he uses to pick up the ladies or a vulnerable side he pulls out to distract you from seeing that he truly, honestly, just wants to meet a woman who will lick and heal his wounds. He doesn’t want this woman and this woman isn’t you, so why put yourself in a situation where you seek a man who is unattainable?

Or if a guy tells you he wants to have sex – or rather doesn’t say it, but only calls you at midnight when he’s had a few too many – that doesn’t mean he magically falls in love with you after an orgasm. It means he came (pun intended) to see you for a specific reason and goal. And sadly, if a guy says he worries about breaking your heart or hurting you, he does actually have a soul, but it’d be in your best interest to walk away before his premonition comes true.

I won’t say there are not exceptions to these ideas, but I’ve learned, often the hard way, that sometimes you can learn so much more about the person you’re falling for if you catch yourself and start really listening, instead of projecting. Because anyone can put on Mr. Right’s cape and ride in on a horse with a bouquet full of tulips,  if we rent the stallion from a stable, hand the dude $30, and give him a sword and a script. If you project an idea on a man, instead of seeing him for his true-blue colors, all you will see is your reflection.

Now, as I’ve said trust is one of the most important building bricks in the foundation of a great relationship, especially the one you have with yourself but also with a partner. And as far as love is concerned, if you don’t truly listen to what someone is telling you, you never can develop that security or promise that’s required for an everlasting union.

And step one to gaining trust both in myself and in the men that I date is opening my ears and closing my mouth and imagination.

It also means that when a great man with a kind heart comes along, I must be able to turn the same token around and realize that if a man says he’ll be there – I have to have enough courage to take him at that word, too. If I forever let the bruises of the yesterday cause harm to the love I’ll grow today, then there is no opportunity for prosperity tomorrow. Just because one man lied, or I decided to construe my own meaning out of his words, doesn’t mean they are all one-in-the-same.

Possibly though, even more strenuous than accepting a man who will never love you in the way imagined or learning to gradually open up your heart that’s been shattered more times than you’d like to count – is also learning to listen to yourself. To the words you put out into the world and into the ears of men whom you’d like to accept as your boyfriend on Facebook (even with the new annoying interface). Because if you accept a man at his word, in return he will accept you at yours – thus making each and every single thing you say, so vital. If something isn’t okay or isn’t fine or doesn’t feel good or makes you uneasy or feels like settling, you have to stand up and say: why, yes, I frankly do give a damn about that.

If I want to meet a man who I can trust to say what he means when he says it and be a man of good word and honesty – I have to be a woman of the same principle. Because what is the use of language if it isn’t dependable? If we couldn’t trust in what we read and  in exchanged sentiments from page-to-page in the magazines or pillow-to-pillow with our lover, would we ever get anywhere?

That is, anywhere other than subjected to below-the-fold and in the corner, or crying in the shower (where we need not worry about mascara), wondering: “why didn’t I just listen to him from the get-go?“

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When Venus and Mars Meet on Earth

I’ve tried not to make general assumptions about men or about women in this blog.

I feel like each of the sexes deserve as much credit as the other one and are about as different as North Carolina and New York City. Men deal with issues that women will never be able to wrap their head around and vice versa. I’m under the belief that unless you have sincerely walked a mile in someone’s shoes (where it be high heels or dress shoes or no shoes at all) – you can’t really say with certainty how it feels to be someone else. While there is a sincere contrast, and sometimes I’d like to pull my hair out and bang my head up against a wall to understand what a man is thinking – men are welcome in my clubhouse, and though some have cooties, most are at least tolerable to be around.

However, even though I recognize there are innate distinctions between the dudes and dudettes – I will admit that going into this journey, I was under the impression that it was only women who dealt with my self-proscribed love addiction.

I was convinced it was a woman’s issue to freak out not only about the duration between text messages, the unanswered and unreturned phone calls or dating a man who seems to be allergic to commitment- but also get upset and worried about the fact that, we are, in fact, freaking out. Because women aren’t really supposed to lose their cool – or at least in front of the guy they are dating or hoping to be exclusive with, right?

Furthermore, I was also under the assumption that it was just women who fed or played into the nagging voices in our head that constantly ask annoying and self-defeating questions like “Is he really out there?” “Am I wasting my time with Mr. Not Right?” “Should I go back to him, even though I don’t really think he is it?” or “Are all men really just jackasses?”

And while I’ve known and dated men who want families and marriages one day, I was even more confident in my belief that women are the ones who spend time analyzing until-death-do-we-part, and men spend time mourning until-random-sex-do-we-part.

I realize these notions are sexist and shed a very unpleasant light upon all of the men of the world, even when I know in my heart that there are great guys out there who often get overlooked. But recently, as he usually does, Mr. Unavailable opened my eyes to a side of the male population that I didn’t know existed.

We were walking about in the city, laughing and sharing stories, when we got on the topic of love. To be honest, it is something we talk about frequently since the whole foundation of our friendship is the result of diviluging some personal and recent heartbreaks with one another. Nevertheless, on this particular day he discussed a guy in his hometown who was once a successful banker in the city, then moved back to Queens, and does something-or-another for the chamber of something. He is also 40-plus, never been married, and childless.

After Mr. Unavailable described this man to me, he quickly shot back with “I just hope I’m not that guy one day.”

In the conversation itself, I of course eased his fears and promised him he would never end up without a Mrs. or a bulky resume and a house full of kids. While I was sincere when I said that to him, in the back of my mind, I was recovering from a state of shock. Here is this guy who is absolutely wonderful in so many ways with an incredibly bright future ahead of him, and he’s worried about finding a lady to love, and to love him in return?

Is he out of his mind? There is no reason under the sun that I would ever picture this man alone in the long-run. Sure he’s banged up and bruised and moving forward – but no one stays knocked down forever. And especially not someone who has not only drive and talent, but a kind soul and a positive aura. Not to mention, good looks and an independent, adventurous spirit.

As he’s talking about something else and I’m effectively getting lost in my own thoughts, I realize – wait, a second: didn’t I just describe myself? I have all of those alluring qualities and things going for me. I’m not a hopeless case, nor am I the only one, apparently, who has doubts and intense fears about happily ever after. (Though I’m still question what exactly is the before, the after refers to, but I digress)

Sure, I’ve heard all of my girlfriends at different stages in their lives and even now, share all of their apprehensions about love, but there was something different (and rather refreshing) about hearing it from a man. Because while Mr. Unavailable is a special person, I know there have to be other guys in this world and in this city who share some of his same anxieties and perplexities. And if that’s the case, maybe there is some hope, right?

Man or woman, gay or straight, married or single – we all just want love. And we want to never question if we’ll find it in this vast universe and endless sea of fish to bait, but just have the confidence that when the time and person is just-right, it will all fall into place.

So maybe, instead of placing labels on the emotional side of a relationship that dictate what’s a man’s responsibility and what’s a woman’s to lose sleep over, why don’t we come from the same understanding? Maybe women are from Venus and men are from Mars, but can’t we just meet on Earth and give each other love?

 

 

 

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All Because of Me

It determines if a response is “Yes” or “No”. It is why people place their personal investments into stocks and shares they have no idea if they will ever make their money back or not. It is responsible for both marriages and divorces, depending on when it comes and when it leaves. It is why lovers love, strangers shy from other strangers, and people of every religion rely on something they’ve never touched or seen. In not only it’s most fragile and purest form, but also in it’s strongest and utterly dependable articulation, it has enough power to bring the most independent of women and the most profoundly confident of men…to their knees.

It is trust. And simply put, it is what makes the world spin and crash on its axis.

So much of life is dependent on the notion of trust and whether or not it is broken or in tact. If we’re confident in whatever needs our faith, then all is well with our lives, but if a crack disrupts that rhythm of our trusting nature – nothing short of hell breaks loose. This isn’t just true for relationships, but in friendships, families, traveling, finances, religious affiliations, and so much more.

In my history, my trust in others has been questionable to say the least, and it has been shattered more times than I’d like to count. I have felt and believed in a love that I thought would never leave…and then watched it walk away without any consideration to stop. I have had faith that a job I thought was so perfect for me would certainaly call me back…and then heard the words “we went with someone else” on the other line. I have thought that the man I trusted more than any other in his species would always be there for me…and then I’ve watched him crumble under forces larger than I could put into words.

But of all the disappointments I’ve experienced, the most difficult and the most painful of shortcomings have resulted from losing trust in myself. Because when you turn your back on yourself, you have no one to blame, no one to lose faith in, no one to support you, and no one to get angry at, other than your own reflection in the mirror. That feeling of failure and that degree of back-stabbing is something that seems near-impossible to repair and requires a high degree of prayer to change feeling intensely numb to even barely breathing again.

If I think about it, though, all of our most important recoveries and decisions, frankly, are about living on a prayer.

And praying is something I’ve done quite a lot in my lifetime. Regardless if it’s about the man that I’m falling so hard for and I beg the universe to protect my heart, or if I’m stepping on the plane, alone, to a place I adore without a job, without a place to live, or any real plan. Or about beating my best mile time or about getting home safely when Manhattan’s streets became darker and dangerous. Or just for a peace of mind, a miracle to heal my pride, and my step to get a little more kick in it.

But more than anything, I pray for the ability to rely not on someone or something or the heaven’s divinity and endless guiding light -but to trust in myself. Because with trust comes love, and if I’m attempting to reach self-love and faith in my capabilities and life, I must depend on who I am and what I can do. Without trusting myself, above all other people and things, how can I expect to commit to someone in the long term? If I can’t say “I believe” to myself, I can’t say “I do” to my Mr. Right.

Maybe it isn’t necessarily this journey or this blog, but possibly just living in New York that’s made me so much more independent and reliant on myself as an individual. Sure, there are days when I’ve lost more than I’ve gained, given more than I’ve taken back, and loved more than I’ll ever be loved in return – but there is still nothing, to date, that compares to the sound of my heels clicking against the pavement when I walk home each night.

When I leave the office that pays me enough to stay, finish writing a blog that’ll brighten someone’s day across the world, open a door for a person I’ll never see again, and unlock the entrance to the home I’ve made for myself – I feel that faith grow a little stronger. And though I will stomp all over it at times and sometimes doubt my talent and gumption – all I have to do to get a little strength is open my eyes and look at what I have. Because the fact that I live in this city, can call myself an actual writer, can smile at the life I’ve created is all due to a single belief.

And that belief is just in myself. All of this, all that I have, all that I love, all that I’ve done is not due to a man, due to an address, due to a job title, but every single bit of it is all because of me.