Tag Archives: New York City

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The Great Chase

I tend to take nearly everything my mom says to heart — but one particular tale always sticks out in my mind. I have no idea when she first used it as a learning lesson or how the topic came up, but it goes a little something like this:

Before my mom met my father (in a totally adorable way), she dated a man off-and-on for seven years. (Yes, seven!) He was several years older than her, unfaithful, self-centered and manipulative. He was emotionally abusive, always thought he was right and she was wrong, and though she knew he wasn’t the right guy, she stayed around far longer than she should have. Once she finally ended the relationship on her own terms, she came out of it with bruised confidence, no desire to really jump into another relationship and with one regret that haunts her to this day: not getting her Bachelor’s degree. At 21, when that guy gave her the choice between finishing school or being with him, she picked him. She has an associate’s in business, is a well-known astrologer in our town and is now going back to school to be an esthetician, but she often wonders what life would have been like if she had become a teacher or a psychologist. Now (though I disagree), she thinks it’s too late and too expensive to go back and try again.

And so, since I was a little girl, she’s instilled this notion in me that no man would make you choose between what you love and loving him. She made me promise that I’d finish school before even considering getting married and that I would never let a guy control the dreams I decided to chase. I’ve stumbled across old notebook-paper books bounded by string, where I depicted my future life (in crayon) and it always read, “I’ll go to school, become a journalist and then get married.” Yes, this was me a few decades ago.

I’ve been lucky that I’ve yet to meet a guy who ever asked me to choose between my career and him. Instead, they just left before they could grow attached to me. When Mr. Fire and I ran into each other at a bar in my college town before I graduated and I asked why he left, he said that he knew nothing was keeping me from New York and that he couldn’t compete with that. He continued to say that his current girlfriend lets him be the star and that I would always outshine him. Mr. Idea doesn’t like the idea (pun intended) of relationship writing and thinks all things within a union should be private (probably because of his many hangups behind closed doors), so I knew he would instantly balk at this blog. Mr. Possibility was as supportive as he could be, though I don’t trust the opinion he probably shared with everyone else but me. None of these men asked me to stop going after the career I wanted, they just didn’t get themselves involved, or if they started to become part of it, they made their getaway or pushed me to the point of letting them go.

I get it, I really do. Dating a dating blogger can be a lot of pressure, though most men think they’re worthy of a feature before doing anything that really merits inclusion. I understand that a writer’s life is often public, especially if you’re someone like me, who enjoys honesty to its fullest degree, even if that means being vulnerable and descriptive in ways that don’t always shed the brightest light on everything. And while I see the risks I take in writing this blog or pursuing a career where, ultimately, I hope women read what I write and are inspired to accept and love themselves, I would never stop doing what I love to find love. I’d like to think that the person for me is strong enough to handle an ambitious, tenacious and hard-working woman who knew what she wanted and did all that she could to get there.

I’d like to think that most men aren’t intimidated by successful women these days, but that’s far from the truth. I’d also like to think that women don’t judge other women for following a career instead of following a man, but sadly, that’s not accurate either. When I broke up with Mr. Idea, one of my good friends (who is now married), told me that since I couldn’t make it work with him, I probably wouldn’t find the right guy until at least 28 (gasp!). My grandmother (bless her heart) is proud of all that I’ve accomplished, but still asks about guys and babies every time I see her. When something doesn’t work out with a dude or a date goes sour, all of my paired-up pals always reassure, “Don’t worry, the right guy’s out there, you’ll meet him soon.”

If you read this blog, you know that I want to eventually meet someone to share my life with. I’m candid about the fact that yes, I do want to get married and yes, I do want to have children – but I’m also in no rush at all. I’d rather be single for the next 20 years than to settle for someone just because I feel like I have to get married. I knew I wasn’t alone in these thoughts, but recently, this whole thought process was played out on my news feed.

A friend of mine posted this quote from Lady Gaga, “Some women choose to follow men, and some women choose to follow their dreams. If you’re wondering which way to go, remember that your career will never wake up and tell you that it doesn’t love you anymore.” The post received comments, one which was, “but… if you go home and throw a tantrum to your man about work he’ll stay around… if you go to work and throw a tantrum about your man… bye bye career.” And then later, “I hope you haven’t given up on men yet.”

So because she posted a quote that basically said, “Go after your dreams, be who you want to be, don’t follow around a man, don’t depend on a man for happiness” – she’s suddenly given up on love? Quite the contrary, I think. The thing is – if we chase our careers, if we go after those things, whatever they may be, that bring us joy and make us feel like we’re contributing something, then ultimately, the man will be there too. And he won’t ask you to not write about love, to not go to law school, to not make more money than he does, to not be more successful, to not be the star of the relationship. He’ll only ask you to come as you are and let him do the same.

And if you don’t meet a man like that? Luckily, you’ve surrounded yourself with the things you love, built an existence that’s fulfilling and beautiful, traveled to the places you’ve wanted to see, and above all, been brave enough to never settle for less than what you want – in anything.

Especially though, in terms of yourself.

Because men leave and stay, careers grow and they change, but the one constant through it all will always be you. These things aren’t mutually exclusive of one another, as so many believe, it’s just that they don’t depend on each other to make either work. You can have a career without love, love without a career, or a love and a career, but more than anything, you have to have yourself.

And if you can be satisfied that you chased what you wanted instead of following someone else’s direction, you’ll be able to handle the ups and downs of your career and of your relationships. The Great Chase isn’t about a dude or a degree – it’s about always chasing a better you.

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It Won’t Be Perfect

It’s unusually warm in New York this season – the only indication that winter’s near are the white holiday lights and the fact that they glow at 5 p.m. I’m enjoying being able to sport my belted light-weighted jacket for more than a week (which is usually how long Fall lasts in the city), but sometimes, I think the weather is simply reflected more inside than out this year.

After a day of shopping for last-minute gifts and some gotta-have-it-can’t-stand-it buys, I caught the uptown train toward my apartment. Instead of reading this month’s book club book, reading my NBC news app on my iPhone or listening to music, I found myself semi-content people watching. But when the sight of the couple across the cart canoodling and the little girl singing “Santa Claus is Comin’ to Town” adorably to her grandma became all but a bit too much, I turned my attention to a place I hate to go. I started to drown myself in thoughts, though consciously know they are just that: thoughts, not truths, about what my relationship was with Mr. P.

These memories or once-beautifully constructed notions of that man are weakness of my spirit and mentality. They don’t go with the Kate Spade bag I splurged on as a Christmas gift to myself, the faux-fur Vera Wang muff that makes me think I’m classy or the expensive sheets I purchased only because I wanted to lay on something that he hadn’t shared with me. They don’t match my relentless, sometimes irritating (even to me) optimism or the dating advice I give to both those I love and those I’ve never met. They aren’t part of the made up 12-step program that is really a never-ending adventure of learning to love yourself, over and over again, after each and every man who comes and eventually, as they all do but one, leaves. They aren’t healthy for my self-esteem or my waist line, nor do I want them to have a place in any part of my New York story. They don’t correlate with my hopes for the future or the strength I’ve always tried to find in the bad, instead of focusing on all the things I’m afraid to really feel.

Like loneliness. Or feeling terribly alone, even surrounded by my friends. Or longing for someone that really, was never fully mine. Or disappointment, both in Mr. P and in myself. Actually, especially in myself. For believing, even against what everyone thought or said, whatever red flags were waving or what emotional obstacle I was ignoring, that he was something different. That he could be my someone different, that if we had been through so much together, then we’d make it through in the end. Or the pit in the bottom of my throat every time someone asks me about why we broke up (thank you public blog) and I say “it just wasn’t working out, we were in different places” because I know the truth.

The truth that just because I fell in love with him, for him, the idea of him or maybe a great mix of both, it doesn’t mean he had to fall in love with me, too. And he didn’t, so I left to find someone who could.

I get asked a lot how I do it. How everything just seems to work out or how I don’t give up on my dreams or how I have the courage to take chances when so much is often at stake. How I picked up and moved to a place where I knew next-to-no-one and a few years later, have somehow created a life for myself. There was really never any other choice than coming to New York, so I don’t consider myself brave for doing something that just felt natural. I’m hopeful because bitterness doesn’t look good on anyone and I’d rather be sad than to not feel anything at all. I say these things, I mean these things, but underneath the careful illustration of a beautiful life, lives the weakness, the sadness, the fears, the silly obsessions and even sillier fits of frustration that we all have. And that I definitely have, no matter how much I try to conceal with clever word play or under mineral makeup, Jackie-O sunglasses on the train and waterproof Lancome mascara.

Because those parts, those rusted edges, those Adele songs that I’ve practically worn out in the past three months make me ashamed. They make me feel like I’m wasting time and spinning wheels, when I’ve never hesitated or moved slow with any other part of my life. My friends remind me that it only hurts because it meant something, that I will move on and there will be others, that crying is part of healing and it’s just as natural as breathing when recovering from a breakup. I try to go on dates and I fight the urge to call him or text him when something simple reminds me of him or of us, and the days continue on. Some are as brilliant as the cascading street lights I can see outside of my apartment, and others, like today, bring me to tears on the subway that I avoid by staring intently down at my tattered boots.

And it’s nights like this one, where I lay across my bed, typing away because it makes me feel better, drinking red wine because it makes me feel even better, watching the shadows dance outside as I let the tears splash as they should, that I remind myself that it’s not supposed to be perfect. That I’m not supposed to be perfect. That while I might portray myself as the heroine of a sappy romantic comedy cast on Fifth Avenue, I’m really just human. And with that, comes all of the good that I’m so thankful for, and all of the bad that one day, probably, I’ll be thankful for, too. That falling in love with the wrong person is a rite of passage into the great love I hope is in my cards, and that while I may be afraid to try again, I know somewhere deep down, that I will.

That I will love with all that I have, even if it currently feels like it’ll be a little less than what I loved with before. That I will be brave enough to pack away all of those dreams I had for Mr. P and I away in a place that will be pleasant to visit when I’ve moved on and let go. That I will find peace in the ending and beauty in the fact that I stood up for love by leaving because I knew there was no sense in stopping believing. That I will let someone else into the places that barely anyone ever sees, into those parts that I’m ashamed of, of those parts that make me feel weak. That I will be some man’s partner, and for once, he’ll be mine too.

That it won’t be perfect, but because I never gave up on me, because I felt my way through the ways I needed to mend, because I allowed myself to be vulnerable, because I was courageous enough to say that love is possible, it will be. Even if before any of that can happen or before it can matter, it’s going to have to hurt for a while.

And I’m going to have to let it, no matter how imperfect it may feel.

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The Wisdom to Know the Difference

The mirror that I get ready in front of each morning hangs on the back of my door, surrounded by things I love. Photos of people I know and those I aspire to be like, quotes from calendars four years old and fortune cookies that wished me well, notes from my friends and family, postcards from places I’ve never been — they all are taped and tucked in the edges of a cheap white-framed mirror that came with the first apartment I had in New York.

Maybe mementos are as much a part of my design scheme as the color purple, which captures my attention more than any other shade, for a reason I don’t understand (I hardly wear purple!). I like to be reminded of things that make my happy and as a writer, nothing touches me more than encouraging or engaging words of others, or photos that speak more than any blog could detail. One of the items that I’ve kept around since before college is a bookmark my dad gave me when he was sick and could only express himself through gifts — his own voice too weakened to speak. With a fuzzy beaded tassel and a rainbow in the background, it read the serenity prayer: God grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change; courage to change the things I can; and wisdom to know the difference.

It’s most well-known as the mantra of Alcoholics Anonymous, but the hope goes for anyone who is trying to overcome anything — where it be a dream passed by or a relationship gone dry. The latter for me, is the most difficult right now.

I hate still writing about him and I hate more that the emotions that invoke me the most to type on these pages are the ones I try to hide from everyone who knows me best. They are the hidden wounds I only let out at nighttime when I’m alone in my room, listening to my roommate play piano and sing with her adorable boyfriend, wishing that things could have just been different with Mr. P. Finally, I’m mature enough to realize that our demise had nothing to do with me and I don’t blame myself for the ending, nor do I want to return to a dysfunctional, one-sided relationship, but it’s my own thoughts-of-what-could-have-been that keep me awake at night and require under eye creme each morning.

Accepting that you can’t change another person, that you can’t love them enough to make them love you in return, that you can’t hold so tight that they see you as irreplaceable, that you can’t turn someone into a better version of themselves, no matter how many letters you write, emails you send, voicemails you leave or love you make with them — takes serenity. It requires constant mental reminders that you’re worth more, that lack-luster anything is just that – lacking of the beautiful luster that comes from a partnership worth the work. Letting go of someone who never latched on to you emotionally can make you feel like it was impossible for someone to fall in love with you, but that’s when that courage comes in. That’s when you have to be brave enough to realize that while this person wasn’t right for you, no matter how much you believed they could be, if history proves anything, it’s that once we love someone, we can always love someone else. It often gets better and stronger every time around.

But only if we are wise enough to realize the difference between what we can change and what we can’t. In every relationship, it’s the different between knowing you can only control yourself and your actions, not a guy’s decisions and his emotions. And if he isn’t giving you what you want or what you deserve, your only option is to walk away, even if that’s the hardest task of all.

Outside of my favorite pub in midtown east, a tad tipsy from cheap white wine and Blue Moon, I looked inside to see my favorite girls laughing and bundling up in their coats and scarves and then outside to the city that makes me feel at home, and though I was tempted to text the only man I’ve loved in New York, the frustration and the trouble that always comes from contacting him, kept me from pushing send.

Because these women always keep me laughing, these streets breathe new life into me, and I’m lucky enough to know the difference between the things that are good for me and the things that are bad. And since no one I care about would ever try to change me, I can’t expect to change someone I once (and let’s be honest, still do) cared for deeply, it’s not what is best for me or for him. But I can change myself and my perspective – simply by looking at all that I have around me. The serenity is there, if I’m brave enough to look for it.

And maybe someday, there will be a someone who will bring that same serenity, without having to change either of us, at all.

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I Believe a Little Wish For Me

Catching up with a dear friend hundreds of miles away while I painted my nails and did my hair up hipster-style, I smiled thinking of her pretty face and of the sweet memories we shared in college. As we’re spending half our time carelessly bitching and the other half vocalizing our big dreams for the year ahead, she pauses and says, “Everything always works out for you Linds. It always has. Somehow you just make it all work. How do you do it?”

She’s not the first one to say these words to me — it’s actually something I get asked quite often. Some people spend their whole lives searching for what they want to do and where they want to do it, and I happen to be part of the rare group who has always just kind of known. There are dozens of things I’m completely unsure about (and therefore analyzed to death on this blog), but there are two truths that have never teetered for me: I’m a writer who loves New York.

When I’m speaking to youngsters who just graduated and are trying to land their first job, I always talk about the importance of networking, hard-work and being absolutely dedicated to each and every little detail, even the ones that seem insignificant (like writing hand-written thank you’s and such). When I’m speaking to my friends and family who are dearer to me than any career or location could ever be, I credit my success to luck. I often comment on how I just landed at the right time on the right foot and the universe laid it all out for me. I took the opportunities I was given and I kept plugging along even when I felt like nothing else could go wrong. And because I followed my heart, my heart followed me right to where I belonged.

But if I’m honest with myself and with the thoughts I have when no one else is around to hear, what I really credit my happiness and my work to is belief. Regardless of how much of an unstoppable force I was in terms of doing all the recommended strategies to enrich my resume or how many pennies I picked up that signify blessings from the heavens themselves — the thing that kept me going was the fact that I didn’t believe in anything but making it. Even when the world seemed impossible, I believed anything was possible if I kept believing. I apologize for channeling Cinderella here, but my dream was a wish that my heart made, and it was there that I laid my beliefs — if I trusted all would come true because I had it in me, then it would.

And it did.

Love, though somehow seems different — yet scarily similar. Like a career or a zip code, you can work really, really diligently (and strategically) to meet someone who you could be with. There are hundreds of bars, plenty of shared-interest activities, speed dating activities, common friends who know single folk, chance encounters on trains, planes and automobiles, flirty glances across messy platforms and funny conversations with dudes who will never be more than a blinking box on Gchat. And if you seek out all those measures to meet a man, you’ll meet one. If you’re lucky, that is.

That luck will transfer throughout your relationship, too. You’ll believe that because it’s so damn difficult to meet someone of substance, when you meet someone who could be a special something, you keep counting those blessed, magical stars that you met him. He may even tell you how thankful you should be for him and for your love, because only a privileged few get to find the romance they seek on the streets they stroll.

But then as quickly as it all started, no matter how much time, effort or energy you put into the relationship that seemed so inclined with the unquestionable ways of the world, it all crumbles at your feet. You may resent that you wasted your heart on something that never worked out anyway, you may even feel like that same heart won’t feel that thing again. You may start to wonder if the universe has decided you’re not meant to find the infamous One, that instead, you’re just meant to have the career you wanted in the city you chose to live in. And if you try hard enough, if you accept what you think the illusive fates are trying to tell you, somehow you will be just fine, alone. Just fine without having to try again (and again and again) for a love that never seems to be available.

After all, New Yorkers tend to adopt the bitterness rhyme — but me? I’d rather sing a song of hope and move to the beat of forgiveness. It’s easier to give up on love than to believe in it. It’s simpler to shut yourself off from crowds of blank faces that may or may not become faces we love. Especially when the looks you once grew accustomed to, became the same smiles and eyes you’ll only see a handful of times the rest of your life — if even at all. It’s tough to accept that some people are just bad people. Or that they aren’t awful souls, just not the soul that was made to mate with yours. Even more troubling to swallow is that some people are just kinda lost, and if you could, you would find them — but it’s not your responsibility to.

The beauty, though, of an open heart is that you know it can expand to take someone in. And if that someone is wrong, if you believe it can adapt to a new pulse, it’ll let you love again. But you have to keep reminding yourself that anything is possible, even in love, even when you don’t technically want happily-ever-after right now (but someday!), even if you don’t know how you’ll be as unconditional and liberated again, even if hard work and fate don’t always play on your side — it’s your belief that makes you attractive. It’s what makes me have a beautiful energy, it’s what makes me exude positivity and shine when everything (or everyone) is dark.

It was my belief that I was a writer that made me one. It was my belief that New York was home that made it so. It was my belief that dreams come true that I was able to make them my reality. It was my belief that I’m irreplaceable that makes me unforgettable. It was my belief that most people are actually good to their souls that’s made me surrounded by incredible company.

And so today, on 11:11:11 on the day that we’re all supposed to make a wish, I believe this little wish for me: that I will never stop working hard at believing that I’m actually one of the blessed, lucky ones who finds the love I was meant to share my beautiful dreams with in this remarkable city that I adore.

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You Have a Beautiful Energy

Burning up because I foolishly wore a sweater dress without checking the weather, I attempted clever conversation with a boy. It wasn’t my first date since Mr. Possibility and I split ways, but I still felt like I was getting into the swing of things. First dates (and even second dates, for the matter) tend to feel like interviews to me: get as much information as you can without coming across as pushy.

Until now, that is.

Piggy-backing off some bits of advice from my friends who have mastered the infamous New York dating scene, I’ve taken a new approach. I still ask questions, but they aren’t big ones. I let the guys do the conversation, allow them to lead the chat and I just sit back to enjoy my glass of Merlot, while hopefully looking at something chiseled and pretty. I’ve stopped counting on them to cover my bill, so I order what I want, fully prepared to cash out at the end of the night. Of course, most men are still gentlemen and make sure to pay, but I somehow switched my attitude of seeing dates as free meal tickets to perceiving them as the art of getting to know someone.

And this someone sure did know how to talk. He even leaned over to touch my knee from time-to-time. He smiled a lot and he drank his beer quickly. I could tell he was somewhat nervous and that he had allergies, and I saw the red flags popping up all over the place. He still lived at home with the folks, most relationships have ended because women haven’t understood him and his last one ended almost as soon as it started. I take this all in quietly and engage him with follow-up sentences, witty remarks and encouraging glances. I’m not really interested in him as a mate, but as a person or a friend, he seems alright.

Then, at the tail end of a discussion he says: “You have a really beautiful energy about you.”

Though I was taken aback, I thanked him and grinned, quickly changing the subject to something that didn’t rely on my aura, and the date ended with a walk to the train. I didn’t think much of it or him, we didn’t speak again and I forgot that we hadn’t. Then, last night I went on a date with a new guy at my favorite little cafe around the corner from my apartment. He met my not-required-but-really-highly-suggested height requirement and lived close by, so we met spontaneously for a drink and some mac n’ cheese that wasn’t nearly as great as my family’s recipe. The conversation was decent but I found his voice a tad too loud for my liking and his beliefs far too conservative to mesh with my ideas, yet he did the same thing the other dude did, and caught me off guard. As we’re sitting at the corner table, he reached across the table, touched my hand and said, “You have such a great outlook on a life. It’s a really beautiful energy.”

Now, either there is a new dating book for men that I’ve yet to be sent a press release about or a line from a movie that I’m not familiar with or apparently, I have a really pretty energy? What does that even mean?

Being a writer who spews her personal life across the web, my first instinct was to ask my friends, readers and Facebook pals what they thought hearing the same comment on two consecutive dates with different guys, meant. No answer was the same — some said they thought it meant I made them feel comfortable, others said it wasn’t something that could be put in words, a few said it had to do with my bubbly personality and my niceness. Some of my friends agreed with them, sweetly letting me know how beautiful I am. I appreciated their comments and even pinged my good friend K as I wrote this blog, still trying to determine what “beautiful energy” means to a straight, single New York man.

I still haven’t put my finger on it and my thoughts are still a bit conflicted but I think it has almost everything to do with where I am right now in my life. I’ve finally mastered what I wanted to be a pro at, over a year ago when I started this blog: I’m not looking for love.

And so, when I’m out on dates I don’t feel any pressure. I don’t prep or primp for hours or arrive early so I can sit in an area that shows off my best angles. I don’t consider anyone boyfriend material really, because the idea of being in a relationship makes me feel incredibly suffocated. I don’t say what I think men want to hear and I don’t try to get them to ask me on a second date.  I dress in what makes me feel attractive, without worrying if it’s too tight or not snug enough. I don’t fidget or stumble over my words, I just let them come as they are, uninterested if they come across the wrong or the ideal way. I don’t try to make a guy seem better than what he is by turning what he says into something I want to hear, I just listen and heed the warning signs as they come. I don’t interrogate or pry, I let him state his peace and I move on, glad to share my own viewpoint. I don’t have any rules for my adventures, if I want to kiss on the first meeting I do, if I don’t, I don’t. If I want to see him again, I will, if he’s easily forgotten, I won’t.

I’m just myself, without any excuses or intentions. And you know, if that means I have a beautiful energy, then I’ve wasted a lot of time and energy trying to be anyone or anything other than me.