Tag Archives: NYC

by - 3 Comments

The North Meets the South

Surrounded by a green wonderland, mountaintops flirting with the bubbly clouds, and the sweet Southern sunshine turning my office-colored skin a simple shade of pink, I stopped rowing and I listened. In my kayak, caked in mud and refusing to remain idle even in a non-existent current, I felt the motion below and heard the songs of birds in the trees and watched the dragonflies swarm near me. A few feet above, a fish bubbled to the top of the river hoping for food, and a yard or so behind me were my parents and Mr. Possibility. I had purposefully rowed far ahead, going with the pull of the water so I could have a moment to myself. A moment for…

…quiet.

I’ve always taken the serenity of my hometown for granted – especially the old dirt roads that learned to ride a bike and then a car on. I never took time to lay in my bed and watch the Oak trees blow in the wind or notice how the lines in my mother’s face fill in the sun. Or how my dad’s skin glistens at the height of day, scarred and beautiful from hard physical labor and fire fighting. I never saw the ironic peace that comes from mud squeezed in between your toes or a trusting butterfly that lands on your arm as you move.

It’s funny then, how each time I’ve returned to the South for a visit since I traded tractors for subways, I’m told how much more calm I am. That I’m more relaxed. That I’m quieter. While I’ve transformed in many ways, I don’t really think I’ve eased up – if that was the case, I would never make in Manhattan. However, I do think I appreciate North Carolina far more than I did when I lived here. As they say, you don’t really know what you have until it leaves or you leave it.

And so when I come home, when I sit down my bags and I don’t have to think about my metro, keeping my wallet close, walking with ambition and confidence, budgeting money and carrying my god-awful heavy laundry bags a block or two, I release it all. I do relax. I do become quieter because I’m not forced to speak or to hustle-and-bustle with the best and the worse. When I’m home, I  conquer what I always hope to do from time-to-time in New York – I master the art of just being.

It’s not just in the physical sense either, but it’s a mental unwind, too. I don’t worry as much, I don’t overthink, I don’t think about my weekend plans or wonder who is doing what and if I want to go. I don’t question if I’m spending the night with Mr. P or if he’s staying with me or how we’ll survive in an un-air-conditioned room for a night.

Of course I shouldn’t worry about such things while I’m on vacation – though if we’re honest, if I was truly on vacation, would I be writing this blog? Let’s hope not. But if I could capture the sweetness of the quiet I find here and bring just a little bit (under three ounces so I don’t have to pay $25) to New York – maybe I would be more peaceful. Maybe I would let things go easier, maybe I wouldn’t hesitate in my decisions but have a warmth about them, maybe I’d actually have a tan instead of spending far too much time indoors. Maybe I’d find less reasons to be angry and frustrated and more reasons to be happy and thankful. Maybe I’d spend more time enjoying right now this minute, this afternoon, this day, and stop fretting that tomorrow will work out how I’ve planned it to.

If the fierceness of the North met the sweetness of the South – what would happen? Is that what I am? A little bit of both, with one growing exponentially and one waiting in the wings of yesterday? I’m not a Southern Belle and I’m not a Manhattanite – so who am I? And how do I keep both part of the me I’m becoming?

by - 8 Comments

An Unjustified Title

I can’t tell you how often I’m compared to Carrie Bradshaw. It’s practically an everyday occurrence now. While I’ve been home, my mom has even introduced me as her daughter, Lindsay New York, who writes just like Sex & the City. I am a fan of the show and of the first movie (second one wasn’t for my age bracket) and I do take it as a compliment, but I’d like to think I offer a more realistic view of a writer than someone who writes one column a week, lives in the UES in a fabulous one bedroom with a closet full of clothes and shoes that total up to way more than her rent.

But I digress.

This trip has given me the big ol’ dose of relaxation that I needed, some quality family time, and fun adventures with Mr. Possibility. It’s also challenged me to accept that fact that I’m in a relationship. You see, it took some encouragement and several months for me to admit to the blog that Mr. Possibility had become more than a possibility. Each time I’d see a friend who reads this blog, they’d ask: “So when are you going to say that you’re not…well, single?”

I’m going to meet everyone’s accusations and refer to S&TC, but I’m with Mr. Big on this one – I don’t like the word “boyfriend.” It just sounds way too…young. And referring to Mr. Possibility as my boyfriend just doesn’t have the ring to it that I’d like it to. And unlike Carrie, I’m not witty enough to respond cleverly and deem him my manfriend, nor do I like the sound of that either.

And this week has been full of introductions. Though it may seem like a big step to bring him home to meet the family, it was more a matter of convenience – there was a wedding I wanted to go to, I wanted him to be my date, and why would we waste money when we could stay for free? The decision was simple and the vacation has been pretty seamless…except when it’s time to claim him and really give him a title.

Why am I so timid about it? Why does it feel odd sliding through my lips? Isn’t this what I wanted? I did start writing this blog because I had obsessed about needing and wanting a boyfriend. So now that I have one, why does calling him as what he is seem so out of character? When asked by my friends, my family, and friends-of-the-family about my boyfriend, why is my initial reaction to dismiss him?

I think it boils down to some pretty huge differences that have happened over the course of this step-by-step journey to self-love. First and most importantly, I’ve done a lot of growing up, a lot of forgiving, a lot of detoxing, and a lot of re-evaluating my wants, my needs, and my fears. I’ve really learned more about myself and accepted myself for all that I am in the past nine months than I have in my 20-something years on this planet. And so now, though I have a boyfriend, though I do care about him tremendously, he doesn’t feel like the end all be all. He doesn’t make my sun rise and he doesn’t balance my orbits. He’s part of the light in my life, but not the light of my life.

And then there’s how much our story differs from relationships I’ve had before – in ways I’ve described and in ways I’d never dream of putting on these pages. We developed a friendship, we grew romance at a steady, relaxed pace. We took the time to get to know one another and we let things happen instead of forcing them. We didn’t rush, we didn’t overanalyze, and we didn’t place pressure where points could burst. We treated whatever it was that we had with care and in return, whatever we had turned into whatever it is now.

But I don’t want to scribble his name on notebooks. I don’t feel like I always have to hold his hand when we’re walking. I don’t have to tell the whole world that he’s mine for him to be mine. It’s not about being together as defined by traditional standards or by Mr. Zuckerberg’s updates that makes me comfortable with him – it’s just being around him that puts me at ease. And of course, the exclusivity factor is nice, too.

It’s not that we’re too old to be labeled as boyfriend/girlfriend, it’s just that I don’t think those terms are justified anymore. They are used so often and so haphazardly that they seem careless and insincere. I think partner is the preferred title. Because he stands by me, I stand by him. We’re friends and we’re more, but more than anything, we’re partners. We get each other, we get along, and we get what it takes to keep us going.

And introducing him as “Mr. Possibility” instead of “My boyfriend, Mr. Possibility” is better because it shows that we’re partners, that we’re together, without using the same word I’ve used since kindergarten. I mean, isn’t it time to switch it up? To grow up? To be a partner and not just another gf?

I think so.

 

 

 

by - 2 Comments

Why I Do The Things I Do

My mom has this way of attracting ladies with magnetic personalities. Her gaggle of girlfriends is eclectic and intense, always laughing, always sharing, always discussing, and always formulating. I’ve always been intrigued by her network, and when I visit I often find myself gladly in their company and energy. Tonight was no different when she invited me to go with her to the Women’s Wisdom Circle – a group led by her friend C.

Leaving Mr. Possibility to have dinner alone with my father (the house and the two of them survived, though the bottle of Tequila did not), mom and I had dinner at our favorite Greek restaurant and a few glasses of Cabernet before taking a seat of wisdom. The group aims to raise questions and to get women to ask themselves basically the premise of this blog: if we know thyself, then doesn’t everything fall into place?

Each week has a different topic of interest and this week, the group chatted about motivation. Specifically, what motivates you to keep going?

We all had a moment to ourselves before sharing our thoughts, and as I sat there, pen and clipboard in hand, trying to answer this question for myself. Playing off of the very little I know about meditation (that’s the next step), I pictured myself back in New York, lying in the bed I bought with money I earned from the job I go to everyday. I thought about how I feel each morning, when the alarm goes off earlier than I want it to and my body is tired from a night of unsettled rest. I thought about the routine I practice when I’m not on vacation and how each day gets started.

What makes me get up?

Is it my iced coffee and egg-and-cheese wake-up wrap from Dunkin’ Donuts? Or my morning commute that is always filled with interesting people and ample fodder? Is it penning articles and updating websites and writing this blog? Maybe it’s my wonderful group of friends or my possibility or the combination of all of the above?

I couldn’t really decide and at first, it worried me. Does nothing really motivate me? Do I not have anything in my life that gets me going? That pushes me to move forward? Do I just do things for the sake of doing them? Because I know I should or that I think that by doing them, I’ll get somewhere else? Or find someone? Or get something in return?

Why do I do the things I do?

Chewing on the end of my pen on loan, hoping the owner wouldn’t mind, I circled the room with my eyes, searching for answers in the faces of a few strangers, a friend and my mom. They all read differently and they spoke about what drove them in different ways: “my morning coffee”, “my pets”, “I feel lazy if I don’t”, and “I have a need to be productive”, among others. When it came my turn, I spoke hesitantly because I noticed a big difference in my response compared to the others. Also because I was at a different point in my life, all of the women were over 40, a few retired, some married, some with children – and here I was, the visitor from the big city, daughter of the very lovely, open-minded and radiant woman, in my 20s, not hitched and without a child. Was I really about to say what I truly felt?

That the reason I got up each morning was that I’m happy?

And if I think about what motivates me to give each day a chance, it’s the fact that it is a new start. A sunny beginning. It’s the fact that if I get through today, if I give this 24-hour span my everything, if I work hard, if I believe in the goodness of life and in the brightness of my spirit, then tomorrow will most likely come. Perhaps not guaranteed but quite likely, it will arrive. And with tomorrow, I’ll be one step closer, one moment nearer to the pieces of my future and of my dreams that I’m still piecing together. That dream job down the road will be in sight, that home I hope to build, that love I want to find, and that byline I long to see, those will be closer if I decide to turn the alarm off instead of snooze. If I decide to shower and throw the covers up on my bed, pick out a pair of kicks to battle the city with. If I decide to smile and have faith in the divinity of what is it be and to have peace with the days that came before. Those days where I decided to do the things I’ll do today.

And I’ll do  the things I do because I’m happy with the me I am. And excited for the me I’ve yet to meet.

For more information on Women’s Wisdom Circles, email C. 

by - 1 Comment

A Real Relationship

I’m a pretty relaxed traveler. I don’t over pack but I pack enough. I’m not afraid of missing my flight but I’m perpetually way too early. I don’t set my plans in stone but I always have a general idea of what I’d like to do. Most of the traveling and exploring I’ve done, I’ve done alone, so globe or stateside trotting with someone else is just about the only thing that makes me a little nervous.

Mr. Possibility and I have been through a lot together and I’ve known him almost the entire time I’ve been writing this blog, making the process of learning to love myself, with or without a guy that much more complicated. I was specific when I started this journey that I wasn’t going to make any rules and I wasn’t going to stop dating if someone happened to fall into my life that I was interested in. Most literally, I just about fell into Mr. Possibility’s lap on that sunny afternoon nearly nine months ago.

And here we are today, preparing for our first trip together, attempting to put the past behind us and set out into the adventure that is a relationship. I haven’t been in one for a while and the last one (Mr. Idea) wasn’t exactly sunshine-and-roses, but with Mr. possibility, it was nearly impossible (pun intended) to not give it a go. There’s something about connecting with someone on such a personal basis that even if there wasn’t chemistry or passion or sex or all of the above, you’d still like who they were as a person, all other things aside. That’s Mr. Possibility for you – a good guy. A guy who gets me, who makes me laugh, who doesn’t try to hold me back, who encourages my dreams and is pretty dependable.

He is many wonderful things or he wouldn’t be with me – but one thing that he’s not is organized. I’m not the cleanest person in the world, trust me. Neither is he and that not-so-winning combination has caused some sticky situations in the past. But when it comes to preparing to go away or getting my affairs in order before leaving home for a week, I start to think ahead…well, ahead. Mr. Possibility doesn’t quite think in the same way, or rather if he does, he’s far more relaxed about it then I am.

I’ve had my suitcase packed for two days, an idea of what time we have to get up to be there in enough time, and our itinerary, including our rental car information and flight schedule printed. I’ve packed magazines I’ve been dying to read (and one for him), formulated a few blog posts so I wouldn’t have to stress on vacation (but I’m bringing my laptop, can’t help myself), and came up with a list of things I want to do. Mr. Possibility, on the other hand, didn’t start packing until right now, is stopping by a friend’s birthday party when we have a 6 a.m. flight tomorrow, and I’m finishing up laundry so he’ll have everything he needs.

Needless to say, perhaps, there’s been a little tension.

A big part of a relationship is compromise and accepting someone’s idiosyncrasies. I know I have ridiculous traits and I also know he has his, but if we can both learn to relax, to take a step back, and remember why we care – instead of what annoys the hell out of us – then we have a chance at a great trip and at a great partnership. I probably packed too many shoes and will be a little flustered if I don’t get to see some of the things I want to see, and Mr. Possibility could run away screaming from me if I ask him one more time if he has everything he needs – but I take him for him. He takes me for me. It’s not perfect and it’s not supposed to be, but it is life and this is a real relationship. We can’t escape reality, even if we are going on vacation.

I’m still coming to terms with giving up the single status but I’m excited about taking a trip with a man. Even if he happens to be the sort of man who is standing in front of me, asking which tie goes the best with the suit he wants to bring and neither of his options match at all. Did I mention we’re leaving ten hours? And his suitcase is empty?

Sigh.

by - 1 Comment

Not-So-Instant Gratification

At 1 p.m. today, unshowered, covered in dust from our old floors, my clothes spread out about my bed as I haphazardly packed for my trip with Mr. Possibility, I no longer could ignore my hunger pains and decided it was time to eat. I scrounged our kitchen, attempting to put something together that would resemble a meal, but I couldn’t find anything that fit my fancy.

I was still pretty full from an evening with my good friend M, where we drowned ourselves in a family-size $10 bottle of Merlot, a hunk of Brie cheese, cheap (and gross) crackers, oranges, and icing. The icing, though, only came until later, when frosting the cake we made, realizing we had far too much décor and not enough cake. But eating icing with your fingers sounds reallllly good when you’re had far too much wine.

Glad I didn’t have a hangover, I considered ordering in sushi when I saw a carton of eggs. And suddenly, I decided it was time for me to learn how to poach an egg. Since I moved to NYC, I discovered brunch which means I discovered Eggs Benedict and Eggs Florentine, which means I now officially love poached eggs instead of scrambled.

As anyone my age or generation does, I Googled “how to poach an egg” and found an easy step-by-step guide. I looked around to make sure it was the best way and to verify the methods with other sources and then when at it. Within ten minutes, I had two poached eggs, a piece of toast, glass of orange juice and Hulu cued up to watch the ANTM Season 16 I missed.

Excuse me for being overly cliché (isn’t the first time, won’t be the last), but to play off Staples: that was easy. And often, doing what I want to do, learning what I need to learn, and getting to where I want to go is really that simple. Mainly because of Google.

Intrigued by Google’s effect on my life, I went back through my search history and found the following:

“The Vow” movie, was it first a book?

How many calories in Brie cheese?

Cheap vacation packages to Greece

John Edwards indictment

NYC restaurant week 2011

Airline checked baggage dimensions

“My Hearts Will Go On” lyrics

Elephant necklaces on Etsy

Asheville Nature Center

How long do you let a cake cool before frosting?

Women and vitamins

Submissions for New York magazine

Now, these terms are only from the last 24ish hours and don’t include what I’ve searched for at work. Basically, anything I’m interested in, anything I’m curious about, anything that I need to know, or advice I want to read – I use Google. I have a few trusted resources/website that I will always come back to but the majority of my Google traffic is just random. Whatever pops in my head, I type it, find what I need to know, and move on.

It’s instant gratification. And I’m used to it. So why would I think in a relationship, in dating, I’d want anything other than that? Or maybe the better question is, why would I think instant gratification is realistic when you’re in love?

I don’t think it could be any further from the truth, actually. Sure, when you first meet someone or you go on a few dates, the tension is high and the chemistry is brewing. But unlike a computer that does as you say, gives you what you want when you want it, people aren’t like that. You can’t push a button or say a phrase and get the response you want. And maybe, you can change the terms you use or ways to approach the question and see if you’ll craft a new response, but most of the time, you’ll just end up irritating the person who already answered you once.

Too often we search for what we want to hear with guys. We throw out lines, we try to bait them into saying the words we think we need to hear, and we hope they’ll be everything we them to be. But men aren’t Google. They don’t give us a collection of personalities and we pick the one that’s best for us. Instead, they are one person and though they may change, if you can’t accept them and what they think for who and what they are, then you’ll find yourself going in circles, searching and searching for something you’ll never find.

And instant gratification isn’t what it’s cracked up to be in love. Sometimes, actually, the dial-up speed gives you the chance to really get to know someone. And months down the road, you may discover you are satisfied, you are in fact happy, even if it wasn’t gratification at sight.