Tag Archives: NYC

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Finding (and Un-Defining) a Faith for Me

Coming from a ruthless, unforgiving Southern Baptist background in the heart of the infamous Bible belt – once my mom was old enough to leave the church, she went as fast as she could in her early 80’s up-do and pumps.

Wanting to find a religion that would not only suit the words she read, but the spirituality she craved, she tried all sorts of different options as a 20-something. She dipped her toes into all of the waters her past congregation would have found unholy, and submerged herself into learning what she could about what other people believe and why it means so much to them. By the time she met my father, she was active at the Unity Center of Christianity – where they would eventually marry – and a few years later, when I made my grand entrance into the world, she wanted to place some structure on my faith. And so, like she always had before, she prayed for a sign from God about where to go to find that open-minded, yet not too liberal, mindset she craved.

As the heavens always seem to do, they delivered an unspoken guidance to my family.

And so, I was raised in a tiny-church-that-could on the winding back roads of Western North Carolina. My mother swears the first time we went to look at what would be our home, she drove past this hidden chapel and her bones told her this was the place to give her blue-eyed little girl a proper upbringing. Or as proper as one can get with my low-key parents, anyways.

This Methodist church taught me the basic fundamentals of good and bad, guided me through adolescence, and hosted my piano recitals during my childhood. It was there that I met my very first best friend, became a Girl Scout, learned how to make (and appropriately destroy) sloppy Joe sandwiches, and how to jump rope. The backyard of this church, along with the basketball ring I never grew tall enough to touch, is as familiar to me as the address I still write on my tax returns.

Once I passed my driver’s test, my mom stopped forcing me to attend church. She encouraged me to seek out my own beliefs, figure out who (or what) I wanted to worship, and what morality I wanted to base my life upon. Trusting I was mature enough to handle the exposure of diverse religions and ideologies, she suggested a few different places to give a shot. She even offered me gas money.

And so I started on a pilgrimage to find an undefined faith that fit me.

I attended a Catholic mass, where I learned the art of rising and standing (over and over) and how to respectfully decline communion because I was not confirmed. I tried out a Pentecostal church, where though they seemed incredibly passionate about their faith, I found myself a little frightened by the use of a language I couldn’t understand (and wasn’t convinced they could as well). I visited a Synagogue, where while beliefs are slightly different, they have a certain majesty to the depth of commitment and tradition that other fundamentals do not have (or at least express). I took a shot at meditation in my mother’s meditation room and my youthful, easily-distracted nature kept me from falling into any realm of anything. Unless Ancy Land counts, that is.

Now quite some years later, I find myself unsure about religion. I’m not Catholic. I’m not setting snakes free, unafraid of their poison. I did not convert to Judaism. I have yet to figure out how to meditate, even at the yogi-endorsed locations of the Lower East Side. I am still, technically, a member of the Methodist community- but I do not go to church regularly. Sometimes I feel like I should and I love hearing the bells on my walk to the gym Sunday mornings. At some point, I will attend one of those Gospel services around my Harlem neighborhood  -the fire eluding from them is simply intoxicating, not to mention they gave me free cake last summer.

To be honest, I’m not sure what I consider myself. I hear people toss around words like “spiritual” and “religious” over cocktails and o’dourves constantly, without giving it a second thought. Maybe a byproduct of my mother’s curiosity, but I’ve read countless books and asked people the ideas behind their belief systems and as adults who are not forced into stockings, socks-with-bows, and Sunday-best dresses, how we decide about a being above.

This blog is not about religion. But it is about love. I’m not a theologian, I’m not ordained by any church, or accredited by a university – but if there is one central theme I discovered in my quest to find my own ideology, it is love. The name of their savior or where or how its followers practice their rituals shouldn’t be a question, but rather if they are leading a life that’s based on a belief of an unconditional love. If they have a dedication, an honor, a profound respect, and continuous committment to a love they trust will never turn its back on them. That even when relationships fail, wars are declared -in our homes or around the world, when jobs are lost, when money is tight, when disasters strike that we can’t understand, we can trust in a higher power to be present.

When no one else will listen, when no one else is around, when no one else proves dependable, when no other sentence can ease our troubled mind – something we can’t see, but we can somehow hear and feel, appears.

I do believe in God. But I’m probably not the best devotee and I certainty don’t visit his blog everyday. I feel awkward praying and usually end up writing instead of speaking. I’ve always been more loyal before a test, when I’m scared, or when I anticipate the departure of someone or something I’d like to stay. But on days like today, where I commence in the rules of Lent, regardless of the lack of my Catholic-ness, I can’t help but feel a sense of connectivity. In an odd way I’ll explain at a later date, I think he/she (not sure which gender I’d like to assign to God, if any at all) has a gentle way of guiding my life -through things I stumble upon, from pennies that seem to fall from the blue abyss, and by giving me who I need, when I need them. I’ve felt alone, I’ve been depressed, I’ve wanted to find a man to give me love – but I’ve never felt abandoned  by a power beyond myself.

I’m not sure it is a relationship I can define or one where I give more than I take, yet it soothes me when other efforts do not. I believe that something, more dynamic than a human, and in a place away from this planet, has my best interest at heart. And while I don’t always get those things or those people who I want, I am challenged with accepting the simplicity of my needs that always find themselves met. And the strength I derive from a silent plea or praise in the middle of a busy New York train that lets me know I’m heading in the right direction, and I’m safe.

My sacrifices for Lent – no more Diet Pepsi and cutting back on the makeup – have the intention of making me a better, healthier person in the spirit of Christian traditions. And while I can never be guaranteed the way I lead my life, the decisions I make, or the company I keep will grant me a happy afterlife or an upgrade in my second life – I’m at least going to do this act of love. Not only in the honor of the holy-whomever, but in the name of the better me it is helping me to become.

PS: Jennifer from Cincinnati, OH completed Love Addict’s survey and won a fabulous glass from Lolita and perfume set fromPacifica. Love Addict will be doing another giveaway soon, so make sure to take the survey for your chance to win! Congrats Jen and thanks for reading!

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Walking the Talk

Maybe in the way he looks at you across the table. Or the fact that you’re going to dinner together more nights than you’re not. Perhaps it is the change of perspective, a faster pace parading about town, or how he grabs your hand or touches your face when you kiss. It could be the questions that are asked and the answers that match.

The point is different for every dating couple, but the turn is all the same for the women who gleam across the bed, the coffee shop, or the dance floor at this man who could be something quite extraordinary and wonder: what the hell are we?

When seeing someone regularly, without an official anything to claim, there is always a moment when things start to feel different. When a touch that meant nothing starts to mean something. When shared interests become the possibility for future engagements. When tensions rise as much as they fall. When intensity grows at the same rate as the simple art of being comfortable. When even against your better judgement and the unspoken rules of the dating game, you feel this undeniable urge to bring up a topic of interest that may not be so interesting to the dude who is unofficially yours.

You want to have The Talk. (As much pain, trouble, sleepless nights, and wasted money on alcohol this conversation has caused me over the years, I decide it deserves capitalization. Thank you.)

In every relationship I’ve had, minus Mr. Idea who asked me to be his merely a week in, I’ve reached the end of my calm, cool, and collected rope, decided I was exhausted of being out on a limb, and wanted to grow some roots. Every man brought me to this crossroads at different times, from three months to nine months in, but inevitably, I’d find myself sitting across from him at a diner or laying literally and emotionally naked in bed, asking him if we were together. If what we were doing wasn’t just something to pass the time or to fill innate desires to mate outside of happily-I-do’s. If we were writing the same pages on the same chapters, experiencing the same gradual plunge that effortlessly comes with a healthy love. If his heart, along with my legs, were only open to one another – even if the cap on the pool of other possibilities hadn’t been tightened.

I needed to have commitment. A straight-forward, simply stated, and public announcement orchestrated by the people of Zuckerberg that I wasn’t just a girl on the side. Or a lady to wine and dine. Or gal to shag. I was indeed, the man of the hour’s woman. I needed to know I was his girlfriend – end of story.

Somehow by sealing the fruit of his loins by luring him into couple land, I felt a sense of relief. Even if I wasn’t exactly sure this was what I wanted or he was the one I wanted it with – if I could at least rest easy that he was with me and only me, then I knew the rest would fall into place. With this title, with this monogamous matter, with this guy who turned into mine, I wavered my singleness and secured my insecurities.

But lately, as I think about laying brick below a house that’s already started construction, I’ve reconsidered my commitment to The Talk. Because really, before a talk is to be had or a walk is to be walked – I think it’s important to walk the talk.

So many women – myself included at one point – hate dating. The whole process can be infuriating, frustrating, demeaning, and if you’re lucky, sometimes down-right hilarious. But dating not only promotes sass and confidence, but it also encourages vulnerability. To sleep with someone without a promise of a call the next day, to continuously spend continuous days with one person and dodging questions of togetherness, to invest time, energy, spirit, and life into a someone who may never give you the return you want – is scary. It requires faith in a person who, more often than not, is a new player in your life. It makes you take a step back while motivating yourself to always be taking a step forward. It gives you the opportunity to accept what could be more than you beg to define what is.

And sometimes, what you end up finding is the commitment you wanted, the exclusivity that was signed upon a dotted line or confirmed on Facebook -kinda just happened on its own. Not by having a talk that laid out the ten commandments of this new relationship or by strolling  through Central Park – but by walking the talk. If love is what you desire, instead of talking about it, why not just see if it happens? If it unfolds without a discussion or without placing pressure where added weight could tumble developments from developing.

Now – there are men who don’t want to be in a relationship unless forced and those who don’t know what they have until it high-tails it far, far away from them. Those types of dudes may not be keen to the non-verbal, non-relationship that subtly turns into verbally loveable over time, but instead of using a title as a way to define what something, focus on the man. Listen to his words instead of creating your own meaning out of what he says. Enjoy the countless hours and the company you can’t seem to tire yourself of. Stop wondering where you are, how you got there, or where you’re going, and grip tighter when he grabs your hand. Stand your ground but don’t stand before you’re ready to stand solely next to him – as a friend, as a lover, as everything. Get to know him and fall in like before declaring love in the bounds of you-and-me and only you-and-me.

Because while commitment seems to secure our place in a man’s life, while shouting from the rooftops makes us feel incredibly special, while introducing him as our boyfriend, puts us at ease – a title isn’t foul proof. People cheat. Feelings change. What brought us together can tear us apart. Baggage can outweigh the worth-it scale. Lovers can turn into strangers and strangers into friends. Being a girlfriend means something, being part of a pair pays tribute to the serious level, and being contracted to another person is notably important. But it isn’t everything.

What’s more important than talking The Talk or walking the walk of love, is learning to walk the talk before you have it. Because sometimes, as you’re busy testing waters and enjoying yourself without heating up a discussion in the heat of the moment – you may find everything you ever wanted, strings attached-and-all, without saying a single word.

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The He’s & the She’s of Me

He is the one who showed me what it felt like to make love like a woman. She convinced me that I could, in fact, make a living as a writer. He made me believe that love is never quite what you expect. She introduced me to the miracle that is the Miracle Bra. He made me addicted to sushi. She taught me  to be a best friend, sometimes the best remedy for anything is a little wine and a hell of a lot of nodding along. He showed me everything I never wanted in anyone and how to walk toward something that’s might be worth the risk. She gave me the friendship ring that would remain in each and every jewelry box I’ve ever owned. He opened my eyes and my heart to the exhilaration that comes from liberating yourself from self-imposed rules. She held me steady and made me exhale with a single text message thousands of a miles away.

People have entered my life in a variety of fashions – through a friend, through a class, through a shared interest, through a job interview, through a blog post, through an affinity for Mac Viva Glam #5 lipstick, and even through public transportation. The ways the faces of the he’s and the she’s cycle through my life, some staying longer than others, seems magically planned by a divinity that I can never entertain. By a force, that no matter how I may try, I can never reckon with.

If you ask your mother or your best friend who both try to say the right thing at the right time – they’ll tell you that people come into your life to teach you something and that the higher power of your own belief gives you what you need, no necessarily what you want. And if your fate director is anything like mine, my life always has playful and unexpected turns that makes every experience unpredictable.

Last night, New York was radiating in 50 degree weather, making my blazer, jeans, and high heel trio a hit on the streets. Between the blinking buildings and the waves of sidewalk congestion, an encouraging wind made its way to me. And in a language that only someone who loves the city as much as I do can understand, something spoke to me. It went straight to my core, dismissing any chills, barriers, or worries and it promised me that I’m always exactly where I’m meant to be…

…with whoever I’m meant to be with or without.

Time, sweet, time has a funny little rhyme about it, but I’ve somehow managed to always have exactly who I need, exactly when I needed them the most. Even if at the moment we met, became friends, fell into bed, or had our first date, we couldn’t understand why in the world we came to be whatever we were.

Sometimes that second chance I would have done anything to be given comes in the form of a person I didn’t initially desire or in an opportunity I would have missed if the someone I wanted back, didn’t leave. Those prayers that I brought me to my knees over and over again, desperately needing a solution to the trouble brewing in parts I didn’t know could feel pain – turned out to be best left unanswered. The partners in crime growing up that I surely couldn’t imagine myself without, have become strangers whose name only pops up on Facebook occasionally – but I don’t mind. The miles that seemed to separate me from where I was and where I knew I belonged disappeared in an hour-and-half plane ride that was delayed two hours. Those dreams I dreamed, those men I melted into, those friends who knew my deep dark secrets, those days where the second-hand couldn’t have gone slower, turned into memories signaled by simple reminders in uncommonly common places.

But the trick of it all is to take people for who they are. To realize that only one man will be meant forever, the rest are merely chapters and courses to pass before the final exam. To know that the person who knew you best five years ago, most likely won’t be the same lady who plays the part of best friend in a decade. To be able to see when a relationship, a friendship, or something undefined has run its course, or maybe, is finally getting the fresh start it needs.

To know that time and space, miles and hours are sometimes temporary and sometimes forever. To remind yourself that while your heart wonders if you’ll feel that thing again, if history is an indicator of anything, you know you will. To accept that not everyone will give you what you need or be able to give you what you want – but the good ones, those worth the trials and the work, will do what they can to make you happy. To let people go when they want to leave and fight for the ones you know you’d regret to see walk away. But if they do anyways, rest assured someone else will eventually fill the shoes and perhaps be even better suited to you.

Without certain interactions, each relationship, or the phone calls that lasted for hours, I wouldn’t be the person I am today. People may try to break you, but in so many ways, they make you. Some I may never see again and a few I may be lucky enough to know a lifetime, but regardless, I’m glad to have met them and I thank them for molding me into the woman I am. While I’m not sure if life is a series of fleeting images and experiences that become part of my past faster than they were part of my present – I do know all of the people I’ve met are the he’s and the she’s of me.

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Forever and Ever and Always

Of those topics sensitive to my heart, discussing my father’s past illness tops the list.

Though I may display my love, dating, and sex life for the entire web to find and read, when opening up about what it feels like to watch the man you’ve loved the most wither and weaken for six years, helpless to do anything to help him – is an entirely different experience. Maybe blood runs deeper than water, but I’d like to think the love between a daughter and a father is one no one can really understand unless they’re part of it. Especially when it becomes strained with questions that even the best doctors can’t answer.

There was a time during my sophomore year of college where my mother asked me not come home for Easter break because she didn’t want me to see my father in the debilitating state he was in. Not one to be banned from anything – especially my own family – I insisted on trekking two hours down the mountain, regardless of how bad-off my dad had become.

The next few days were spent in and out of waiting rooms, drowning in coffee, and investing in waterproof mascara. My mom and I shared conversations over a box of tissues and collectively lost about 10 pounds on the worrying diet (not recommended or FDA approved). We found refuge in these quite awful chocolate cake sundaes at the hospital’s cafeteria and one afternoon, as we were waiting for results and the start of visiting hours, I couldn’t help but ask her a burning question:

Mom, why do you stay? I mean, I know you’d never leave – you love Dad so very much, but that isn’t the man you married. We don’t know if he’ll ever get his mind back to how it was or what’s even causing his troubles. What are you going to do if he never gets well? Aren’t you afraid?

With her dark-circles and the few wrinkles she has, she closed her eyes briefly, and I watched brittle tears trickle down her flushed cheeks, and through the sadness she smiled at me. She placed her hand, which is identical to mine, just 30 years older, over my fingers and squeezed. As I usually do when dealing with an extremely emotional experience, I found myself unable to cry anymore, but I could still feel my heart wildly pounding, begging for a reason to stop moving, and I wondered if she could feel the intensity through our grasp. I gave her a hopeful grin in return and with the strength she’s given me since I was a child, I clutched tightly back.

Lindsay, my little sunshine. That’s not your dad in there. That’s not the man I fell in love with, you’re right. But he’s my husband and I love him. I love him even when he’s like this and when he’s better. When I decided to make a life-long commitment to him, I meant it with everything I have, knowing that there could come a time when I’d be sitting here, with our child, wondering about the results of a test. This is my test – the test of my love and loyalty. And even if things don’t change, I won’t leave him. I know he wouldn’t leave me, if I was in there, lying in that damn bed. When you fall in love one day and you decide to get married, make sure you know that you’d stand by him through it all. Because, really, you never know what can happen.

At this time I was 19-years-old and though I had been “dating” guys for four years, I knew I hadn’t felt that kind of obligation to someone yet. I was overwhelmed with balancing my contradicting sentiments toward my dad and getting through the semester, so I didn’t focus heavily on the advice she gave me.

But now, as I experience more and more dating experiences and the occasional relationship, I always hear those words in the back of my head when I encounter someone I could see myself with in a long-term fashion. If I decide to actually take the step from casual to serious, from dipping into different flavors to tightening up a jar of monogamy – what would I do if this person became someone else? If an illness out of their control changed the things I loved the most about them: their dynamic, their energy, their personality? Would I still want to stay? More than the prospect of want, though, would I do it regardless of how I felt or how it affected me?

Can I really love someone unconditionally?

In terms of “no matter what” – I’ve generally believed that sort of love only applies to parent/child relationships. I’m pretty positive that regardless of what I do, what I decide, who I marry, where I live, what mistakes I make, or what I engage in – my parents would still love me. They may not agree with my choices and they may not like my actions, but their love would remain a constant force.

In a relationship that’s claimed it’ll stand the test of time, what happens when something goes wrong? When one partner is weaker than the other? When sickness and health become an actual factor of day-to-day life? Or when someone strays or has an affair? When someone wants something more than what their partner can give them? When one wants to travel and one wants to grow roots? When opinions and desires, like everything else in life, change?

The love I’ve found, partaken in, given, and shared has all been quite conditional. I will love you as long as you love me; I will stand by you as long as you stand by me; I will be crazy about you, as long as you’re not crazy; I will be faithful and true, as long as you never look another’s way. I will be in love with you, but do I love you, for you? And not just for what you can give me, but what we can create and withstand, together?

Before I can love without stipulation – if romantic love can truly be such an unqualified emotion – I need to learn to love myself unconditionally. Because there is no foundation between two people that can completely claim it’s unbreakable or shatterproof. While we may make a promise for better or for worse and truly mean it, what we’re really pledging is “I love you right now and I believe I will still love you, no matter what happens.”

When we decide to full-heartedly love who we are, we ca n promise without prerequisites, without rules to be met, without conditions or terms, this love will make it through anything. Even failed attempts of unconditional relationships with other people. Even when you’re tempted by the fruit of another or faced with decisions that we should never have to make. Even in sickness and health. Even in singleness. Even when love doesn’t seem to be enough, but unrestricted acceptance, is.

Because maybe, the key to being able to love deeply, is knowing that even if your partner becomes a stranger or the roles in your relationship change, you still have someone to depend on. Someone who’s presence is unconditional because it’s part of you. Or really – it is you – no matter what, forever and ever, and always.

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Falling Into Like

Baby dolls and Barbies turned into Backstreet Boys and Bon Bons. Sleepovers and truth-or-dare transformed into cell phones and driver’s licenses. Crushes became lovers. Bubblegum was replaced with Mike’s Hard lemonade. Worries of missing a curfew outweighed stress over class. Kids grew into adults, while parents tried to remain young at heart. High School prepared us for college, but being away for school never prepared us for the big world we’d eventually dive (or be pushed) into. Broken hearts and tear drops intensified into Merlot-induced waves of anger, depression, and hopefully, acceptance.

And like became love.

I can remember moments during middle school, when the boy band or the boy in the band – had all of the power in the world to overtake my every thought and fill up pages in my notebook. Mr. Curls served as the main obsession during my three-year span in junior high and more than I cared about classwork, fitting in with the popular girls who were allowed to wear mini-skirts, or the boobs I wasn’t sure how to handle yet – I wanted this dude to like me. And I wanted him to not only care about me – but I wanted the whole school to know he picked me, he was with me, and no other gal could steal his attention. While today, I’m sure young ladies and lads update their Facebook status at the ripe age of 12 years old, in my time, saying you were together meant you held hands. Preferably down the hallway between class change or at the mall, while my mother waited in the food court for us to finish our “date.” I scribbled we’d be together forever on my composition book, but really – I just wanted to know that someone, especially him, liked me.

If we all stopped focusing on the love, on The One, on how wealthy a man is, how clever or witty he is, how strong his background or his lineage is, how well he takes care of himself, and where he sees himself in five years -would relationships be much easier? What if instead of contemplating the prospect of a relationship itself and determining if there is a future, we just focused on whether or not we liked the guy? And if he liked us?

How have we all forgotten the importance of falling into like?

Of all the men I’ve dated – Mr. Buddy aside – I haven’t been friends with them before we decided to make our relationship official. Whatever relationship we developed was never based on a mutual understanding, share interests, or a history of experiences together that eventually turned into something more. Instead, from the moment I met them, spent a few days getting to know them, or going on dates – I was more or less ready to try out the girlfriend role. The title of friend never interested me and while I may have liked who they were, it was never as much of a priority as my ability to love them, and they love me in return.

Somehow, between being a boy-crazed pre-teen and a 20-something wading through the dating pool of Manhattan, I lost sight of getting to know a person and turned my priority on getting to know a boyfriend.

I won’t discount the importance of passion, intrigue, and mystery when meeting someone who could grow into a partner. We all, regardless if we claim to be interested in the nature and intensity of love, want to have a great story to tell when an outside source asks us about how we met our significant other. Perhaps Harlequins and rom-coms have destroyed our ideas about what encounters should be. Maybe we all believe they should be romantic and by chance, where both parties involved instantly have a connection, and in the very best scenario, one of the two or two of the two, just know the other person was always meant to be theirs. My parent’s story has swayed me into the mindset that a man should gaze at me with endearment, find me the single most beautiful creature he’s ever known, and chase me into the great unknown endlessly, just for a chance to be by my side.

While those stories are wonderful and ever intriguing, maybe a cardinal mistake I’ve made is not taking the time to really get to know someone before I started dating them. To figure out what they are really like, what makes them tick, what brings them happiness, which parts of their personality they hid away at the beginning to entice me to stay, and who they are when they aren’t enthralled with the idea of me, but me as my most honest self.

Though I make a sincere attempt to never regret anything, in hindsight, a lot of unnecessary pain with Mr. Idea and others, could have been avoided if I would have been their friend first. If I would have figured them out before figuring them into my life. If I would have taken a step back and made an effort to determine if they are someone I would chose as my friend, before being faced with the decision of having them as a mate.

I’m well-aware we don’t have the opportunity to control who comes and who leaves our lives, or how we feel about them from the initial meeting – but instead of ruling out all of the maybes because they don’t have that spark or that thing that I’ve always thought I needed, perhaps I should try being a friend. Try falling in like before I let myself fall in love.