Tag Archives: Relationships

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Last Single Girl Standing

Waiting for my doorbell to ring the day after New Year’s, I anxiously anticipated the arrival of one of my dearest best friends, M. We were ordering cheap Chinese, exchanging Christmas presents and catching up about the 10-plus days we spent apart – something we never, ever do except during the holidays.

She’s a girl who is as much fun as she’s dependable and honest – always giving you the support you want with a side of healthy reality that you need. We’ve been through the trenches together, had a knockdown, drag-out, three-hour-long fight in my bathroom — telling each other what we really think — helped each other move and build furniture, pick the other one up when they couldn’t walk home (whoops) and brought pizza when a breakup was enough to break us. New York has always felt like home to me, but it wasn’t until I found my partner in crime – and for sharing margs and guac weekly – that I really felt like I could settle into my city. There’s something about having a best friend that lets you let down your guard and know that even if the guys suck, the job is tough or the tummies pooch – you have someone who will love you unconditionally, make sure you get over yourself and remember how great you are, too.

Maybe it’s my hidden jealous side that I try to keep at bay or just the fear of losing something that’s precious to me – but I was nervous about M coming over that night. I knew we’d have a great time because we always do – yet I also knew I was about to receive a piece of news that I didn’t quite want to hear. And not because it was bad news (it was in fact exciting and amazing) but because I knew it would change things.

You see, M has always been my single friend.

The gal who encouraged me to dance a little more, stay out a little longer, give that short guy a chance or walk out of a date if it was bad (and meet her for martinis after). The one who would let me analyze everything to death and talk it into the ground, and then match my stories with ones as terrible as my own. If not more awful at times. The one who was there to swap our silly dating troubles, edit each other’s online dating profiles and talk about how weird it’d be when one of us got a boyfriend.

And weird it is.

I haven’t met her new beau — we’ll call him Mr. Bear — but I’ve never seen her so bubbly and giggly, and yes, because it’s M, a little uncomfortable with the whole thing. Since I knew it was coming (something in my gut just told me so), when she arrived — grinning from ear to ear — I went for it head on:

Do you have a boyfriend? I quizzed directly. Coyly, she tucked her hair behind her ear and nodded, Yes, I have a boyfriend. He asked if it was for real — and it is!

A real relationship is exactly what she needed and though she’ll hate me for saying it on this blog – something she’s been wanting for a while. She’s flown solo for a long time – five years! – and I knew her bright, shining “one day” would come along sooner than later. I also knew it’d take a special guy who could be tender with her while also challenging her in the way that keeps her intrigued. When we were tipsy off of wine one time – we made predictions about the guy we’d date next: she said my guy would be one of those goofy, slightly nerdy, but handsome and tall and unbearably kind kind of guys. I said she wouldn’t like her guy right away (she didn’t care for Mr. Bear at first), but that his charm, his sweetness and the way they connected would bring them together. And make her eventually give in.

I like being right – but I can’t lie that when my suspicions of her new relationship were confirmed, I felt a little disappointed. Maybe disappointed isn’t the right word per se – maybe more like: Oh god! I’m the last single girl standing! What if she disappears into the couple nook and I don’t see her for months because she spends so much time with him? What if she changes from the outgoing, fun girl that makes me a better, more relaxed person into a girl I don’t even recognize? What if she starts doing double dates with all of our friends with boyfriends and I’m forever the third wheel?

What if I lose my best friend?!

But when I looked at her – blushing and probably a little nervous to tell me about her new beau –considering I’ve been in the market for one of my own for a while, too – I swallowed my pride. And instead of seeing my fears and the envy I felt boiling – I felt something different: happiness. This man has brought her something that I can’t, that I wouldn’t want to bring – and for the first time in a long time, she looked at ease. She looked like she was bursting with stories to tell, incredible new experiences to tell me about, romantic encounters that of course, she has to share with her best friend. (Especially a friend who loves love to a disturbing, addicted degree.) I saw in her what I miss feeling myself: hope. Anticipation. Excitement. Wishful thinking. Love.

And so, I stopped thinking about what I don’t have (yet) to be a great listener to someone who has always listened to me. Because though she’s my best friend, her relationship isn’t about me and the choices she makes because of it aren’t up to me, either – it’s a new unchartered territory for her to explore with someone she could one day really, truly care about. And while I may wish for something similar of my own, I more so wish for continued glee – and a very long honeymoon stage – for M and Mr. Bear.

So when do I get to meet him?? I asked, matching her smile and giving her a much-delayed hug.

I may be the last single gal standing of my group of gals – but I’m proud to stand by them. And – I guess — their boyfriends, too.

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One Very Fine Day

The air felt bitter and cold, matching my mood on a snowy December evening. I had boots on my feet, gloves on my hands and everything in between the two, including this heart of mine, felt lonely. In a city where so much happens so often, I always thought that someday, I’d meet someone for me.

And the odds are that one faithful afternoon somewhere in this boisterous place that is still so much of a mystery to me as it was when I was a child — I will. I used to think I had an idea of what he would be like: tall and handsome with piercing eyes of some shade, working in a job that he loved (and hopefully paid decently), a man of character and of charm, someone who can hold his own while holding my hand. I still hope to meet that person but after meeting so many people and figuring out they weren’t worth the $2.50 subway ride it took to meet them for a drink, I feel my spirits sinking a little more every day.

I try not to let them get to me because I’ve always felt my everlasting, forever enduring, endlessly sparking hope for love is something that attracts people to me. My mom has always told me that I’m just so full of love I have to give it to someone and she’s right. I can see that in myself but it’s something that’s always felt like a double-edged sword: too much to keep to myself and never enough, it seems, to give away. Or when I do, I just end up being the one with the scar.

I’ve spent a year wishing for something to happen, I thought as I watched the lights blur outside my cab window, mustering up the courage to keep my tears inside. I didn’t want to be that girl yet again, coming home from a could-be romantic encounter that turned into something more like an encounter with the third kind. I pressed my fingers up against the glass that was fogging from the heat I turned up when I hailed the car — and I remembered when I’d draw hearts in the condensation, thinking of the life I’d one day have. The man I’d one day meet. One day. Doesn’t it always seem so far away?

Or does it?

When I was seven, I played make believe with my friends using my mother’s 80s-wardrobe leftovers that I wish I wouldn’t have ruined because I’d wear them today. We would believe that a prince from far away would come down and rescue us from the hollow of the tree swing we swung on. He would ride up on a chariot and demand our hand in marriage — even if marriage to us was merely a fancy white dress and a big kinda-icky kiss. It would be so because the game of MASH determined it to be — and who could argue with a piece of notebook paper that spelled out your destiny? Or a Magic 8 ball who gave you the answers you wanted if you shook it enough? It said it’d happen one day. And to us, one day would be when were were sweet 16 — just like the Little Mermaid and Cinderella.

When I was sixteen and a junior in high school, dating Mr. Faithful, I had thoughts of the college guys I’d one day meet. I thought that everyone met who they would marry in college. In the library while studying for some exam that neither would end up prepared for because they spent too much time canoodling in the archives. Or as she walked by he in the middle of the commons — and he saw the most beautiful face he’d ever seen. Maybe it would be in a class during second semester when they were put in the same study group. So many boys and girls collected at the same age at the same place with the same raging hormones — it only made simple sense to me that I’d surely meet that guy one day at the college I went to. And one day after we graduated he’d propose and we’d get married that summer.

When I was finally mailed that Bachelor’s degree in journalism from Appalachian State University, my bags all packed to go to New York, I couldn’t have been more excited. That one day I’d been thinking of — it was definitely on it’s way. Of course, one day in Manhattan — the island of all islands not tropical — I’d meet that possibility. It’d be soon after I landed everything I wanted, it’d be when I was looking my absolute best in my best pair of heels, turning heads and curving lips as I pranced the streets. It wouldn’t take long because there are so many attractive, eligible bachelors in such a busy, populated place. I didn’t have to worry about that one day — I was heading to it. I was going to live in it. It was going to find me.

When the cab pulled up to my door just a few nights ago, I paid my tab and turned the key into the home I’ve built. That one day has turned into three years of many days that produced many opportunities and one great, impossible love that I’ll always cherish. It has brought days of complete joy and ones of utter despair. Days that I didn’t think I’d get through and ones that I wish I could freeze in time to relive whenever another sour day comes along. Days where I met people who I’d only know for a month or two, days where I made big decisions that affected my life from there on out. Days that gave me the dream job, ones that left me thinking I was the worst writer that ever typed.

So many days I’ve lived, so many days I’ve done nothing but hope. They’ve come and gone, like the men I’ve known, and there will be more. There will probably be many more. But one very fine day — I don’t know how far away from now — will finally be my one day.

Confessions of a Love Addict is hosting a 5K Remote Run for the Families of Sandy Hook. To learn more, click here! 

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You Learn To Say Yes

When there’s a moment at some bar in some part of town on some night when you’re feeling highly unlike yourself, yet more liberated than you’ve ever felt at any time or place — maybe ever — and you feel like the decision you always thought was wrong, somehow, in some way, feels more than just somewhat right… don’t wait. Don’t hesitate. Don’t let those nagging voices, those lingering interpretations of what’s good and what’s bad, what’s moral and what’s immoral hang over your head or damper your bed. When you’ve spent your entire life avoiding doing what you’ve really wanted, what you’ve really craved for fear of what it says about you or what it would mean or not mean — there sometimes comes a moment when instead of denying yourself…

You learn to say yes.

When you play by the rules and you get up with the clock without delaying your rise-and-shine time, and you leave the bar at the strike of midnight so dark circles don’t weigh your eyes. When you’re the first to arrive and the first to leave, when you’re the girl who skips the extra drink as your high-heeled friends tiptoe away in yellow cabs with open minds into the night, into the evening that could bring up more questions than answers. When you’d rather know the plan before agreeing to the route, or when you’d prefer to be the leader of the shenanigans instead of the one who lets the Autumn wind blow her whichever way it might. When you’re so used to being so in control of everything and everyone and every situation, without a surprise, without anything or anyone having the chance to stir up the path you’ve laid so carefully. So meticulously. So rationally. When you’ve been that woman and it’s taken you far, there comes a point when the bartender asks if you’ll have another round and instead of listening to the clock tick…

You learn to say yes.

When the love you thought you found has been gone for so long that smells aren’t familiar and places don’t ring the bells you’ve forgotten how to hear. When your heart can’t remember the last time it desired to leave the comfort of your chest or when your head fit like a missing puzzle piece on the chest of some man that you felt could be more than a stranger. When your mind rolls around in reckless matter, trying to detect the signs between the sentences, the maybes among the definitelys and the definitely not’s. When you feel like there’s nothing you have to give and there’s no one worth trying to find or any love worth the risk. When another date feels like another date on another day that will end in a cold, empty bed on a cold, bitter night. When you know that most likely, he won’t — whoever he is — be different than the rest, but you’d be better off to at least meet his eyes and share a glass of wine…

You learn to say yes.

When every last bone in your body aches to stop and your lungs fill up with such rage that you’re sure they will burst before you reach the lightpost a few paces ahead. When you know that pleasure is still two miles away and in that time you’ll have to suffer through the freeze and battle through the careless pedistrans, not watching you come, not caring to move out of your way, not interested in the runner who decides to break a sweat instead of sweating over a date you won’t like anyway. When you can see your goals and you can feel your body adapt to meet them, but the warmest place to land is your bed — not this unforgiving pavement that you pretend doesn’t make your ankles sore. When you really, really want to give up. When your limbs want you to stop. When you come to the conclusion that you simply can’t go any harder or faster, you decide to disagree and fight back.

You learn to say yes.

When you’ve always known what’s next or at least where you hoped you’d be. When you’ve felt certainly certain and positively positive about everything that mattered and all that you dreamed of. When you’ve spent endless hours obsessing about the tiniest of details and the smallest of cracks, the could-be’s and the would-be’s, the opposite ends of the spectrum and all that’s in between. When you’ve mapped it out and factored in a few curve balls that no one said you could prepare for, but you — you figured out a way to do just that. When you’ve crossed your t’s and lined your eyes, slimmed your thighs and been brought to your knees. When you’ve met all of your promises and held up all of those pretty little standards that you’ve straightened up in perfect little rows around the magical city you call home.

When there’s a moment where all you want to do is plunge into something or someone or some place, just to see what happens. Instead of telling yourself how badly it could turn out and how you might feel or how you might regret….

You learn to say yes. You just say yes.

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You Can Say It

Maybe it’s being in your mid-twenties or just the thought process of those in the not-so-deep South, but inevitably, the question I’m always asked when I retreat back to the state I came from is: Are you seeing anyone special? 

It used to really bother me and make me feel like I was perceived as less complete or less successful or less satisfied because I was flying solo instead of heading toward happily-ever-after with a great guy. Sure, in New York, everyone delays marriage and it’s totally normal (if not encouraged) to say “I do” in your 30s. But when you leave the mecca of independence, the nation’s average bride is 25 years old. So, you know, right around my age.

To combat my insecurities about getting to the marrying age, I used to put up a bold, shining smile and ward off that pesky inquiry by saying things like, “I’m married to my job!” or “No, I’m single and loving it!” or “I’m totally in no rush, everything is amazing in New York!” I thought that if I appeared unscathed by my single stature or my lack of a loving, intimate relationship, then relatives and friends would stop asking when I was going to walk down the aisle and believe that I actually am happy without a man.

Because really, I am. I am very committed to my job (even aching to get back since I’m stuck inside my Upper West Side apartment thanks to Hurricane Sandy), I do enjoy being able to do as I please without checking in with someone, and I’d rather postpone matrimony until I know that I’m totally ready — and my guy is, too. All of those things are factual and suitable answers to queries about my relationship status — but they’re not the whole truth.

There’s a difference between being fine single and still wanting to find someone. Some girls, I’m sure, may be satisfied without dating or really looking for a guy who could be a great match — but if I’m honest with myself, I just don’t fall into that category. While I’ve been single for a year and it doesn’t cause me much stress or sadness, my eyes are also wide open. And though it’s a little hesitant and scared of what it may find, my heart is too.

But somehow, replying with, “I’m happily single and ready for the next big thing!” makes me feel…well, less of a sassy, savvy professional and more like a lady in waiting. Like I’m just twiddling my thumbs and pacing my apartment, anticipating the knock on my door from some midtown, Wall Street or Brooklyn gent to come to my rescue and sweep me away. Like my life isn’t rich and full, bold and beautiful without a guy to share it with. Like I’m not sturdy enough to stand on my own two feet without someone to lift me off of them. Like I’m not a real woman until a real man shows me what it means to have a real, everlasting, forever-and-ever kinda love.

It’s my own double standard and something I’ve had to work out time-and-time again in my head to be able to speak it out loud. It’s something I’ve had to accept and know that it’s okay for others to accept about me. It’s something I’ve had to overcome and realize over the course of writing this blog, but it’s something I’m now proud to declare.

It just means that I can say it. I do want a relationship. I do want a boyfriend. And you, you can say it, too.

You can be strong, and still long for someone who lets you depend on him. You can be fulfilled with what you have, where you are and in the company you share, but still want to fulfilled by a man who absolutely adores you. You can have so much love that comes from every face of your life, and still want more — there can never be too big of an abundance of love for anyone. You can be perfectly happy, perfectly fine, perfectly you, perfectly alone, and still find yourself looking forward to the day when you’re not. You can be self-sufficient and stunning, marching along without missing a step, and still want someone to walk hand-in-hand with.

You can say it. You can own it. You can wish for and hope for and work for it. Because, it really does take work. It doesn’t make you dependent, it doesn’t make you less of the fierce , unstoppable woman you are. It doesn’t mean anything at all except that you’re human. That you want to mate. That you want to love. That you want a partner. You can admit it: you’re happy, but yes, you want to find an incredible, loving, funny, intelligent, handsome man — and that’s okay.

Really, it’s okay. You can say it. You can say that you’re single, but…you’re looking. 

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Love Kindly But Love Boldly

My freshman year roommate (and best friend ever since) A, never wanted to get married. Instead of holy matrimony, she wanted to move to Italy to be a plastic surgeon and adopt a herd of children. (No really, she used to say she wanted eight!). But she quickly found out medicine wasn’t for her, and then she met this guy M, while doing an overseas school of business program in China — and something shifted.

Or really, everything. I knew from the moment she Skyped me to tell me about him – her cheeks flushing red (and no, not only due to the intensity of the Chinese July sun) that she was rather smitten with this new dude. It was still several months until I was introduced to him, but when I was, I couldn’t have created a more perfect or nicer guy for my best friend to be with.

This past weekend, she married that man on a lovely fall night in North Carolina. And I was honored to be a bridesmaid.

I couldn’t tell you what I loved the most — seeing someone I love literally glowing from the rehearsal to the reception, or seeing her new husband’s face as she cascaded down the aisle. Maybe it was the laughter from her friends and family or getting to know the other bridesmaids who have their own stories with her, and their own moments when they knew she’d marry M.

It could have been unexpectedly catching the bouquet (!!) or crying my eyes out when she danced with her dad.

Or when at the end of a great wedding weekend, they decided to have their guests cast Chinese wish lanterns into the sky instead of throwing rice, blowing bubbles or making a fluorescent path with sparklers.

It was probably all of those things mixed into one loving memory of this special, transforming time in A’s life — but the thing that stood out the most and kept me thinking, were the words of her priest during the ceremony. Though I’m not Catholic, I enjoyed experiencing a true, devout wedding and in those heels, appreciated a chance to get to sit down, too. As he was blessing the couple and giving them advice, he said five little words that held so much meaning:

“Love kindly — but love boldly.”

It seemed simple enough hearing it from the second pew, watching M and A share cute cryptic glances and holding hands as the church witnessed their promise to each other. But when I thought of my past relationships on my early flight back to NYC to avoid Sandy and rescue Lucy, it was clear that while I’ve most certainly loved kindly — I can’t say I’ve ever truly loved boldly.

Sure, I’ve fallen for a guy who was more wrong than right, who challenged me in a way that wasn’t healthy or conducive to anything longer than a torrid affair. I’ve thought I’ve loved someone for who they were, only to figure out it was the vision of what I thought they could be or what I could make them into that really fascinated and captivated me. I’ve loved what I’ve wanted more than what I’ve had, I’ve given third chances after declaring the second was enough. I’ve promised and willed myself to stop loving someone who wasn’t good, but given into the lust that argued he was. I’ve bent over backwards and forward, sideways and in circles to be what someone wanted. I’ve given someone everything they’d ever need without demanding much in return.

If there’s anything that I’ve excelled at in my relationships so far, it’s being a nice girl. A loyal, thoughtful girlfriend who knows how to please and well, to pleasure. But in most cases, I’ve forgotten about myself and what’s important to me while playing my part. I’ve also not pursued men who make me a better person, instead I’ve chased guys who I aimed to make into better men.

And that — that isn’t the beginning to a story that ends with kissing-the-bride. That isn’t loving boldly. That’s giving away your power and really, it’s not doing anything but making a guy far too comfortable to appreciate what he has.

Loving boldly means that you speak up when something doesn’t sit well with you. It means you don’t accept laziness or a complacent attitude. It means that being unavailable is a total dealbreaker. It means that you seek someone who wants to grow in his life, in his career, in his heart, in his mind — and with you. It means that you don’t let someone walk all over you or what you believe, but you’re with someone who may think differently enough to give you a new perspective. Loving boldly means listening to the other person and not just for the cue words you need to check off an imaginary check list, but you really hear what they tell you and what they promise. And then, you  watch to see if it happens — and if it doesn’t, loving boldly means challenging them to do what they say they will. It means that you lift your partner up without making yourself feel less worthy, it means you show them how great they can be without sacrificing how great you really are. Loving boldly means standing by your man, sure — but while standing your ground, too.

But what it really means to be ready for such a love is when you’ve found a way to love yourself boldly. For all the things you are and all those things you’re definitely not. For those flaws and those features, those dreams you wished and you found, and those that you had to let yourself let go of. For the curves that are beautiful and yours, for the men you were tough enough to leave because they didn’t deserve you. For all of the things that have rocked your confidence and made it wiser. For those chances you took that made you soar and the words you’ve been strong enough to speak.

Loving kindly is easy — it’s the way most approach everyone from strangers to dearest friends. But loving boldly — yourself and the person you decide to be with — is harder. It takes more practice. It takes much more patience. It probably produces more fights and tears than what we’d prefer to stomach.

But love is kind and it’s pure. It doesn’t boast and it doesn’t delight in evils. But it’s the boldness of love that makes it protective, trustworthy and hopeful. Because really, the boldest move of all is love.