Tag Archives: Relationships

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All Because of Me

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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A Different Kind of a Diamond

As I’ve said before, I’ve been a little freaked out by this whole idea of marriage.

I won’t claim that I’m unattracted to or uninterested in the concept (because that would be a blanant lie), but I will say that at this exact point in my life and with what I’m doing – I find it incredibly difficult to believe I’m anywhere close to exchanging vows.

That being said and admitted with brutal honesty and a level-headed mindset…I have, in many instances in the past, grown insanely jealous of my friends who are engaged or newly married. Even though I’m not dating someone or in love with a man or really pursuing a diamond on my left hand – there is this inevitable sigh that’s the result of seeing a new person on Facebook or in my group of friends who is on the edge of promising forever.

As I’ve said before, I will spend hours beyond hours stalking engagement and marriage photos, blogs, and websites. Perhaps even a tad more creepy, I read the “Wedding & Celebrations” section of The NYTimes as much as I read the media, travel, and food & dining columns. Because I’m attempting to be as straightforward as possible, I will hang my head and also admit that I’ve browsed wedding dresses, rings, venues, and a wedding gift for my still-to-be-determined groom.

Possibly due to this unhealthy and slightly ridiculous obsession with weddings and lifelong true love – something inside of me grows to a scary level of envy when I see women, my age (or younger or older, really), walking down the aisle or smooching their fiancée. Logically, I know I don’t want to be with my husband right now, but emotionally, a tiny (or rather large) piece of me fears he doesn’t exist.

And that anxiety always won over my happiness for other people… Until recently when one of my dearest friends, N (and a frequent editor of this blog), almost got engaged. Okay – so she will be getting a very beautiful ring that she won from a contest soon and will be proposed to shortly- we just don’t know when. We only know this lovely ring belongs to her.

When I found out about her grand prize, I was at work, elbows-deep into editing articles to go to press next week, and to distract myself I clicked on Facebook and saw the announcement. As soon as I read her and her almost-husband’s names, my heart swelled.

But not in a psycho-jealous way. Rather, in a “Oh my God! I’m so excited!!!! Wow!! She’s getting engaged! Oh!!!” I immediately got up from my desk and called her, and when she didn’t pick up, I sent her a slew of text messages and Gchat messages appropriately freaking out. In fact, as I shared in her excitement and peered through the many congratulatory comments she received, tears welled up in my eyes.

It occured to me, as I shouted in my office “Remember that girl you voted for? She won!” and everyone came rushing over to see – that I was geuniely happy for N.

I wasn’t envious of her wonderful prize or the fact that she truly has found someone who is made for her. I wasn’t upset that she’ s floating on a cloud she’s needed to rest on. I wasn’t sad that the lovey-dovey attention wasn’t on me and I wasn’t secretly cursing her for being so damn lucky.

No, I was actually planning what I would say at a speech at her wedding or what I could get her and her beau that would be sentimental and pay tribute to the love they share. While the fact that this happened to be the first time I felt this way towards a newly-almost-engaged friend may make me seem selfish, it was so refreshing to finally release that begrudging.

And for once, just relish in someone else’s magical alignment with the stars in terms of love. In someone else’s absolute joy in showing the whole world the wonders of a person they’ve decided to walk this life with. To celebrate the sweet divinity of two people deciding to take one of the biggest leaps of faith they could ever embark on.

I’m not under the illusion that marriage solves everything or that my so-called Mr. Perfect will erase every insecurity and issue I’ve ever dealt with – but I do want to meet him one day. And if I have already shaken hands or shared a kiss with him, I’d sure like to revisit those instances.

But for now – I’m A-okay helping N plan this beautiful wedding she will have and focus only on her and the day that she will shine more than she normally does. Because even if I’m curing my own love addiction and learning to love myself, there is no harm in loving a cherished friend and commending the love…and the luck, that found her.

After all, being jealous of N is not only unfair to her and untrue to our friendship, but also – what’s the point in being intimidated about a diamond that’s not meant for me? Isn’t my friend with all her perfect imperfections, brilliance, and amazing ability to crack even the hardest of cynics with her charm – a rare gem in herself? Maybe she (and all of my lovely ladies) are the different kind of diamonds that I’m meant to take with me today, and even after a rock lands on my finger.

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Make-Believe Boyfriends

When I was a kid, I played a lot of make believe.

From cops and robbers with my next door neighbor and Mary Kate & Olsen detectives (forgive me, please) with my childhood best friend to Peter Pan & Wendy with my pre-school playmate – I was always imagining a world outside of my own. And, when my friends and I took a more classic approach and played “house” – I refused to be anything but the girl because well, I am a girl, after all.

I can remember full days of pretending to be something else – a princess, a mermaid, a singer, a movie star, and of course, a reporter. There was something magical and wildly entertaining about escaping from reality and entering into a new realm where I could be free to explore and to capture a persona I didn’t actually embody. Plus, who doesn’t enjoy a great dress up (even today!)?

As we get older, the masks we put on and the roles we play change, and while it’s not make-believe, per se, we present ourselves in different manners depending on what the time or situation calls for. We can turn on happy-and-enthralled while at a networking event, or super-duper professional for work, or pseudo-interested for a date that’s going all wrong.

And sometimes, if we are clever enough to trick even our most difficult critic, ourselves, we can pretend we’re in a relationship when we’re not. We can even call them non-dates and non-relationships and non-love because we’re calm, cool, and collected about the situation. We can even have sex without terms or conditions or without saying the infamous three words or without spoken expectations.

But – in terms of love and well, dignity – is it ever healthy to play make-believe with a man? Or is it better to send Mr. Non-Committal back to where he came from?

I can’t say I’m in the situation where I’m seeing someone I want to call my boyfriend or I want to be exclusive with. But, I will admit, without giving names or specifics, that I’ve dated a few guys that could have possibility in this big, beautiful city. Somehow, though, my relationship with myself is currently trumping all of them. Call me selfish and self-absorbed with this journey, and I’ll nod my head in agreement – but somehow, the getting to self-love is helping me grow in leaps-and-bounds, without requiring a man in the mix.

Though, as I’ve been going on non-dates and kissing non-boyfriends – I’ve thought a lot about the relationships we go through as single ladies that never “technically” (by Facebook standards, anyways) ever become official. Does a lack of a title or commitment make them less important or influential? Or is a label something we place on a courtship because with commitment comes a promise that we can depend on?

I’m not sure if actually becoming a pair as opposed to just mimicking one, truly changes the relationship – but I will say that playing make-believe with love doesn’t result in a happy ending…in the long run. But at the beginning, before happily ever after, I think a period of pretend is necessary.

The reasons for make-believe and dress up in the first place – where it be as a little girl or a 20-something woman – are to test the waters and try something new that you enjoy. How do we know if we will ever be a famous celebrity if we never act? Or how can we be sure we’d accept the princess lifestyle if we don’t give it a whirl in our minds? (I doubt any of us would decline putting on Kate’s shoes, though). The same goes with any new courtship with a dude – if we don’t act like we’re in a relationship, without the title or the supporting documents, we can’t be sure we really want to be part of an “us” with them.

At some point, the talk we all dread bringing up needs to be addressed – but when you’re just starting to get to know someone, why rush? Before I started this journey, as soon as I started remotely liking a guy, I was damned-and-determined to reel him ‘em and put a “taken” bow on his forehead (and profile). I wanted to do everything and anything in my power to make sure he made me his girlfriend so that I wouldn’t risk losing him to another chick.

But now, instead of letting myself get lost in the rush and the romance and visions of our kids and what my last name would be – I step back, I enjoy his company, and most importantly, I just take it slow. I picture in my head and feel what it would be like to be by his side, on a permanent basis, and I figure out if I want to move to the reality of a relationship or if playing pretend for a while is all I really need. While I do want a committed relationship one day, there is no need to be Ms. Committed when I first meet someone.

There is no hurry, no reason to worry – because if during playtime you realize you don’t want to be a fairy princess or a famous musician or a girlfriend – you just take off the crown, put down the mic, and let go of his hand…and go back to you. But if you do happen to enjoy it, while playing make-believe, that magic you feel reminds you that anything is possible.

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No Deadline for Love

When I was in college, I was a hostess at a restaurant in the outskirts of town. The place was reasonably priced for a surprisingly rich cuisine, and they allowed (well, encouraged) me to wear pretty dresses, so I stayed for the extra wages into my final semester of school. One night when it was slow up front, I had way too much time to think about the sour patch I was having in my relationship with Mr. Idea, the difficulties with my friends (primarily due to Mr. Idea), and the feeling that I was all-in-all so ready to leave my sleepy university village for the never-sleeping streets of Manhattan.

As I usually do when I’m bored or emotionally distracted, I started scribbling some notes and some ideas for articles or ramblings (which have now turned into this lovely blog). Many of these notes consist of lists and quotes that I find meaningful or inspiring, and because apparently I’m a 13-year-old in a 20-something’s body, I usually write the words “all pretty” or sign my name like I’m a celebrity (but I have deleted the hearts and smiley’s, for the record).

One of the lists I made that evening described everything I hoped to have by December 2010. And ironically, as I was cleaning my apartment, I stumbled upon the folded piece of paper –the eve of December 1.

On my wish list for this point in my life, I wanted (in specific order):

-A job paying enough to be secure in the publishing industry.

-For the job to be in New York City.

-To find a decent apartment that’s affordable and in a safe neighborhood in Manhattan.

-To meet and be dating the man I will marry.

-To remain healthy and fit and continue to become more beautiful.

-For my father to get better and for my parent’s marriage to be saved and rekindled.

-To mend my relationship with my father.

-To never under any circumstance give up on finding the love of my life: a man that will make feel incredibly happy and loved.

Well, 7 out of 8 sure isn’t too awful, right?

As I read through these words and mentally checked off items on this list, I thought of how much of my life is mandated by deadlines. My career in itself is defined by them and while those are not optional, the limitations and restrictions I place on myself are.

This mini-list of desires for this exact time in my life is a minimal example of the constraints I’ve always strapped myself to. I can’t think of a time (even now) when I haven’t had a countdown to something (birthday, trip, Christmas, weight-lost goal, etc.) on my dry-erase board. I’ve perfected my resume and added on freelancing gigs for the mere fact that I knew I needed to have a robust and diverse writing background by my age. I’ve given myself an allotted amount of time to “get over” someone and move on. I still have lists that I must meet before I’m 30 or before I have a baby or before I get married or before I get my first wrinkle. Now, not all of these are necessarily bad or limiting, but if I’m always living on a deadline, waiting for the next phase to get here before I can set a new due date – am I ever really just living? Sure, I’ve been able to meet some of these set-in-Lindsay-stone dates – but is that only because I needed to move on to the following item? Or at the very least, create a new time stamp? Does everything work that way?

The one thing I haven’t checked off my December 2010 deadline – find and be dating the man I’ll marry – isn’t something that quite belongs on a story lineup for tomorrow. I can’t check off “meet the love of my life” and move onto the next task at hand because it doesn’t ever end. When I meet this person, I’ll stay with them until the end of time (because we will hopefully beat divorce statistics).

So why, prior to this blog and to this journey, was I in such a huge rush to meet this man? The reason a limit is ever set, at least in publishing, is because the mag is going to press at the middle of the month or the article is time–sensitive, or the breaking story must-get-out now or it will lose its value and its newsworthiness.

But does love ever lose its importance? Will it ever not be worth screaming from the rooftops when you feel that thing that we’re all told we will feel with Mr. Right? Is it necessary to set a date before we even literally set a date for our “I Do” exchange?

Following my usual run, I sat on the rug in the middle of my miniature Manhattan apartment (that’s affordable), thinking about the job that allows me to live in the place I adore, and the family that has grown and healed in countless ways since I wrote that wish list, and the blog that’s only intensified my faith, not only in finding everlasting love with a man, but in myself too. And so, I made a decision:

I ripped the list into tiny little shreds.

And on a new sheet of paper, I wrote eight new wishes:

–Believe in my possibilities and my gifts.

–Experience life’s many wonders and opportunities.

–Grow into myself.

–Dream of more.

–Do good for others and for the universe.

–Give my thoughts, my heart, my time, and my patience.

–Question the limits and the traditions.

–Explore my world and my fears.

…..and

–Love myself without exceptions.

As for the deadline? Every single day, all day long, with or without a man, my family, my job, my city, my looks, my friends, my bank account or my youth. Because really, there is no deadline for happiness. And, even though it may scare me to fully admit it and let it go, there is no box to check or list to make or deadline to meet for finding love.

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The Almost-It Love: Mr. Idea

There was a period between my junior and senior years of college where I went on a string of really awful dates. Sometimes the guy would like me, other times we’d both realize how wrong we were for each other right at the start. While I didn’t really stop dating, I became incredibly frustrated and once I felt like my New York move was within reach, I declared I would stop going on such terrible  first dates and save myself the trouble.

I mean, if I wasn’t preoccupied with bracing myself for another man who literally slurped up his pasta, I’d be able to concentrate on more important things, like freelancing, my friends, and enjoying my last semester before graduation. And so, for the first time in my life (now being the second), I stopped looking for a relationship. I put up my guard and decided that I didn’t want anything to do with the opposite sex or the hassle they ultimately brought to my life.

And that was right when Mr. Idea walked in.

Most literally, I saw him walking down the street towards me in this green shirt (that I can still see clear as day as I type it right now) towards me and a sliver of hope said “Oh, let that be him!” A friend of mine, S, had set us up on a blind date and though it took me a while to agree, when I saw him with his big goofy grin and his 6’4″ frame strutting my way – I couldn’t have been happier to meet him. Our lunch date turned into dinner and a movie, which turned into us staying up all night long, talking and laughing, gradually feeling the fireworks burst between us.

Within a week, he started calling me his girlfriend and the love that we were growing so effortlessly continued to bloom over the next few months. Being around him was so easy and the way we melted into each other’s hearts and bodies seemed perfectly ideal. And our union came with so many signs – something that has always been important to me. He was from New York, I had always wanted to live there. He told me his name meant some sort of butterfly (jokingly, of course), and I had always said that whoever I ended up with must give me butterflies in every inch of my body. He always said we were putting the carriage in front of the horse because we moved so quickly, and for a while, I had always wanted to be proposed to in a horse-and-buggy in Central Park. He left me notes in random places to surprise me and brighten up my day, and as a writer, I always value written words.

I could list countless other romantic signals that made me feel like he was The One for me. I couldn’t imagine anything more aligned with the universe and I certainly had never felt anything so magical, so peaceful, so passionate and so surprising. We fell incredibly quick and before I knew it – I looked back at this person who I thought was so right for me and realized, I didn’t know who this person was.

And things started to change as fiercely as they began. All of the red flags that I ignored in an effort to keep the love alive for him started sprouting up in such vivid warning colors that I couldn’t ignore them anymore. We were incompatible in the bedroom. We were incompatible emotionally. We wanted different things. We had opposite drives – both in sex and in our careers. We valued and wanted vastly different things out of our partners and our futures. Suddenly, the couple that everyone wanted to be turned into the couple who fought, stayed up all night , and the flutter in my heart morphed into a severe sting that I still feel today. Right this very second.

I had put off writing about Mr. Idea because even in the duration of this blog, he’s been in-and-out of my life by calling or texting or emailing. You see, even though we broke up several months ago (nearly a year, now) – we haven’t been able to just let go. Sure, we don’t see one another, nor will I ever agree to be a couple with him, but for whatever reason,  it is insanely difficult to let go of him.

During our relationship, I learned much more about what I want (and what I don’t) – but more importantly, I learned about myself. Before Mr. Idea, I was the gal who said she would never let her social life go when she became part of a pair. But when he walked into my life and I started loving him – his priorities became first. His desires became supreme. What I needed and what I deserved became secondary to meet his requirements. I stepped away from my friends, from my writing, from my goals, and positioned myself as his everything. Because there were so many romantic signs and I had this idea of what we would be, I would be silly to walk away – no? I would be wasting all the work and the tough times I stuck through for him if I just broke it off, right? No matter how miserable I was or how often I cried from his selfishness – I knew I couldn’t leave.

Until finally, it occured to me that I literally had no other choice.

If I didn’t pack up my heart and my pride and any type of confidence I had left, I would lose everything I had worked so hard to get to. I would start compromising what was most important to me and 20 years from now, I’d look back and wonder what in the world I had done. And so, with the most courage I could derive from my stomach, I said goodbye. I cried harder than I knew possible and there was more fear inside of me then I had when I boarded the flight to New York.

Because, I still loved (and love) him. I knew he wasn’t my Mr. Right and though he had qualities that would never satisfy me in the long-term, he did bring happiness to my life. He did help me grow into a better person. He did help me through some difficult times. In the beginning, there was a lot of passion and incomparable butterflies that reaches my toes, like I wanted. And anytime you leave someone who you still care about – you have that emptying feeling of fear. Of hesitation. And at times, you want to go back – but you remind yourself that stepping into a relationship with someone who was merely a dream…will end in a nightmare.

I’d by lying if I said there was a day that went by that I didn’t think of him or I didn’t wonder if I made the best decision. But I know I’d be a fool if I returned to a relationship that did far more harm than it did good. Or a love where I lost every other love in my life to focus on a dead-end relationship.

On the surface, in photos, and on paper – he is everything I wanted. But when I broke up with him, I did it because I realized I hadn’t fallen in love with him for who he is, as a person. I had been swept away by the idea of him. And the image of what I thought he and we would become. I saw things I didn’t like, things I knew I could never live with, and things that didn’t match me at all – but I stuck around because I believed that something would change. That the magic we felt so immensely in the beginning would come back around, and I’d realize that whatever troubles we faced were just temporary. It took a couple swift kicks to my heart and my head for me to come to my senses and start to let go of this idea.

And really, what dies more slowly and more painfully than a dream? A heartbreak will leave you broken, but you’ll feel the gumption to go on another date eventually. But when you fall in love with this amazing dreamy idealistic plan that you dervied with someone, it is so difficult to let that longing go.

I will never forget him nor what he taught me and brought to my life. He is not a bad person and at his heart-of-hearts, he is a sincerely wonderful individual who is all deserving of everything kind and wonderful. I would never wish him anything but happiness and the best of love.

I just know that I’m not the love of his life, nor is he the love of mine. Because when I think of finding Mr. Right or Mr. The One – I don’t want to be smitten with an image or an idea, I want to love the real deal, the honest-to-goodness reality and truth, and all of the flaws of another human being. If there are no silly romantic symbols or pennies leading me to him, so be it. I’d rather have no signs then allowing myself to be misled by my own idealistic desires.

After all, ’tis better to feel and lose true, profound love, then to get lost in something that’ll never be more than an idea.