Tag Archives: Relationships

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Thou Shall Live Thy Life

I’ve always enforced a lot of rules on myself. I must do XYZ to achieve my goal. I must be the first, the best, the boldest, and the kindest. I must do the good for someone else and put myself second. I must wash my hands after touching anything even a little dirty and of course, I shouldn’t talk on my cell phone while attempting to cross the a NYC street.

While some of these mandates I should still enforce (I don’t want to get hit by a bus anytime son), lately, I’ve been allowing myself to break a few of these restrictions.

Maybe it’s because I’m traveling along this journey with an open heart and an open mind, or possibly, I’m just changing – but I’ve been thinking more out-of-the-box thanI have in a very long time.

I’ve come to the conclusion that I’m going to be this age once in my life. There is no going back three months ago, three years ago, or three seconds ago. Today, in this instant, in this feeling, in this moment is my existence. And if I choose to go off of my straight-and-narrow path to try a different adventure I never thought I’d be capable of doing, so be it. If I happen to get hurt along the way or wonder why I made the choice I made – then I’ll deal with that situation as it comes.

I know that I’m a confident, smart, and self-sufficent lady who knows what is best for her, and if I have the gumption to blaze a new trail and take a leap of faith – I know there will always be something to help me through anything that crosses me.

So, in celebration of being a newly-born rebel, here are some of the things that I’m telling myself it is just alright to do, if I so please (keep in mind, I haven’t done all of these, but I just might):

Thou shall not kiss on the very first date

-Sure, he’s just a friend. Yep, he’ll never be more. Oh my, he’s cute. I think I’ll kiss him. Maybe more than once.

Thou shall not gain five pounds and go to the gym five-times-a-week

-Chinese food for the second night in a row? Super greasy? Yum. I’ll take two eggrolls, please.

Thou shall not tell little white lies

-How much is that puppy in the window? The one with the curly hair and cute little bark? Can I afford him? No. Will I pretend like I can and lead the salesperson on, just so I can snuggle up with him? Yep.

Thou shall save more money and not treat myself

-Hmmm. Sample sale on fifth? Kate Spade bags? They do accept credit cards? I think I’ll be taking my lunch break early today.

Thou shall not flirt to get my way

-Man, oh man, I spent way too much money last night. He’s kinda cute. Looks like he needs some company. Maybe if he sees these new jeans, he’ll buy me a drink. Then, me and the girlfriends can ditch ‘em. (Sorry dudes!)

Thou shall not wear super high heels

-Are my feet going to hurt all night long? Will I have to lean up against something at nearly every place I go to? But will my legs look super sexy all night long? Yup.

Thou shall not have relations out of relationship-lock

-I may get attached to him, but if I can try having a friends-with-benefits with someone whom I trust and care about deeply, I should. Right? I think so.

Thou shall not leave makeup on and go to bed

-I will probably wake up with more zits than I went to bed with, but sometimes, washing my face just seems like so much trouble.

Thou shall be super critical of everything I do

-Instead of thinking another gal is better, I think paying some compliments to myself and to my friends (just to make them happy) is a little healthier

Thou shall not think in terms of end-all-be-all or never-ever

-Embracing ideas and thoughts that encourage fear or self-defeating actions are not healthy. So instead, I’ll think in terms of the here-and-the-now

Thou shall not drink that extra glass of wine

-Though my head will definitely be feeling the pain tomorrow, so what if I happen to down another sip of grapey-red-goodness?

Thou shall not forgive myself

-We all make mistakes. And I’m sure I’ll make more than a few here and there, but at the end of the day, I have to love myself. With and without those flaws.

Thou shall not stay up late writing…again

-Woops.

Thou shall not live my life just as I think I should, but with rules to keep me safe and protected.

-Nope, instead it is on my terms. Without limits. Just living.

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Becoming a Luxurious Dater

A few days ago, I took myself shopping in celebration of some recent accomplishments. For the most part, I’m a penny-pincher, but every once in a while I will go out to a big, fabulous dinner or buy myself something elegant, expensive, and beautiful…just because I deserve it.

In today’s economy and especially in a competitive marketplace, there is this idea behind commodity vs. luxury. Consumers, like me and you, are questioning the value and the worth of what they purchase. Do I buy the super cheap coffee pot because I just need my morning java, even though I know it’ll break in a year? Or should I make an investment in something more pricy, so I have the piece of mind that it will last me longer?

While I don’t need to eat a meal that is overly-priced, but tastes so rich, fresh, and gratifying – giving myself the luxury of experiencing something out-of-the-norm and away from Guy & Guillard is a privilege for me. And that same goes for the $70 red sweater dress that hugged me just right.

But what price tag do I put on myself? How much worth do I show the world and especially in terms of relationships? Do I come across as a commodity girl-next-door that’s a dime-a-dozen, or a luxury lady that’s commendable of the best manners, the best dinners, and the best love? Am I treat or something you can find on every corner any day?

Do I settle for less than what I deserve because I’m accepting second-best or third-shelf instead of aiming for first place?

I’ll admit I haven’t always given myself the credit that I deserve and in times past, and I’ve played down who I am in an effort to satisfy, allure, and retain a man. But with this on-going journey and gradual climb in self-confidence – I think I’m due more than the average girl and my presence in a man’s life or on his arm…is a luxury.

And I know I deserve and now will demand, to should be treated as such.

If I’m always settling for Mr. Non-Committal or Mr. Good Enough or Mr. Yeah, Alright, He’s Okay – am I putting myself in the right areas and pointing myself in the correct direction to meet a man who will actually recognize all that I’m worth? And lowering my standards for the pure reason to not be alone is not only a silly idea but it is far from what I know I’m capable of having.

And this idea of being a luxurious dater or woman doesn’t translate into gold-digging. Frankly, I really don’t care what you do for a living (just needs to be legal of course) as long as you do it with passion. If you don’t make a ton of money, that’s fine by me, I have my own paycheck – but do something that brings you that independent fire. Something that gives you a reason for getting up in the morning and doesn’t involve me at all. If I determine myself as one-in-a-million, you should feel the same way about yourself -without me having to constantly remind you or toot-your-horn.

With love I give or love I share or love that I receive – I want it to be special. Out of the ordinary. Ridiculous even, if the time calls for it. Because unless it’s mad or extraordinary – what’s the point? It’s the relationships and the love we really put our investments in that make the long haul. If you’re not willing to invest yourself, invest in me, and invest in our relationship – I’m not so sure I want to take a risk with you to being with. My stakes are far too high.

By giving myself a high price-point that’s determined by all that I have to offer – I may not weed out all of the men who fall short or break my heart, but the quality of who I’m dating will hopefully rise. Remember, it must be about quality instead of quantity in the competitive landscape of dating. And in return, the investment I make in myself is different from the prices I’ve paid in the past because instead of making myself a commodity offer, who will go on a date with anyone, I’ve turned myself into a luxury dater who knows any old Joe, just won’t do.

In the meantime before I do happen to stumble upon a man who will realize my value or if I never meet him at all – I will continue to splurge and provide for the most important relationship I’ll ever have: the love for myself.

And the cost of that is immeasurable – regardless of any Harry Winston or exclusive dinner I could go to or receive. You can’t afford the value of falling in love with yourself as a single, happy, confident, luxurious woman. Because simply put – it’s priceless.

 

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All the She-Fishes in the Sea

I’ve never been “one of the guys.” When I younger, I longed to be called me a “tomboy” – but now in hindsight, I haven’t fit that nickname once in my entire life.

And because I’m not coined as a guy’s girl, I’ve gladly and proudly accepted being a girly girl. Being a feminine lady has a lot of perks, in my opinion, and the best of all – is having a ton of lovely girlfriends. My friends have helped me cope when nothing else could get worse, when my heart was crumbled, and when I felt far from beautiful. They’ve also been there to celebrate my victories with champagne, hugs, squeals, and night’s out on the town. There is nothing more sacred, precious, or beautiful then the bond between two women who were meant to be the very best of friends. Like I’ve said before, my group of closest ladies are my soulmates, through-and-through, 24-7, forever-and-always, and no matter how ugly or old we become one day.

Before I moved, I knew I’d have to find a job and a place to live. I was prepared to live off of Ramen noodles and PB&J sandwiches for months or take a waitressing gig if that’s what it took to stay in this magical city. But what I never anticipated was how insanely difficult it is to make friends.

Making this transition in my life meant I would have to leave behind everything I’d ever known and everyone who had meant everything to me. I knew by chasing this dream, I would go alone, far away from the rolling North Carolina hills – and pounding that city pavement would be my own personal quest, without a companion. In many ways, the decision to move to Manhattan was a selfish one, and something that I did just for me, and in no way would I ever go back and make the jump with a friend or boyfriend. Part of the victory beauty, and accomplishment to me, is that I did it as a single woman.

And while I’ve learned how to enjoy dates with myself and evenings in solitary confinement – sometimes, I just get lonely. And this loneliness doesn’t stem from needing or desiring a man – but from needing and longing for my friends. I miss laughing and being ridiculous. I miss getting all dressed up for no reason other then its Tuesday and we feel like it. I miss parading around to powerhouse woman songs and someone (or me) asking twenty times “Do I look fat? Now, really, tell me if I do. You’d tell me, right?”

Don’t get me wrong, being the go-getter I am, I have wasted no time in attempting to find women with similar interests. I’ve gone to happy hours in my industry, joined volunteer groups, signed up for the gym, and tried to get some of the many gay men in my life to introduce me to their “wives.” And yes, I’ve made a few amazing and dependable friends this way – but I still find myself sitting alone with a movie and a dustpan some Friday nights, wondering where in the world my social life has gone.

I realize building everlasting friendships is always a work in progress and that no one on this planet could ever replace my core group of friends growing up. But that doesn’t mean I don’t want someone here to vent my life to, share our mutual achievements and difficulties with, or go get fruity drinks and flirt with boys we’re not interested in at bars…simply because they’ll pick up the tab (sorry, it’s the sad truth, guys).

So what’s a gal gotta do to find her group of friends in a brand-spanking-new zip code? If we all want the Sex & the City lifestyle – no matter how far from the actual reality of New York as it is – you can’t have a Mr. Big without a Charlotte, Miranda, and Samantha to talk about him to.

In some way, I think my love addiction intensifies when I’m bored at my apartment and feeling un-friendable makes me reach out to men that I’m not even remotely interested in. Or it makes me consider texting those Mr’s from my past simply for the attention I know they’ll give me. And meeting new men almost seems virtually impossible, unless I want to sit alone at the bar alone, which makes me look like I have a different type of addiction. Right?

Finding friends feels like a chore and a part of my recovery that I never thought would be such a critical component. To overcome something that’s so insanely burned into your DNA – you need support and guidance. And while my friends from home are constantly emailing, texting, messaging, and calling me with their endless wisdom, honesty, and kindness – sometimes all I really need is a hug. Or a night out without any male interruptions.

Is it possible to be heartbroken because you simply can’t find a best girlfriend in the very best city in the world? If it has never been hard for me to meet friends, why is it so difficult now, in a city with millions of people?

What part of the friendship puzzle, secret handshake, or girl code…am I missing? If there are so many friend–she-fishes in the sea, why can’t I find a few who fit me?

 

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And The Beat Goes On

I’ve always felt a sincere connection to my heart. Maybe it comes with love addiction or I pay way too much attention to subtle changes – but when I feel something, I feel it to my core. Surely, if there is anything at the center of me, it’s my heart.

And in that heart, the ever-beating, ever-growing heart… lives a lot of love.

I’m a fan of Eat, Pray, Love (more so the book than the movie), and in it, Elizabeth Gilbert says everyone gets a word. This word can change at certain points in our lives or in different places, but this word, at whatever point you’re at in your life, defines what’s important and represents who you are.

Two separate friends, A and R, who know me extremely well told me that my word is “love.” R went as far as to say: “You love your parents. You love your friends. You love your city. You want to feel love, give love, understand love. You love yourself – that’s why you do everything you set out to do, accomplish all of the things you want to accomplish – because you love your dreams. And that love means everything to you. It’s not just romantic. It’s meaningful and it’s yours.”

I’ll admit I’m in love with the idea of love, but I will also attest to the fact that I see love all around me. Romantically or not, when I care about something, someone, some place, some activity, some ritual – I don’t just like it, I fall in love with it. I embrace it face-on, relentlessly, and with the velocity of a wildfire.

And sometimes, that heart opens up to someone who may seem promising. It allows itself to be vulnerable and real, beautifully messy, and extraordinarily human. And at times, that heart gets some cracks in it. Some breaks, rips, and tears from love that was, love that never came to be, and love that changed me – for better or for worse. Those imprints aren’t something that I can prevent or transform, nor would I really want to.

This heart, which will forever find love in all of the places around it, wears those scars with courage. And it also realizes that while Neosporin can’t be applied to the actual heart, when it hurts – some much-needed time and self-support can erase those bruises that once broke it down.

Too many women (and men for the matter) call their hearts “damaged” and declare they will never be able to love again –because it just hurts too much. That whoever it was who took their once-full heart and then pounded it into the pavement, somehow shattered any chance or desire they had for love again.

I beg to differ.

The heart is meant to feel love and it’s also meant to feel pain. When you start feeling those butterflies or the lovely beat of anticipation in a new relationship – you literally can feel your heart inside your chest. And when you’re broken down, let down, and keeping yourself down –that inevitable sting will find its way to you, too.

But the majestic truth about the heart – is that it knows all of this. And more importantly, regardless if it’s felt that way before or been in the same predicament at a time previous, it realizes that this impairment is only temporary.

In time, especially when you allow the heart to open again. When you give it permission to go out on another limb and push your way through the fear and the wounds. When you rip off the band-aid to reveal the once ugly and painful cut that you covered up (for dread that it may get worse), has now disappeared…and maybe only a slight reminder remains.

And learning to love yourself, even with those little and large scars that remind us of the love we shared and the ones we’ve cared for will always be part of us, but…we’re still surviving. Our hearts are pounding and filling us with the breath it takes to keep moving. Our blood is still pumping, warming us and ensuring that we can once again feel it boil with passion again. It goes where you go, it stays alive and vibrant – regardless of the trials fate insists we go through.

When I’m nervous or when I’m afraid, or when that this-could-be-love knot is growing in the depths of my heart – I put my hand over my chest and I feel the beat. I tell myself to go ahead and jump, relax and believe I can do anything. That no matter if I’m single or if I’m married, employed or broke, hundreds of miles away from my best friends or sitting right next to them – my heart, my core, my center – stays in me. It sustains me, gives me hope, and triggers my next move, next chapter, next stage. All I have to do is listen and feel and trust. And even if my heart is grieving or having a hard time believing, I know it’s still beating.

And that no matter who or what comes and goes, that love will remain inside of me. And regardless if it is faint or fierce, the beat will always go on.

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The Sexy Love: Mr. Fling

What happens when you mix a girl who hasn’t been touched in months with a tall, charming, and sexy man in uniform?

For me, Mr. Fling is what happened.

Now, as I’ve said in an earlier post, I’m quite particular about who I allow in my bedroom. I tend to think having sex should be like making love– or you should at least very strongly like and trust the person you share that intimate side of yourself with. I try to stick close to my morals and beliefs and encourage my friends to do the same– but sometimes, a gal slips up.

During my junior year of college, which happened to be quite the “dry spell” with dating for me – I ran into an ex-boyfriend from high school, Mr. Fling in my hometown’s mall. It had been years since I’d seen the guy and when my mom pointed him out to me – my jaw just about hit the pretzel stand across from me.

He caught my eye, smiled, walked over and gave me a huge, friendly, welcoming hug. Blushing, I’m sure, I told him how great he looked and we discussed meeting up for dinner before I went back to school. As we parted, we both turned our heads to watch the other walk away – and something inside of me said I’d be seeing a lot more of him.

Within a few days, we were texting and chatting away – just like no time had ever passed between us. We talked about our short-lived relationship in high school and how I broke up with him without notice or warning and how it hurt him. I told him how at the time, I wasn’t ready to enter into a relationship and I knew he wanted something serious, as he was getting ready to join the Armed Forces. In some way, we amended the strain between us…only to create a different kind of tension.

On New Year’s Eve, I woke up to an empty house and a good morning message from Mr. Fling. He was coming back from the base for the weekend and wanted to see if I was available to hang out. For whatever reason, I decided it would be an excellent idea to let him know I just got out of bed and was fully free in an empty house. He quickly responded and said he’d be at my doorstep in 45 minutes and we should get lunch.

Being the extreme girly-girl I am, I freaked out knowing I had less than hour to get ready before this gorgeous man would be in front of me – so I sprinted to the shower, quickly put on make-up and panties, and as I was getting ready to blow-dry my hair…I heard a car pulling into the driveway.

When he said 45 minutes, he really meant 25 minutes, apparently. Because I was flustered, I hurried and wrapped a towel around myself, my hair still curly and wet, and answered the door saying, “I’m sorry! I’m not ready yet, just let me get some clothes on and we can go grab lunch.”

With a mischievous grin, he took off his Army beret, pulled me close to him and kissed me.

Our lips hadn’t touched since we were kids in high school – but he tasted just as he used to. And his smell was still that tough, yet gentle man odor that we all swoon over so easily. Without hesitation, he picked me up, pushed me up against the wall, and ripped off my towel.

The rest of what happened, I’ll just leave to the imagination.

Mr. Fling and I had no intention of actually dating each other again – and for whatever reason, it didn’t bother me too much to allow myself to explore with him. We still talked constantly, he was there for me when I needed him to be, we chatted on the phone, and when we were both in town at the same time – we had “lunch.”

If I’m really honest with myself, there were moments when I felt used or when I felt guilty for allowing myself to be this personal with someone who I knew didn’t love me in the way that I hope to be loved one day. Sometimes I felt really dirty and I grew attached to him over the course of our courtship. And often times, I felt the need to be validated by his affection – either through his touch or his reassuring words. Even though in my head, I knew I didn’t want to be his girlfriend (we never really clicked as a couple), my heart wanted sex to mean more than just…well, sex. While our history made me trust him and know he wouldn’t do anything on purpose to cause me pain – there is something about doing-the-deed with someone that just pulls you closer then you ever expect it will.

Sex is a personal thing and it’s often times…quite messy. There are so many different elements to worry about beyond just STDs and bringing a baby into the world. I was lucky that I had confidence Mr. Fling as my friend and so really our “friends-with-benefits” was mutually accepted by both of us, so feelings didn’t get hurt either way when one of us moved on. I didn’t have romantic expectations, but I know that’s not always the case.

I can’t speak for the women who do allow themselves to be intimate with strangers or can go home with someone they don’t know, I can only share what I’ve learned from my experience with Mr. Fling.

Partly because I know how sensitive I am and how much I invest into a relationship…and well, I’m a self-proclaimed love addict –I’ve been very careful about who I’ve shared my love and my body with. It wouldn’t be smart for me to get sexually involved with someone who I know I could fall for or would want them to fall for me – so until I’m at that healthy stage in my recovery, there may be a little less action than this gal would prefer. And probably, somewhere along the way, I may find myself drawn in – but that’s part of the journey, too.

As I’ve said before, I don’t have regrets and I intend on keeping it that way. Each experience, even if I have done the inevitable walk-of-shame, has brought me one step closer to finding peace in myself and loving who I am – without coulda, woulda, shoulda getting in the way.

Because I shoulda not answered that door only wearing a towel, I coulda refused his kiss and his touch, and I woulda still enjoyed a nice lunch with a great man…but then I wouldn’t have this story to tell or all that I learned from having a steamy afternoon. Or  maybe two. Or three.