Tag Archives: Relationships

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Distracted by Distractions

Almost every day of the week, I go for a run.

It is my time of the day to relax, to center, and to just be completely alone. Sure, there are always women running near me, but they don’t matter: I zone out everything else and focus on escaping. I haven’t always been a runner and I choose not to do marathons (I’ll do a 5K if begged) because I don’t want to ruin the pleasure and serenity of my only quiet time in one of the busiest cities in the world.

Most of the time, my runs are relatively easy and I lose track of time as I’m releasing stress, pounds, and that stop at Papaya Dog the other night (Damn you hot dog and french fries!). Other times, I catch myself gasping for breath, counting down the seconds until I reach a certain mileage, and overall just miserable.

It’s when I’m about ready to push the “Quick Stop” button that I mentally take a step back. I turn off my iPod, I flip my cell phone over, and I start listening to my breath. I count to five as I inhale, and then ten as I exhale. I feel my chest rising up and down and just like that – I find my stride and I’m ready to take on a few more miles with that runner’s high you don’t think is possible until you experience it.

By concentrating on my breathing and allowing my focus to turn inward instead of getting caught up in music and possible text messages – I eliminate every interruption.

But in life –interuptions are plenty, especially when you’re trying to learn to find peace in your singleness. They come in the form of handsome strangers who shower us with compliments or friends who we wish would be more. Sometimes, they are in quick goodnight kisses that may turn to second-thoughts in the morning. And always, these attention-stealers are only momentary. They give us our short fix for a slight period of time before we’re left alone and back to battling our fears and our love obsession.

Even knowing this -is it ever possible to cut out every distraction that keeps us from focusing on what’s most important? And in this journey, do I need to rid myself of any current potential disruptions so I can sincerely, full-heartedly put my energy, my breath, and my spirit into finding this confidence?

At the gym yesterday, as I was constantly checking my phone, and racking my brain to say what to a certain someone who has made his way into my heart and into my life – I realized he was not only disrupting my run, but my process. I’ve known him almost as long as this blog has been active and in that period, I’ve had him to depend on to reassure me, give me attention, and keep me satisfied with the instant gratification I’ve missed.

So by having him in my life, am I running away from problems and being led by distractions, or sincerely stepping up to the plate to face them?

Having this guy who is at an arm’s reach and yet completely unavailable emotionally is a huge issue – and one I need to admit. He has been nothing but brutally honest with me and I’m thankful that if I did decide to get mixed up with a man, it’s a sincere one – but, yet, I’ve allowed my mood to be dictated by him.

Is this taking a step back? Possibly. But in the past, I never realized my actions and corrected them, so to me, it’s still progress. Yes, I’ve checked my phone. Yes, I’ve done things and acted in ways that are out of my character and moral boundaries. Yes, I’ve wished and hoped that something in our “platonic” friendship would morph into other feelings.

But in my heart of hearts, in the deepest corners of my soul, in the back of my mind that I try to avoid, and in my breath that is catching up with me – I know I need to start focusing on me. On my journey. On my progress. On the me I sincerely want to become – a me that doesn’t freak out and isn’t obsessive and is okay in her single shoes, no matter how long she walks in them.

So do I cut him out? Do I stop going on dates? Do I stop the flirting? Do I write him off in my long list of almost-but-never-really-boyfriends?

Nah.

I just stop giving him attention. I stop allowing him to be the center of my thoughts at times. I stop letting myself get caught up in something that’s not meant to be. I stop the confusion before it becomes painful. I slow down. I put away my phone. I smile at myself in the mirror. Tell myself what I have to offer without needing him to reaffirm it. Give myself a break. Forgive myself. I move forward with confidence and with gentleness. I relax and let myself step back from my actions and revaluate.

And most importantly, I breathe.

PS:  And if you need a distraction from today’s school or work load, go vote for one of my best friends. She deserves to win! Click here to vote for her.

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The Puppy Love: Mr. Curls

My middle school was broken up into “teams” by grade. For the sixth grade, in honor of the state of North Carolina, we were broken up into different regions, and I was part of the “Mountains” team.

The teams consisted of a social studies, English, math, and science teacher and we rotated between them to get acquainted with the class-change system. I don’t remember much about being on the Mountains team, but I do know that I met one of my very best friends, E…and Mr. Curls.

He was a tall, lanky, and acne-ridden, curly-haired boy who was in my homeroom – and I never really noticed him until we went on an overnight class field trip in October of 2000. The trip was to Camp Greenville and I was excited about sleeping in bunk beds and eating at the “mess hall” (I was also obsessed with the movie It Takes Two at the time, if you’re wondering).

On the first or second night (my seventh grade self would hate me for not knowing the exact details, but I think I’m starting to get old…sigh), we took a hike up to Pretty Place, a chapel that’s open (no walls or ceiling), overlooking the land below, and lit by the houses and highways in the towns before it.

We were all told to sit down, and Mr. Curls happened to sit next to me. Being the 11-year-old charmer he was, he started chatting it up, and big-eyed and easily impressionable-me was flabbergasted. He had a cute smile and when the breeze swept through the outdoor chapel, I tensed, and he squeezed my hand to let me know it was okay.

And with that little nudge, the love obsession began.

Thinking back on it now, I feel like I should mail chocolates or thank you cards to my friends and my family for putting up with me talking about Mr. Curls endlessly. While we met in sixth grade, our actual “relationship” didn’t start until the seventh grade, and my obsession with him didn’t come to a halt until I started high school.

It was the age where every touch, every word, every brush up, or smile meant everything. Where the simplest of actions could make me melt and squeal ridiculously. It was the time when I remember anticipating every glimpse or meeting, and hoping incessantly while listening to Britney Spears and Backstreet Boys (they really did know how to illustrate how I felt, ya know?).

Mr. Curls and I talked on the phone constantly for about a year and danced at sock-hops while our friends surrounded and watched us. Apparently, both sides of the team knew we needed to make it “official”, but Mr. Curls was hesitant for whatever reason (funny how some things don’t change). My parents even bought a longer chord for our phone so I could walk out on the back porch, and wrap myself up in the white curls while dreaming of Mr. Curls’ dark ones. My diaries are filled with images, memories, and reminders of him. And my heart is still filled with some sort of an “Aww! My first little love!” impression.

Finally, after about a year, I pulled a Lindsay-classic move and decided to give Mr. Curls an ultimatum. Now that I’ve “grown into myself” more, it doesn’t seem too much out of my pushing-character, but at the time, it was super difficult for me to do. In a not so subtle way, I got my friend, L, to tell Mr. Curls “40 days.” She wasn’t allowed to say anything else but that, but eventually, I think maybe after a few days, he figured out what it was I meant: ask me out in 40 days or I’m done.

And so, on the phone, I believe on January 30 (yep, I still remember), he asked me to be his girlfriend. After we hung up, I screamed something fierce, to which my parents came running because they thought I was hurt. But no, I was just blissfully “in love” as an 11-year-old seventh grader who just got asked out by her all-time crush.

Over the next three months, we’d walk around the mall, try to (and succeed) get our friends to start dating one another, go to movies, write each other little notes, and he’d always walk me to my “car” at the end of the day. I still have a Valentine’s Day card from him that had a horse on the front and says, “Do you know, you make my heart go woah?” Aww, sweet Mr. Curls.

At some point in April he started becoming distant, and being this obsessive gal, I became extremely worried. So much to the point, that I used my press credentials from the middle school newspaper to pull him out of wood-working class to talk to him. I remember him wih this worried look on his face as he said, “It’s just not working out, Linds.” And I of course started to cry, as I probably would today (just not in front of him), and he tried to hold me as I dramatically ran away.

I called my mom to pick me up early and she took me out for brownie sundaes and we talked. She says it broke her heart just as much as my heart was broken to see me so upset – and she knew it was the start of my long journey with men and with love. She told me I would find another love and it would be better, brighter, and everlasting, and as a devastated pre-teen, I didn’t believe her.

A few years later, after Mr. Curls dated and ended things with someone else, we met at the movie theater and rekindled a little bit – or really, just made out. For a few weeks, I really liked him, and he sent me a birthday card, but then I met Mr. Faithful, and all was lost.

At first, I didn’t think to put Mr. Curls in this journey because I wasn’t sure what part he played in my life. I mean, everyone has a first puppy love and gets their heart broken – but how much does it really affect us? Sure, we always remember, but in the grand scheme, I don’t think of Mr. Curls as one of my great loves or even the guy who introduced me to being in love (that title goes to Mr. Faithful).

So why even have Mr. Curls as part of my recovery?

When I was in the south last, I was going through all of my past writings and I stumbled across an old “article” about Mr. Curls. This boy, in some form or fashion, taught me to learn from my relationships. Sure, I didn’t recognize it at the time, but even then, in what I wrote, I talked about how giving up on love is pointless and taking away lessons from love-gone-wrong is more beneficial then turning bitter.

Mr. Curls may have not had that great of an affect on my life, but I think my experience with him ignited my interest in relationship writing. I’ve definitely improved as a writer since that age, but I realized a common thread between the journalist I am today and the one I was then: I want to inspire others. By giving information, sharing experiences, or opening doors that were closed.

So, thank you Mr. Curls, for “breaking my heart” and making me move on – and for all those silly young butterflies. And in celebration of our “love” – here’s the ending of my article, dated 2001, called “Wish Upon a Star”, where I told our story word-for-word (mind the spelling, it’s taken verbatim):

“Sad ending, huh? I think so too. And the truth is, were not even friends now. Which is bad for me and bad for him. My mom says we both look hurt when we see eachother. And I guess she’s right. Now your wondering, Why am I telling you this? Why do you want to know about my little reletionship? This is why.

Many people tell you wishing apon stars never happens. But I belive stars have a deeper meaning. I belive stars are God in desiguse. He granted my wishes and he will grant yours. Find your star and always wish apon it, if it is the first star of the night. Another thing. Yes I had a great relantionship with this boy, and I had a horrible break up. I know you all must think I’m crazy because I was only in the 7th grade, and I have to admit I was overly serious. But still, from this I have gained so much. At times in our lives, we have troubles and problems. But I just remember that the right boy is out there for me. Even if this, even if that. I’m waiting for him and he’s waiting for me. And I know I’ll find him. Maybe it is and maybe its not this one boy, it doesn’t matter.”

And over 10 years later, the hopeful romantic in me isn’t gone. Oh yeah, he’s out there. But first, I’m finding me.

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Trick or Treat?

Halloween gives us the opportunity to step out of our comfort zones and play a different character for the night. Some of us decide to go scary, while some become a little more scandalous, and a few break out the creativity – regardless, we all put on a face that doesn’t belong to us and go to brew up some trouble.

We all have the excuse that it’s Halloween and we can do and be whoever and whatever we would like, because the next morning, we’ll wake up, wash off the makeup or face paint and be back to our normal selves. The image we portray is temporary and with everyone else joining in on the charade, it’s easy to pretend.

But in matters of love and of our hearts, is it ever okay to play make believe? Can we trick ourselves into a treat, or out of one, because we become something we’re not? Or is it okay to experiment and see what we feel, what we think, and how we respond to something out of our character.

Is experimenting bad or is it just part of the journey? Part of recovery? Part of the falling in love with ourselves?

Lately, I’ve been trying not to put myself in a box. I’ve always been very rule-oriented – maybe because I’m a Virgo or because that’s just who I am, I’m not quite sure. But I’ve always supported self-imposed rules that have dictated my choices, my actions, and my feelings.

I’m guilty of using phrases like “have to” or “can’t” when it comes to everything from exercise and sex to my career. I can’t kiss him or he’ll think I’m easy. I can’t have sex with someone out of a relationship or I’ll feel awful about it afterwards. I have to go to the gym at least five days a week or I’ll gain weight and look bad. I have to have a certain amount of internships to make it in publishing. I have to write in a certain so I’ll get the specific job I want.

I should, I can’t, I must, I won’t, I have to – all of these words are so limiting. They don’t allow me to treat myself or to try something new. They play mind tricks with me that make me feel guilty or make me feel like I’m not good enough or I have short comings. It makes me feel suffocated and stuck in a rut that I’m so desparately trying to break free of.

No, I don’t think I should start sleeping around or stop going to the gym (I do love running, after all), and I don’t think I should stop freelancing or stop improving my writing. But I do think my language needs to change and so does the amount of pressure I put on myself.

If I want to kiss someone, I want be able to do that without fear of what other people think or feeling less ladylike. If I want to take more than one day off a week from working out, I want to be able to do that without worrying about my hips spreading.

And I shouldn’t have to trick my mind into allowing me to treat myself – but rather, just go with the flow. Love myself in the same unconditional form I love my friends and my family. Forgive myself if I do something that later I may not feel 100 percent good about. Believe that every experience, every bump in the road, or sporadic decision is just bringing me one step closer to security and self-love, and eventually, the love I’ll find with the right man.

I don’t want to put on a face or stay locked up in a routine or a mindset that limits me from exploring, being, and trying all that I want to experience. I don’t want to have to put on a costume to taste a new flavor I haven’t before, but I also don’t want to miss out on my youth for fear of doing the wrong thing.

Where is the line between treating and tricking? Where’s the happy ground between living openly and freely and staying true to ourselves?

Can you ever really, have the treat, without the trick?

 

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Trail Blazing

It’s easy, it’s natural, and it’s captivatingly simple to me. It comes without any trouble, without any worries, and without any fears or complications. It gives as much as it takes and it can make me feel better in an instant. It is part of what defines me and what makes me get up each and every single morning.

Writing.

Regardless if it’s an article, this blog, freelancing, or Tumbling – I know I was put on this planet to be a writer. Yes, of course, everyone in New York is a writer of sorts, but I truly believe I was given the gift of being a word craftswoman and that it’ll take me wherever I want to go. And I also know I have the ability to write as I do so I can help others with their struggles, their thoughts, and their daily lives.

Recently, I met with an editor at a magazine who is in charge of a networking group I’m part of. We met to discuss my career, taking a leadership role in the group, and advice about moving forward. Not only did she compliment me and tell me she knew I’d go far and that my ambition was admirable – but hearing about her accomplishments and witnessing her career…gave me a surge of energy.

While I’ve always had confidence in my career and in the steps I’m taking to be successful, having someone else validate you gives you that extra kick ya need. And that feeling – that kick, the ecstatic feeling in the pit of your stomach that makes your heart swell…is incomparable.

As I left her office and got on the elevator, it took every ounce of maturity in me to not jump up and down the hallway. And when I was on the streets, I practically was skipping and my smile was as wide as the Grand Central Terminal I was entering.

That feeling when you know you’re doing exactly what you’re meant to do, in the place you want to do it, at the time you’re supposed to do it…wow. When I see my byline in print or online, when I get a check for freelancing, when I get fan mail from this blog, the joy that intensifies in my soul is more powerful than any feeling a man has ever given me.

That happiness, that beautiful, irreplaceable confidence in myself, my career, and my ability to achieve makes me realize how important writing really is to me. No matter who I meet or who I marry or who I fall in love with – they will never be able to give me this energy or this joy.

Because that joy, that perfectly-aligned with your soul feeling – comes from a place they’ll never reach. And I wouldn’t want them to. This happiness, this immense pleasure is just for me and for the hard work I put into being who I know I’m meant to be, and helping those I know I need to serve.

I feel like I’m at the brink of something incredible. I’m learning to love myself, be confidently single, and I’m advancing myself to the next level I want to be at in my career. Something is brewing in the atmosphere and something even more amazing is brewing inside of me.

I sincerely feel like I’m on fire and wherever I go next will light up all around me, illuminating a path for others to follow. This passionate flame that burns so intensely inside of me cannot and will not be extinguished because it’s been there forever – without faltering when anyone comes in and out of my line of fire.

Watch out, world – I’m blazing a new trail, and I’m taking this spark with me to the next adventure. And…I’m doing it all by myself.

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My Father, the Oak Tree

Everyone has a safe place.

A place where they can go to feel secure. To feel comforted. To feel like the world is right. And even years after that place is no longer within reach, if they close their eyes and imagine it, they’ll find that same peace deep down in their soul.

For me- that place, my place, is on a wooden swing hanging from a tall Oak tree in the backyard of my childhood home.

This swing, while only made of a slab of polished wood, and rope- was created by my father’s two hands and without a doubt; I know he would never let anything happen to me. On that simple swing, that never failed me once, I would do all my dreaming. All my make-believing. All of my writing in string-bound notebooks. All of my never, never lands ended up dangling from that sturdy rope tucked behind trees in North Carolina.

It has been a while since I’d given much thought to that swing or needed to escape to a safe place, but for the last three nights, I’ve dreamt about an Oak tree. Each time, I’ve been hidden behind its branches, protected and secure in its shadow, and in search of something…although I’m not quite sure what.

Never one to take anything at face value, I dug into my Dreamer’s Dictionary (placed easily accessible next to my bed) and looked up what dreaming of a tree meant. Underneath Oak tree, it said: a symbol of faithful love.

Of course, now it makes sense.

What could be more faithful in terms of love in my life, than the love between my father and me? In that father/daughter bond that no one can understand unless they’ve experienced it, and many long for if they haven’t.

My dad, much like an Oak tree, is tall and strong and always wants to shade me from any harm that may tempt to cause me trouble. I’ve hidden behind his branches, both literally and emotionally for such a long time. And I’ve hesitated introducing him to this blog…or to my life, for fear it would stir up too many emotions that I’m not sure I want to feel yet.

But, if this is about honesty and about going through significant relationships- there is no relationship more important, more impactful, more devastating and hopeful, than my relationship with this man.

So…here it goes. This is for you, daddy-o.

Up until I was fifteen, my father could do no wrong. He was my partner in crime, the man who took me on every risky adventure my mom said “no” to, but still kept me safe if I was afraid or worried. My childhood is filled with countless vivid and irreplaceable memories of growing up in the sweet south- hanging around with my dad. If given the choice, I would have picked him as someone to spend time with over anyone, even my very, very best BFF.

Apple of his eye

I idolized my dad in a way that I don’t think was wrong. To me, he was this tough fireman who made my mom laugh and tickled me until I begged him to stop. He let me put makeup on him and when I asked him if he would “pretend to marry me” he gladly accepted. He told me I was his darling lovely little girl and that he would always defend me against the big bad monsters or scary things that lived under my bed or in my closet.

With my dad by my side, I could do anything.

Then, he retired from the fire department the end of my freshman year in high school. Because he wanted to get away from the ‘busy” city of Asheville (c’mon dad, try NYC), we moved to our lake house- far away from all of my friends and familiar settings. Of course, I was angry, but I typically adjust well to new situations and people- so I knew I’d be okay.

And I was- but he wasn’t. He ended up getting a cyst that caused him to be immobile for a while. In those weeks, he started to feel the onset of depression, which led to therapy and medicine. At the time, my mom and I thought it would pass, just as it did for her and for me, but we really had no idea of what was ahead of us.

For the next five years, right up until the week before I moved to New York City (no exaggeration), through my high school and college tenures, my dad was sick. There were extreme ups, disturbing downs. His lungs would suffer from past fires he fought. His heart would get weak because of the constant anti-depressants and uppers he was on to try and combat whatever illness the doctors decided he had that week. He spent time in the hospital and I’ve seen my dad in states saying things and acting in ways that no daughter should have to witness. We literally couldn’t get him to smile for a picture, regardless of what it was for.

College graduation, in the midst of illness

He became someone I didn’t know- lifeless, hopeless, and cold. One week, we’d think he was bi-polar. Then we’d think he just had a heart condition. Next, we’d think maybe a brain tumor. No doctor could figure out what was causing him to be without any energy and so far from himself that my mother and I didn’t recognize him. And there is no pain more real than missing someone when their body is right in front of you, but who they are…is gone.

And through all of this- I learned to be strong. I learned to be independent. I learned to be the shoulder my mom needed when she didn’t have anyone else. I learned to push myself through anything and to not ask for recognition. I learned to put my dad so far out of my mind that I could hide from the hurt.

But most importantly, I learned to trust in myself because I lost my trust in my dad.

I didn’t know who he would be the next time I saw him. I didn’t know if the voicemail he left me would be the last time I ever heard his voice. I didn’t know what to expect, what to think, or how to feel. I didn’t know if I should relish in the ups or to mourn in the downs.

Being me, the journalist, I looked for the answers. I looked for the answer in a slew of men who I desperately wanted to love me. For me to be able to trust them. I looked for the answer in books, articles, and websites that claimed to know. I looked for the answer in the arms of guys I knew didn’t care about me in the way I deserved. I looked for the answer by telling Mr. Idea absolutely everything, unlike I had ever told anyone before, and then was disappointed. I looked for the answer in every place but myself and my dad.

And then, out of the blue, with one test- the answer was there. Of everything they could have tested my dad for; there was one thing they left out. And my dad, by looking on the internet randomly one day, found the solution himself. The doctor did as my dad said, and within a few weeks…my dad was back.

 

 

Back to himself, pretending to be “Indiana Jones”

 

 

He was laughing. He was smiling. He was giving me a hard time. He was calling me his butterfly, his angel, and wanting to actually hug me. He started remembering things when I told him and paying attention to what I was doing. He wanted to be part of my life again, and he came out of this shell of hell that defined the last five years of my life.

…and then, within a few days, I moved to New York. I packed up two suitcases and headed for my dreams. The dreams that hadn’t included my father for such a long time. And now, I’m left with this ongoing battle between my heart and my mind, what I hope for and I what I fear, and what I should do and what I should protect.

The thing is- I realize he’s better. And the second I felt like I had him back, that man he always was to me, I forgave him in an instant. All of the negativity and all of the resentment and all of the awfulness that consumed my life for so long…vanished. But that fear, that nagging sting in the back of my heart isn’t gone. It’s the fear that warns “Just wait, it could all go downhill again.” It’s the fear that keeps me from getting my hopes up and from truly trusting him period.

So maybe I have trust issues- it wouldn’t be the first time I’ve considered it a possibility. And probably a huge part of my desire to just want to meet someone worthwhile is so I can lay my trust in someone…without the fear of them changing right before my eyes.

Everyday, I make myself call my dad. Hearing his voice and his laugh still makes me so thankful that my prayers were finally answered. And each day, that smile that comes on my face when I think of him becomes a little less hesitant. We write to each other in a journal, since that’s how I express myself the best, and mail it back-and-forth. I’m gradually starting to tell him more things about me that he missed in the last five years, and we’re getting to know each other again. The process is slow and extremely painful and difficult- but it brings me so much happiness to just have my dad back.

He will always be my hero, just like I’ll be his butterfly no matter how old I get or where I live. And while I’ve left the shade of his protection and his branches can’t hold me back- it’s from his roots, his faithful, unrelenting, and unconditional love that I draw strength and hope.

The hope that says…just believe. Because sometimes, when you least expect it, when everything else is lost, and nothing could seem more impossible- a new seed, a new leaf, a new beginning…blooms.

Finally getting a beer with my dad, after the awful journey came to a close.

PS: If you know a middle-aged man who suffers from symptoms similar to depression, bi-polar disorder, and experiences loss of energy in addition to bone/muscle issues, please go to this website. It changed my family’s life.