Tag Archives: Relationships

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Skating Around Love

Since I started this blog, nearly a month and a half ago, I’ve made a lot of progress. I have learned how to not only recognize but to alter negative habits into good ones. I’ve learned how to realistically and lovingly talk to myself, and more so, accept myself for who I am –even the messy parts.

I’ve also become a lot stronger and my word choice when talking to myself (promise I’m not crazy), has become more encouraging than self-defeating. Instead of being jealous of couples, I’ve learned to be happy for them and to smile at the sight of love. Instead of thinking with a never-ever attitude, I’ve started to use a more one-day-at-a-time mentality.

But, like any good addict who is a teensy-bit obsessed, I have vices that come up. Even when you think you’re doing a good job of swaying your feelings and thoughts to be healthier –something pops up and throws you off of your pretty little recovering high horse.

For me, all it took was seeing the ice skating rink at Rockefeller Center yesterday.


Since I had a meeting near the Rock yesterday, my friend Mr. Unavailable and I met for a quick lunch. As I was waiting for him to come down from his office, I turned around and out of the corner of my eye, I caught a glimpse of the skaters.

Now, for those of you who may not know me personally (although if you read this blog, you know a lot) – I’ve always been in love with New York. And for me, everything right, beautiful, and worthy in this world is on this tiny, but boisterous island. Sights in New York bring me more joy than any man ever has come close to bringing.

Because of this 15-year-city-crush, I’ve developed quite a few romantic notions about what my love life would be like once I moved here. So far, all of them have been proven dramatically wrong, but of course, I’m learning to keep my hopes and my head held high.

But no amount of self-encouraging and doting could compare to the weight in my heart and the lump in my throat when I saw Rockefeller Center. In an instant, all of these ideas I’ve built up in my head about the skating rink came flooding back:

Skating (or rather attempting to) with an attractive man with our cheeks rosy from the cold, the movement, and the flirty anticipation. Starting to stumble and being caught by him as we laugh at how ridiculous we both look. And that moment when he reaches out for my hand and we have that look, the look that says “this could be something.”

And with those thoughts, other things about the winter season and the city started coming to mind: It’s going to start snowing soon and when I see that first snowfall, I’ll want to be kissed. I’ll want to experience it with someone…right? And who will be there? Probably no one.

Christmas isn’t far away and I always feel extra lonely when it’s the holiday season and everyone is getting special/personalized gifts from their loves and I get the same zip-up hoodie from my grandma that I’ve unwrapped for years. And the dreaded dinner where everyone is in pairs and I sit alone, the awkward one without any cute story to tell, cheek to kiss, or secret glance to share.

And just look at those skaters….that was supposed to be me this year. Wasn’t 2010 supposed to be the year I got everything I ever wanted?

In the midst of this, Mr. Unavailable came up, stood next to me and asked, “Whacha lookin’ at?” Of course, I smiled and replied, “Just always dreamt of it and here it is.” With enough struggles of his own, I didn’t include the rest of my ridiculousness as he (as a Queens native) showed me around the area to get a good look, and in quiet reflection, I dreamt about everything I have had planned for this silly little rink.

After our lunch and my meeting, I thought about how much I freaked out in that moment looking at Rockefeller and wondered why it bothered me so much to see something I’ve loved and looked forward to seeing in person for a decade. I mean, I even have a Christmas decoration that’s of skaters at Rockefeller Center! Frankly, the more I thought about it, the more I became really disappointed in myself and extremely frustrated.

Why does it bother me? Why does it matter? Why is it, that even after all this work, I just can’t let go? Why does seeing such a beautiful site irk me so badly? Why does it literally make my heart race and cause tears to well up in my eyes…seconds before I meet an attractive man (yeah, he’s unavailable, but he’s still cute)?

Does the fact that it gets to me, mean I’m not actually progressing, but just skating around my issues? Skating around my desire for love, pretending it doesn’t exist? Am I really approaching this as I should and need to? Am I doing something wrong…or am I just human?

So having these romantic notions –good or bad? I don’t think it’s necessarily a bad thing, but I hate that it hurts to think about them, especially with all the work I’m putting into not hurting. Am I always going to have these notions? Of course. But I don’t want them to be painful or disruptive to my day, my confidence, or my life. Will I stop wanting these things? Probably not, but I hope I can accept not having them.

I think maybe it’s time to take myself out on another date…far away from those skaters. I’m not sure what I’ll do when I see the Christmas tree all lit up. Although, Mr. Unavailable did mention an ‘in’ he had….we’ll see.

Click here for photo credit.

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The Blame Game

As I’m preparing myself to go back through all of my important relationships, I find myself spending a lot of time parked in memory lane.

Now, for some of these relationships, enough time has passed and the initial sting of the end has long been gone and relieved. For others (or really just the last), the memories are incredibly vivid and the wounds are far from healed.

Thinking back on the men who have entered and exited my life, who I’ve loved and lost or let go, I’ve tried to figure out what patterns I’m continuing and how to learn from them. While the Mr’s have varied in looks, ages, occupations, and duration by my side – the way I’ve reacted after each relationship is basically the same.

I’m an active player in The Blame Game.

Somehow, when a relationship comes to a close – regardless if I ended it, he ended it, or we ended it together, I always seem to blame myself. If only I was more attractive, he wouldn’t have left me for her. If I would have slept with him, maybe he wouldn’t have moved on so quickly to her bed. If I would have given him another chance, maybe we’d be together and it all would have worked out. If I wouldn’t have said what I said or freaked out or over analyzed, maybe we’d be in love. If I wouldn’t have been so inquisitive, maybe he wouldn’t have felt smothered, and that I was “too much.”

If only I wouldn’t blame myself for everything that went wrong.

I catch myself saying sometimes, “You’re just not good at relationships.” Which is far from the truth because I don’t really think someone can be “good” at relationships, nor can they succeed or fail. Love isn’t like a test, a career, or a goal to reach –but more so, just something that naturally progresses in your life. Technically, no one is “good” at relationships until they find their person, but even then, it is not all smooth sailing, rainbows, wishes, and butterflies. Truth be told, relationships are work. Being a pro at them would mean you’re unaffected by arguments or struggles, and that’s not really a healthy union in the first place.

As hard as it is to not feel guilty for the end of a relationship, there is never a one-hundred-and-ten-percent person to blame for why things fall apart. To say you have no part or complete part is not giving the relationship or the love the credit it deserves. And, it is selling yourself way too short.

My mother has told me for many years, so eloquently, “You can’t screw up what’s meant to be, Linds.” While those words may not seem like much, they have comforted me in many dark hours, hysterical fits, and analytical trances. One of my favorite books is The Alchemist and in it, there is a line that says something along the lines of: when you’re truly meant for something, whatever it is, the universe aligns to make it happen.

So really, regardless of why a relationship went astray, who made a mistake, who fell out of love, or what argument caused the last straw to break the relationship’s backbone – all is working out just as it should. Even if we think someone is The One and for whatever reason, fate decides to craft a new plan; we can rest assured that something better is in store for us.

A lot of my recovery is based on speaking differently to myself and thinking more realistically and positively about old (and to-be) loves. Instead of blaming myself for the end of my significant relationships – I’ve discovered that turning around the approach can help tremendously.

Mr Curls broke my heart in the seventh grade, but I moved on just fine. Mr Faithful had my heart for three years, but after quite the epidemic, I learned to completely let go. Mr Rebound served his purpose and introduced me to college, but we’re able to be friends now with ease. Mr Buddy and I went down a path we probably should have steered clear of, but now we talk almost daily. Mr Fire may be the one who got away, but there is a passion (that doesn’t upset me anymore) that’ll remain…probably forever. And as for Mr Idea, though I may have sincerely fallen in love with him, what I learned was more important than our romance.

So who’s to blame? A little bit of them, a little bit of me, and a whole lot of fate.

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Museum of Lost Love

I’m an avid museum-goer. When I interned in the city nearly three years ago, I made it my mission to go to every famous museum Manhattan had to offer. And now that I live here, I sincerely need to go more often than I do.

There is something incredibly fascinating about seeing items that once belonged to people hundreds of years ago. Just by looking at artifacts, you can envision how daily life was, what fashion was popular, and what roles were defined by men and by women. You can witness first-hand talented artists and individuals who not only existed in their time, but have the gift to transcend centuries.

And maybe because I’m a writer (or I think just way too much), I always attempt to think of the story behind those portrayed in paintings or sculptures. Did the sculptor love this woman who he shaped so beautifully? Did the artist who painted this happy family hear them fight and scream behind closed doors? Do the Egyptians really mean something different than what we’ve all determined they meant in their inscriptions?

As I walked through the Met on Saturday, I thought about how as humans, not only do we remember the stories behind items (and others try to guess), but we place so many parts of our stuff and our hearts behind glass. And once a relationship ends, parts of our lives that were once alive and vivacious become not only dead-to-us, but completely forbidden.

When a relationship ends, why do we put parts of ourselves away in a Museum of Lost Love?

For instance, when my most recent ex and I broke up, Mr. Idea (which I’ll get into more detail about in a post to come), I all-but deleted Dave Matthews Band from my music collection. Because we both shared a love for DMB, we spent a lot of our relationship listening to them, and of course, our song is by them as well. When we broke up, it was much too painful to listen to anything DMB for a while, and when someone else would mention them, my stomach would churn. Of course, this is normal for someone dealing with heartbreak – but I could list all sorts of remnants from other relationships that cause me pain, too.

So when does that end?

We can’t spend all of our lives avoiding music, restaurants, places, foods, smells, or clothes that remind us of someone we once loved. We can’t cringe at the thought of a name or meeting someone who looks a lot like a boyfriend three-years-removed. At some point, there has to be a time when we completely let go and start putting in all the things we love back into our lives.

And the same goes with our hearts.

Sure, everyone we love remains with us. And hopefully, if the love was returned, they keep that feeling with them too. But, to be able to meet the person we’re meant to be with or to completely fall in love with ourselves, like we need to, we have to have all pieces together.

When the Mr’s stop being Unavailable, Flings or Ideas, and turn into Mr. Right – he doesn’t need to be led around rooms in our souls that are off-limits because a man before him touched them. He shouldn’t get half-a-heart because someone else has the rest.

But even before Mr. Right – there has to be a point where we accept all of the pain we’ve endured, the disappointments we’ve dealt with, and the love we’ve experienced, and lost. We have to come to a point where we accept that what is over, is over for a reason – and what is before us is so much more important, more exciting, and more brilliant, than what’s behind us.

There is no need for a museum to preserve and to highlight what happened, even if we enjoy the stories of long ago. Those stories will never be forgotten or deleted, but their endings will remain the same, and shouldn’t be rewritten.

It is only when we break through that glass, no matter how painful or dangerous that may be, that we can turn the page to a new chapter. And if we just let ourselves continue to the next plot twist, we will see that we never needed to create that “Love Lost Museum” in the first place.

That really, our relationship residue isn’t meant to be overly examined by ourselves and others –but to just be exactly what it was in the time that it happened. Our hearts don’t belong in a museum to never be touched again for fear they will be ruined, but they need to be out there in the open, ready for whatever, and whomever, lays before us.

No admission should be necessary, but you can request a suggested donation of dinner-and-a-movie, if you’d like.

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It Was the Spring of 1985

Back in the late Spring of 1985, a woman named Kim and a man named Jim met at a bar.

Because it was the 80’s, Kim sported a black jumpsuit on her tiny (but sexy, of course) 120-pound-frame, and Jim wore an all white outfit…with the buttons undone to show his tanned chest.

It wasn’t exactly the ideal night for either of them –Jim was the DD for the evening and Kim wasn’t getting asked to dance like she usually did. They were both enjoying the scene and the company of their friends, but it wouldn’t go down in the books as an incredible night out.

It would however, be the night that fate played both of them an interesting card.

Jim saw Kim from across the room and as the tales will always tell –he just knew. He knew whoever this woman was, whatever her status or name or style, that she was the one who was designed for him. He knew he would marry her.

Kim however, wasn’t too keen on the idea. After dancing with Jim, she found him cocky and arrogant, and of course he was a damn Yankee from New Jersey, while she was a sweet and sassy gal from North Carolina. Kim’s friend saw the spark between them and without informing Kim first, gave Jim her phone number.

Every weekend from May until about November, Jim called Kim and asked her out on a date. And every single time, Kim had plans –and yet, Jim would call back in a week just to see if maybe she was free. One night, Kim saw a shooting star and for some reason, thought of Jim, and like clockwork, he called the next day to ask her out. Finally, because something told her to just give him a chance, she agreed to go hiking on the parkway.

And there, on top of a mountain, Jim put his arms around Kim…and then she too, just knew. Right there in front of her and on her answering machine was the guy she had waited for, for so long. The guy who against all odds and all her rejection, just knew he wanted her and only her. A month later, Jim proposed, and in February of 1986, the two got married in a little church on a little budget…with lots of love.

Now, 25 years later, they are still happily married and very much in love. Together, they have flipped several houses, traveled, and seen the worse of the worse, and passed the most difficult of trials. Yet, at the end of the day or the end of a very long battle –they still fought for one another and for the love they found in that bar and on that mountain.

And of course, they had one daughter –a 22-year-old writer with her mother’s spunk and her father’s charm, living in New York City.

My parent’s love story is an absolutely amazing one and it’s one that I hope I’ll have one day. I got lucky that my parents are both independent and strong people, and when they haven’t been, I have watched as they have held each other to support them. I admire both of them for their courage and their ability to forgive each other with such honesty, such sincerity, and such unconditional love.

Being an only child, you really get a firsthand and bird’s eye view into the marriage of your mom and dad because you’re around them all the time. I’ve learned a lot about what it means to truly, full-heartedly, and completely love someone by watching my parents and how they handle situations that came up.

While I won’t get into my father’s illness just yet (which is a huge part of my love addiction in some ways), I will say that the period in my family’s life was awful. It pushed not only my father, but my mother and I to the furthest point we could go. It brought us together, it broke us down, made us realize our strength, and tore us apart. And after the ordeal finally came to a close –there was a lot of picking up to do.

What amazed me was how easily and how kindly my parents just…fell back to one another. Sure, the six-year period of ups and downs was not forgotten, but instead of holding a grudge or being angry or upset, my mom welcomed, embraced, and celebrated my father’s health. And my dad made a promise to spend the rest of his life making up the time they lost.

So, if step 4 is about going back and digging into my own relationships, I think merit has to be given to my parents. To the shining example of love and endurance and trust that they embody. To the two people who I truly believe can do anything.

Thank you, mom and dad for teaching me what true love is and to never strive for less than those sparks. You’re with me wherever I go, always.

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Washing the Walls of Relationship Residue

My childhood bedroom is covered, nearly wall-to-wall with memorabilia. I’m notorious for hanging up inspirational quotes, pictures from magazines, old photos, letters from friends, New Yorky items, and all kinds of this-and-that. basically, I like to be surrounded by things that give me hope.

The last time I was home in June, I traced the walls with my eyes, reading and looking at everything that I hung up because I decided it was significant. I thought of all the things that once graced the space and I removed to make room for something more important. From gymnastic ribbons and poetry awards to Central Park postcards and brochures about Columbia –the walls that surrounded me reflected my growing pains and triumphs. Over the years, my tastes changed along with my goals and perspective –but some things I never cleared off the baby blue walls: love quotes.

Literally, they were (and are) everywhere: on index cards along the border of the ceiling, highlighted in black frames sitting on my bookshelf, scribbled on notebook paper and placed next to my bed… the list goes on and on. It seems as if, regardless of when and why I changed, my admiration for love never went away, and I always needed to be encouraged to remember it (or rather he) is still out there.

I haven’t had a ton of love in my life, but I’m under the belief that quality is much more important than quantity. I’m also 22 years old and I don’t think it’s realistic to say I’ve been in love countless times. Of these relationships, some  have been deeply rooted and lengthy, while others that still are significant to me, only lasted a matter of weeks. But of course, to each their own.

Like love quotes, wall hangings, photos of people I haven’t spoken to in years, and broken heels –I don’t let go of old relationships easily. And I hardly, unless forced, throw things or people away. So needless to say, a large part of my addiction to love is really an addiction to the past. Most of my struggle is not only believing there is a tomorrow (or that I’d be okay without ever finding love. Gulp.), but realizing flames that burned out months or years ago did so for a reason.

Before I can move forward in this journey, I realize I need to go back to the very beginning, and discover what parts of my thinking and analyzing past relationships needs to be corrected. In many ways, I need to alleviate myself of any longing, questioning, hoping, or fearing that’s leftover from love.

I really have to wash away relationship residue so I can have a clean slate for whatever is to come.

So, I’ll need to go back and think about Mr. Curls, Mr. Faithful, Mr. Rebound, Mr. Buddy, Mr. Fire, Mr. Fling, and Mr. Idea. There have been a fair share of additional Mr.’s on the roster over time, but these have specifically impacted me and my love addiction. And while all of them will hold a special place in my heart (and some have pieces of my soul), I have to still let go of a few…no matter how hard it may be.

When I think of my childhood room, I think of all of these guys. I think of talking on the phone in middle school with the chord wrapped around me and making love for the first time with my first love. I think of dreaming about going to college and having a friend become more unexpectantly. I think of crying more than I ever thought possible right before leaving for the best summer in New York and the coldness of an up and down relationship. And I think of the intense sting in the core of me after sharing such intimate parts of myself with someone who ultimately didn’t become what I envisioned he would.

Now, that room is in my past. Eventually, it won’t even be my room anymore, but a room in my parent’s house that once harbored all of my belongings. When I go home for Christmas, I’ll strip down the walls and clean it out to make room for a new transformation…and I’ll do the same to my heart.

Lucky for me, when I come back from dismantling my childhood room, I will enter an apartment that holds no memories or reminders of lost love. It’s a place that’s just me and only highlights the long journey I made to make my dreams my reality.

Yet, on a dry-erase board when you first walk into my apartment, there is a simple quote that says, “She packed up her potential and all she had learned, grabbed a cute pair of shoes, and headed out to change a few things.”