Tag Archives: Travel

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A Love of My Own

As he has since the moment I met him, Mr. Possibility never fails to make me think.

He’s the type of guy who knows what he knows, but still seeks advice and listens to other’s opinions. Anything that’s said or shared, while not always carefully thought out, has meaning to him. He is the first in my long list of Mr’s who has fully supported and embraced my writing – something that I always hoped I would find in a mate. He even edits these blogs from time-to-time and emails me with suggestions, to “help me improve.” God bless him, but sometimes I just want to smack him.

Nevertheless, he’s been gone for the last three weeks overseas for business and for me, it has really tested our connection. We stay in touch thanks to the many technological wonders of the world and the lovely perk that his company pays for international text messaging (God bless them too). But of course, apart from the random coincidences where we both have enough time to Skype, I don’t get to see his face or spend time in his presence. And for us, that’s been a huge part of what’s brought us together, and personally, being face-to-face helps me trust in the early stages of a courtship.

While he’s been gone, I’ve had this blessed opportunity to take a step back from the butterflies in my tummy, the lingering smell of him on my clothes, and the anticipation for a night out for dumplings, and really figure out what I want. Because, really, a possibility is just that – not out of the question, not set-in-stone, but yet a chance for something more. And though my love addiction qualities will plead that the decision to become less possible and more definite is completely up to him, my heart knows it is as much my decision as it is his.

In the past, I’ve rushed into a relationship for fear that if I didn’t hurry and nail in the man I was eying, he’d lose interest and be gone before I had a moment to think. But now, for the first time, it feels like I’m going about things maturely and with a realistic attitude, as opposed to an emotional one. I’m not only taking into account what it is that I feel, how passionate and incredible the under-the-sheets action is, what I could see down the road, but also listening to what he says (and believing him), paying attention to his actions and choices, and getting to know him for who he is…not for the idea of him. And by balancing a level-mind with the bravery to let myself start to fall for him, I’ve been able to keep my head above the romantic tidal waves, and most importantly – not lose myself in the ga-ganess that dating can bring. My eyes aren’t closed, nor are they wide open – but they are looking inward as much as they are looking forward.

As I sent him a good-night email from the States, knowing I’d wake up to a good morning one from his newfound temporary oasis, it occurred to me that for once, I felt like I was doing the right thing. And not in a relationship or with a man or with a love that could be – but by my own standards. I’m being who I am (freak outs and beauty and all), I’m standing up for what I believe in, saying what I think, and not changing myself to be what I think Mr. Possibility wants me to be.

I may be my hardest critic and the one person in my life that is the most difficult to impress and appease- but when it comes down to it, I count on me for happiness and for contentment. Others will contribute to different parts of my satisifcation, and some may come and they may leave, be a possibility and then impossible, but at the end of the day and the end of my life, I know I have two feet that have served me quite well. And the person I’ve become, the woman I’m still growing into, is a beautiful thing – and not necessary for transformation for the mere purpose of pleasing someone else. It is the one relationship that I know regardless of the troubles or the ups and the downs, is worth any struggle. To create a love of my own, that belongs to me, derives from me, and is between me, will help me be ready for the love of tomorrow and the love of forever.

But no matter what, no one will ever love me, like I love me. And that’s how it should be.

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The Single Girl’s Holiday Calendar

In New York, I decided to not get a television in an effort to use my money wisely. Somehow, to me, mini-trips, shopping, and trying out new restaurants around the town is a much better use of my hard-earned cash than sitting at home flipping channels. For those shows that I’m admittedly addicted to (Desperate Housewives, Glee, etc.) – there is always my very reliable and free friend, Hulu.

However, when you’re stuck inside an Igloo and the only way out is in – keeping your eyes glued to the tube seems to be the way to pass time. So, in between gazing outside, running on my family’s 15-year-old treadmill (very scary, by the way), cleaning, and cursing the clouds for their snow invasion – I’ve been hanging out on the couch, remote in one hand, puppy on the knee.

As I’ve watched reruns of Full House and spent hours salivating at the Food Network, and crying over the fancy trips on the Travel channel that I can’t afford to take – I’ve noticed a very strange theme in commercials. Before Christmas, regardless if they were advertising home appliances, jewelry, or electronics – almost every 30-second clip featured a happy, smiling couple. All the taglines promised to “bring a smile to her face” or “to give him the gift that keeps giving” or “be the envied couple of the year.”

Ironically enough though, most commercials now are geared to the single crowd with the focus on New Year’s Eve. Beauty companies, fitness centers, major retailers, and all that’s in between – are now promoting themselves as the must-have for independence, for a “brand new beautiful you” or “the back-end that’ll make them take a second look” or “bring in the New Year with new gifts just for you.”

So, apparently flying solo while Santa’s in town is not recommended, but ringing in the next January 1 is? Does that much change in just a week?

I know about targeted marketing efforts and audience sampling to help determine what registers with viewers and maximizes a company’s return-on-investment for their clip during prime time. I know the process to create a commercial that the majority of people mute is a strenuous and standardized process – but maybe playing into our emotions and directing us to the special-times-of-the-year where being single is acceptable, isn’t the best route to take.

Holidays have always been, until late, a very difficult time to be sans-boyfriend for me. There is something about celebratory dinners with families, seeing long-lost friends, or anticipated dates that make me wish I had a physical, in-flesh date by my side. However – I will say that amidst the pressure from grandma and the Green Monster of Envy of your friend’s engagement ring, there is something to be said about the hype surrounding holidays that could make a minus-one lady lonesome. I won’t blame Hallmark or the Saints, but I may shy away from kneeling and purchasing for a bit.

And while most of it may very well be in our minds, watching couples frolicking in between Man vs. Food isn’t exactly appetizing for those of us who would like to take a bite out of a man ourselves. So instead of signing up for OkCupid or hitting the bar hard between now and the-holiday-that-shouldn’t-be-mentioned in February (deep breaths) – why don’t we create our own Single Girl Holiday Calendar?

I propose the following:

January 6- National No Regret Spending Day

While everyone else’s credit card bills will be coming back maxed-out to the limit due to purchasing expensive watches for their boyfriends and fancy chocolates for the boyfriend’s mother – ours will be happily balanced and in tact. And if not, at least we can glance down at our feet and see those Louboutins smiling back at us.

February 15- “I’m Prettier Than Your Box of Chocolates” Day

Those attached may be recovering from a romantic evening of imported wine and smelling the roses, but all the single ladies who spent the last week pampering ourselves with facials, manicures, blow-outs, and treatments, will be the ones who turn heads for days to come. Love does look good on people, but so does radiating skin courtesy of a fancy salon in midtown.

March 17- Kiss Many Irish Men (or Those Who Claim It) Day

Instead of having to wonder if our men will be getting a little too drunk to handle himself maturely at the bar, you’re free to indulge in green specialities, and if the Irish happen to get lucky by your standards, you may even steal a kiss. Or two.

April 24- Born-Again Single Woman Day

If instead of celebrating your singleness on New Year’s, Valentine’s Day, and St. Patty’s, you decided to eat a full half-gallon of chocolate chip cookie dough ice cream and drink yourself into a hot-mess oblivion, today is the day to rise up and rejoice! If you accept yourself as single, flaws and all, your power and strength will be returned to you. This also pertains to those who have newly been forced into or chosen the single status.

May 6- Single Ladies Get Out of Work (with Pay) Day

Due to an excessive obsession with guacamole and margaritas, any woman who is not attached to a man by formal titles bestowed by the state, church, or Facebook, is permitted to not go into work to recover from her hangover. She will get paid as she usual does and her attached friends are required to send her orange juice, diet coke, and appropriate feel-better food.

June 24 – National One Night Stand Day

Since this is a time where single ladies should be gallivanting to exotic places by themselves or with other free ladies, this is the day to celebrate being non-committed by enjoying a one night stand of your choice. By having the out-of-this-world sexy seduction during this 24-hour period (every minute, if you’d like) – your overall “number” does not go up, your emotions do not go haywire, and you are free to enjoy with no-strings-attached. Protection a must. Foreigners encouraged.

July 4- National Independence Day (USA)

Enough said.

September 5- Anti-Labor Day

In celebration of the fact that we’ve never had to go through labor pains and we don’t have to labor over pleasing a man, let us all raise a glass and a diamond-less hand to our slender bodies and well-rested heads. (Single mothers are the exception because we can’t even imagine how they can do it all on their own, even if they have actually been in labor)

October 29- Free to Be Scary Looking Day

With masks and costumes preparing to roam the streets, single women of the world honor the fact that they can just be themselves, in the privacy of their own apartments, without having to worry about their looks for a man. No makeup with a green cleansing facial masques, no clothes or pushup bras, no shaving in any area if we don’t fancy, and no zit-left-unpopped for this day. Be free, be a tad-bit scary looking…and still feel beautiful.

November 30- Thank Goodness I’m Single Day

While attached ladies are busy worrying about how their in-laws will get along, who will bring what dish to dinner, and if they’re boyfriend/husband will say they are thankful for “them”  when the crowd counts their blessings around the table – we’re encouraged to do whatever we like. Don’t want to go anywhere but our friend’s place and drink wine while “cooking” a turkey? Go for it. Try and make a list of reasons why you’re thankful to be single, too.

December 10- National Sparkle’ for Singles Day

Put down the third gift for mom, and the rice maker for Aunt Jo. Tis time to buy yourself something…just for you. There is no better way to say “I love me” than to feel like a star at the end of the year, throughout the year…and always.

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Stuck in a Love Snowglobe

The day after Christmas, in a land far, far away from the majesty that defines New York City, I found myself stuck in my childhood home, surrounded by almost a foot of snow. And worse than being annoyed, was the realization that I wasn’t getting anywhere until Tuesday.

If you can feel my deep, intense, loud, and heaving sigh from wherever you are – I wouldn’t be surprised.

Now, don’t get me wrong – I really did enjoy being home for ten days. It was nice to see familiar faces and do virtually nothing but eat, sleep, and be very merry. I had a very wonderful Christmas and was actually able to consume some solid food by the time we opened presents. And of course, receiving 30 beautiful Christmas tulips (my favorite) from Mr. Possibility was a very nice gesture. (And hey, they weren’t second-hand, but intended for me). But after so much downtime, relaxing, not working, having no obligations or responsibilities – not to mention not really spending any money at all – this woman is going quite stir-crazy. I’ve found many ways to pass my time indoors, from giving myself a pedicure and attempting to teach my six-year-old dog tricks to eating lots and lots of snow creme and cleaning out all sorts of things that I’ve had for way too long.

Nevertheless, there has been something about having absolutely nothing to do and no way to get out – that’s made me a little melancholy.

I’ve found myself lost in my own thoughts, dreaming up notions of tomorrow in my mind, feeling that all-too-familiar twang of sadness and desire for a love to call my own, and even despite my recovery efforts, something has made me revert back to some of my love addiction fantasies.

You know – the fairytale land we’ve all created: those images of how we believe our future hubby will look like (tall, charming, handsome, with blue eyes), what his future career will be (something he loves and makes a ton of money), what our house will be like (old with a history and made of brick), and how he will propose (in a symbolic way that will mean something to us). All of these visions, these beliefs, these hopes for how our future, our lives, and our loves will play out.

And man, oh man, do I have a ton. I even have a journal I refer to as my “Dream Book” and it has documented everything from my first dollar made, my date to prom, my college acceptance letter, my first pay stub from my first real job, and it also holds my aspirations, my bucket list, and keepsakes. Bridal magazine clippings, snapshots of couples in love – from the super young to the very old, catalogs from Bergdorf Goodman with items tagged I’d die to own, pictures of places all over the world that I hope to travel to, scraps of fabric, adorable babies in cute little outfits, and apartments that are so very, very lovely. And it also holds my life’s checklist: I’ve checked off graduating from high school, going to college on scholarship, graduating from college, moving to NYC, working for a magazine, and now, there are still several remaining items to “accomplish.”

However, those left, minus being a New York Times best-selling author, aren’t exactly attainable by merit or ambition – but rather, what I believe, are only possible with patience and well…time. But these must-haves for my future, these figments of my imagination that somehow have never left me – are sometimes, so painful to think about. And yet, so precious to me.

I keep them in a part of my heart that I don’t even go near most of the time, a section of my soul that is still vulnerable, still open and full of faith, and a part of my mind that even against its best judgement is a hopeless romantic to the core. They are under strict protection, hidden away in a box beneath my dresser, underneath piles of sheets and pillowcases, completely out of sight for any visitor, friend or Mr. Possibility who may enter my apartment.

And yet, even though they are stuck under glass, in a love snowglobe of sorts, I almost always allow myself to input the man of the hour, of the week, of the month – into these fantasies. I gaze up at this man, interjecting him into these ideas, and hoping, wondering, praying – that he’ll live up to these notions I’ve sketched. That he’ll help me check off a box, be seated next to me at our wedding in a photo I’ll stick on a page in the Dream Book I’ve had since I was 13, and be the answer to these late-night, pleas for love. But then, when it doesn’t work out, when he was never really meant to play the part of my Mr. Forever – there those romantic angles go, right back in the book, out of sight, out of mind, out of heart. Protected again, under the same imagination they were created by…until the next endearing candidate comes along.

Maybe it is being captured by the snow with way too much time on my hands or just the growth of this journey, but instead of dwelling in these blueprints I’ve outlined for tomorrow – I’ve decided it is time to shake up the love snowglobe.

To twist the dial and let the music play for however it’d like. To watch the snow and the glitter, the specs, and the debris fly all sorts of ways, and allow those plans and checklists to be a little less structured. To give not only myself, but my sacred Dream Book, some room to change and some room for new opportunities to come my way. To give my heart some lee-way and to let go of the rigid expectations I’ve made for my Prince Charming, so maybe when a possibility comes along, my imaginary projections don’t drown out the brilliance of who he really is.

Because being trapped in any way – where it be in snow or in visions of white wedding dresses and homes with finger-painting messes – isn’t a pleasure for anyone. Stuck in the same rut with the same idea and the same hopes….will never liberate the Dream Book from its title or allow the most wonderful dream of all, reality, to play its course.

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Sign, Sign, Everywhere A Sign

In high school and at most of the fraternity parties I attended in college – I was always amazed by people’s obsession with stealing road signs. Whenever I would comment on the Yield or the Stop sign serving as decor in their apartment, the new owners of the signs in question would instantly light up and go into detail about the elaborate story behind their abduction.

While I was never impressed and frankly confused by the allure – I will say I’m a sucker for looking for (and often creating illusionary) signs when I’m in a relationship or interested in someone.

My friends who often poke fun of me for being the romantic “wishes, rainbows, and unicorns” type of gal (though I’m trying to come a little above idealistic water) – always tell me that I make anything and everything into a sign. It could be from the way we met, how his hands look next to mine, a shared interest we have that’s out-of-the-norm, how his last name sounds with mine, the words he writes in hidden notes – to how he remembers my favorite flower and when my freelancing article is coming out and how even though I don’t really “just know” – I’d like to think that I could.

And more often times than not, when a real or pseudo relationship comes to a close – it is not really the man himself, the intimate moments I shared with him, or our long incredible conversations, that I have such a hard time releasing – it is the signs. These minute symbolic matters that made me believe that whatever love I was feeling or hope I was having regarding this man were really not signs of fate or of forever – but rather, just coincidences that I gave meaning to.

Recently, I discovered some information about Mr. Possibility that has made me question not only him, but my feelings towards the road we were easily traveling through. While I haven’t decided if it is a deal-breaker in my book or something I can get over quickly – it has made me realize that sometimes, I just read into things too much. I spend more time trying to dissect meaning between the lines, determine what someone really means (instead of taking them at their word), and often times, I make several somethings out of a hell of a lot of nothing.

One of the guidelines I made clear when I decided to embark on this path and the 12-step program to overcoming my self-proclaimed love addiction was that I would make no rules for myself. I was not going to hold back, I was still going to date, I was still going to fall head over heels if the wind blew me that way, and I was still going to live my life normally – because that is what a journey is. There are ups and downs, sometimes you take three steps back instead of one forward, sometimes you have bumps in the road and sometimes you fly all the way to cloud 9 one day (with 30 tulips), and then reality takes you back down to Earth (with a text message that shakes you up).

So, when Mr. Possibility and I met and started to see one another casually, I decided I would continue because it only would make my goal to reach self-love that much stronger in the long run. And though I went about things differently, opened myself up to different ways of looking at relationships, and allowed myself to let go, even in the slightest way – I did revert back to old-Lindsay habits by looking for signs of love, instead of looking at the signs before my eyes.

Because sometimes, even when you’re trying so hard to be independent and carefree, to put yourself before any relationship or man, to focus on the reality instead of the dream – you get lost in making excuses and seeing what you want to see, instead of listening to your gut.

And when you are able to wake up or something is admitted to you that stirs up some not-so-pleasant feelings – instead of looking for the symbolic reasons behind them or how you can curve the news to be favorable, it is time to start creating our own signs.

To know when to proceed with caution if something doesn’t sit well, to stop a relationship or stop an action or stop in the name of yourself (not in love) if you aren’t happy or satisfied.  To yield to what you want as much as you yield to emotions and others. To place a speed limit in your dating life that feels comfortable to you and isn’t based on someone else’s standards. To know how to look for icy conditions ahead and learn how to break with precision and caution, instead of sliding into danger. To look out for the dead end ahead instead of trying out your tires to battle a rocky path to make a road when maybe there was never supposed to be one. To know that sometimes there is only one way to go about something and to not enter when deep down, you know the outcome will only hurt you. That is, unless road construction – not of only your effort, but the man in question’s willpower too, can restructure the route.

And also, to know that even when all the signs point to safety and to “yes” – sometimes you have to be the one to take a step back, let off the gas, and determine what is acceptable for you. To decide if this is a road you want to travel down or if you’d rather turn around and take a left. Because there really are signs all around us and maybe one day when a relationship does work out, when a man is true and trustworthy, when love does last across a distance, and promises are made and kept – we will celebrate all of the seemingly-indicative directions that brought us to this person.

But until then, the best road to take, the route that will give you the most profitable gas mileage, and the clearest conditions you can face – is the path that points directly to you. The signs on that highway will remind you to not stop believing, to let you know you always have the right of way, and while not encouraged, U-turns are allowed, if you so decide to make one.

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My Date with Freedom

New York is in its most amazing prime: fall.

The leaves are changing, the weather is ideal for a light weight everything, and each sight you see is just absolutely gorgeous. To celebrate the majesty of the season, I decided to take myself on a date. If I am falling in love with little ol’ me, part of the romance is treating myself to a day with me, myself, and I.

After a three-mile run, I dressed up in a tight black sweater dress and high-heeled brown boots with my leopard print pashmina, and headed to the subway. For days, some little voice inside my head had been telling me to go to the Met; so, for once, I listened.

When the train arrived at 86th street, I headed through the park, around the reservoir to look at the changing colors and the beauty of the sun reflecting against the water while the wind tousled my hair. Every single direction I looked, I was captivated by how perfectly peaceful the city can be -even with so many people constantly surrounding you.

I walked slowly and freely, observing and taking in everything around me. I turned off my iPod, I put up my phone, and I embraced the simplicity and the stillness of just being alone. I didn’t have to talk to anyone, discuss what to do next, or where to go: I only had to speak to myself. When I wanted to stop and stare, I stopped. When I was bored, I continued. When my feet hurt, I sat down. When I wanted a water, I got some. And of course, I took pictures of the skyline.

As I walked through the park, I saw beautiful babies in strollers and toddlers playing catch with their dads. I saw couples holding hands and stealing a kiss. I watched tourists figure out their next move, and New Yorkers push their way through them. I heard languages of every kind and sirens in every direction. I brushed by friends giggling at a share secret and artists bargaining for a fair price for their original design. I witnessed a homeless man begging for a dime and runners brisk by me without missing a beat. The park’s energy was vivid and real, unforgiving, and relentless. It was superbly New York.

Once I reached the Met, I carefully wiggled my way between crowds, made my donation, and explored the vicinity. I walked through centuries of artists, rooms from long ago, and sculptures that once lived on four different continents. I smiled at strangers, half-way examined my map, and continued through each room thinking of all the people who have seen, touched, and been part of every single piece in the museum. I admired a couple vigorously discussing a piece of art before turning to each other and smiling, and the gentleman kissed his wife’s head.

And of course, as I crossed into the medieval room, I found a knight-in-shining armor. I tilted my head at him and decided that since I was on a date with myself, it wouldn’t be polite to dream of the man who once was in that suit. And then again, I thought I wouldn’t want to because it looks very stiff and painful –not quite something I’d like to snuggle up to.

Once I reached the top floor, I realized how tired my feet were getting, and that the sun was just beginning to set. I looked through the window and watched the trees dance in the breeze, and for a moment the world paused. New York felt like home just as it always has, but the peace of it started to settle in my soul. And when I feel good in my soul, I always want to have some lovely red wine to sit well in my tummy.

So off I went, back through the park, crossing landmarks and even more strangers. I walked passed bridges and lovers, pennies on the ground, pigeons hopping along, and faces of every shape and kind. I didn’t touch up my makeup and I didn’t feel cold or lonely -just confident. I walked until I was on the West side near my train and found a cute Italian restaurant that looked to the east.

I asked for a table for one outside and a kind Italian man brought me a menu and a gracious smile. I ordered a tall glass of wine, a tomato and goat-cheese salad with bread, and ate every single bite while I read an old book I’d been meaning to read for weeks. I listened to the wind and the conversations around me. I observed the people walking by: families and friends, women with babies, women in heels. Men with collared shirts and running clothes, children laughing and playing in the streets. Elderly couples bickering at each other, women drinking Starbucks, and smoking cigarettes. The city was embracing its people and as an observer, I took full advantage of the presentation. The diversity is beautiful.

The date ended with a walk back to my apartment, just about ten blocks, and I thought of how truly blessed I am to live here. To live in the one place I’ve always, always wanted to live. And for the first time, I realized how lucky I am to be single.

Before the cute little girls in pink jackets who will call me “Mommy”. Before the man who will come up behind me and wrap his arms around me and whisper in my ear. Before the ten pounds that will most likely come with age. Before the canes and the wrinkles. Before the bills and the heavy decisions. Before I no longer can call this city my home address. Before I must consider another person with every single choice I make, road I take, or direction I go. Before there are loads of laundry and dishes to wash that aren’t mine. Before there are soccer games and retirement plans and houses to keep up. Before there are in-laws and anniversaries, birthdays, and graduations. Before I am part of a ‘we’. Before I am a mother. Before I am a wife. Before I am menopausal. Before…the rest of my life, I have one of the most precious gifts anyone can ever have, and many have fought for: freedom.

The freedom to just be. To just go. To walk or to run. To stop or to play. To wonder or to discover. To believe or to question. To cry or to smile. To wake up and travel or sleep in and to stay. To hope or to disdain. To achieve or to succumb. To be…

…me.

It was the best date of my life. And I know, with my whole heart without any doubt or insecurity, that I’ll call the next day. And me, will still be there waiting.