Tag Archives: Women

by - 9 Comments

An Extraordinarily, Ordinary Life

I always wanted to date someone who woke me up with a cup of coffee. I saw it as a nice gesture: knowing how I like my Joe and bringing it to the bedside each morning – plus my dad did it for my mom, so of course, I’ll think it’s sweet. And Mr. Idea did just that: every night we spent together, I’d rise to the smell of coffee brewing and I’d open my eyes in his tiny little studio to see him busily preparing it, smiling over at me from time-to-time to see if I was awake. On the good days, we’d sit outside and watch the sun come over the mountains, listen to Dave Matthews, talk about something or nothing, sip our coffee and welcome in the day. I became convinced that if he ever proposed, that’d be how he’d do it: right there on that patio furniture, as the light filled the open sky, with a cup of coffee in my hand.

I always wanted someone who would come up behind me in the kitchen and wrap their arms around me. Someone who would pick me up and spin me around for no reason, nuzzling my neck and making me laugh with their antics. Mr. Fire did that and a little more. My favorite memory of him is waking up on a Sunday morning after a night out of college boozing, to find him stumbling into his bedroom in his boxers, carrying a popcorn bowl. Still naked, I gave him a confused look and he plopped down to reveal the bowl was actually full of cereal and two spoons. We sat there Indian style with rays of sun tickling our back, laughing and sharing sugary goodness, sneaking in kisses between bites. When we’d cook together, he would find a way to touch me or wrap himself around me, and somehow it felt just like home.

I always wanted to be with someone who when I laid with them, it felt like our various pieces just fit together. I wanted to feel like our body parts were designed for each other, like we had been waiting for this other soul to come and be pressed against us. And Mr. Possibility felt that way. He was strapping and tall and is the only man I’ve been able to fall asleep with with him completely wrapped around me. We were sitting at some bar at some place when we first started to fall for each other and I noticed how similar our hands looked – almost identical. I showed him and he was amazed too. It would become something I’d always look at in bed or when he’d kiss my hand or rub his face against mine. His touch and his closeness always felt right and I could never imagine laying there, just like that, just that easily, with anyone but him.

Recently, as I’ve started getting used to waking up alone – I’ve curled myself into myself, looking out the window, thinking about all the men who I’ve shared a bed with. And my heart with. I’ve always been looking for these odd characteristics, or really these specific characters to fit into these ideas and fantasies I have about what love is supposed to be. I’ve always imagined how it would feel or how it would look, sometimes how it would taste, and especially how long it would last. These beliefs were just that – beliefs. I never saw them as dealbreakers or a “must” – they were just things I really hoped for, and when I thought I found them, I didn’t want to give it up.

But now, a few heart breaks and several life lessons later, I find myself wondering what it is that I really want. Sure, I still have those dreams of what love will look like: moving into an apartment with someone and fixing it up, walking around the city grocery shopping and creating a life with another person. I even see him with curly hair, though I’ve never quite dated someone with locks like that. I can see it in my head and I can illustrate what I think it’ll feel with – but I don’t want to. I don’t want to have these ideas or these lofty expectations. I don’t want to create my entire love life or relationship before I find it or before I meet him.

Sure some guys check boxes, but they are also the men who check out. Because I tried so hard to make them into my definition of perfect or ideal that I ignored who they really were. I saw the sweetness that I was expecting instead of being open and free to be happily surprised by the unexpected. They say you know more about what you want by dating and having relationships that simply don’t work out – but I can’t even tell you what I’m looking for right now. Honestly, I don’t really want much of anything except for one thing:

I want an ordinary life inside of an extraordinary existence.

I want a normal (however relative that it is) man who has his life together, just as I do, who is happy and satisfied but always wants to shoot for more. Someone who wants the home life and a family, as much as he wants to travel and see the world. Someone who is loyal and faithful, who wants to commit, but isn’t so serious that it scares the youth out of me. Someone who wants the finer things in life, just as I do, but is thankful for the little things that often bring the most happiness. Someone who doesn’t need fixing up or solving, but appreciates gentle encouraging and the kindness that I often extend to most anyone. Someone who has goals and dreams that have nothing to do with me, but they somehow seem sweeter if I’m around to witness them, too. Someone who leads this beautiful ordinary life, inside of an extraordinary existence he’s created for himself, just as I have.

I never thought I’d find that the thing I want the most out of a partner is just that – a partner. Not someone who rescues me or romances me. Not someone who says all the right things or brings me coffee in bed or knows how to hold me. Not someone who makes me laugh or is exactly the height that I want. Those things are wonderful and of course, I love them – but what I want the most is just someone who is…

..already a someone, without me.

by - 4 Comments

You’re Really Something Special

I’m from the Golden Star generation.

We’re the kids who grew up believing that even if you didn’t succeed, there was something to be said for trying. There was a first — but never a last, more just a group of people who didn’t win (thank you, Ricky Bobby). Our parents, the Baby Boomers, raised us to be as self-sufficient as we are dependent. A few have made their way with a few trials, a quarter are still searching and another quarter probably will never figure it out. And honestly, they really don’t care.

We aren’t necessarily dependent on our families for financial support or even emotional support — it’s not even that we’re that dependent on our clan in general. It’s more so, we’re used to our folks reminding us of a simple fact, over and over again, regardless of the outcome of the spelling bee or pageant, the slide into home run or the goal that was kicked in the opponent’s net. No matter what, under any circumstance, if we bombed the test or we soared – our Baby Boomer mom and dads never let us forget that we’re special.

When boys broke our hearts or the popular girls at school were mean to us, they remind us that our hearts will mend, we’ll meet someone new and those silly girls never end up never leaving town, but we will. We’re so special, so unique, so talented, so everything — that surely, everything we ever wanted would come our way.

But then we get that diploma, we pack up our bags and forget all that we knew to move away. As our special-self, we tackle the vast unknown that is a great, big, ‘ol city and we set our heights high. Why? Because we’re special. Because we have what it takes to make it anywhere, even here Blue Eyes, in the city that was made for dreamers, believers, bankers, artists, druggies, waiters who think they’re actors, and all of this-and-that that’s always in between. And if we’re lucky, like I have been — we do actually find a career path that makes us feel important. That makes us feel like we’re part of a team, that we’re getting paid to do something we thoroughly enjoy. And that feeling — well that feeling makes me feel special.

But even if we get the 9-6 duck-in-a-row, we start searching for something else to make us feel like we matter. And for the majority of us, that comes in the form of a sturdy, handsome and strong man who also happens to be kind, generous, selfless and hopefully, bilingual with a fat wallet. Or even if he’s not all of those things,  if he sees us as strong, beautiful, kind, generous and hopeful, if he reminds us of how important we are, of how irreplaceable we are — even if he kinda sucks — then we’re smitten. We suddenly feel what we’re been wanting to feel — special…to someone else. Or in someone else’s eyes.

Is that why they call it a special someone? Because we all look for someone who thinks we are special to make us feels special, so therefore they become special? Are relationships more about an ego boost than they are about love and partnership? As much as we’d like to think they aren’t self-serving, are they? When you breakup, is it the man that we miss or is it the constant emotional reinforcement that we’re pretty damn fabulous? And beautiful, even when we wake up with stinky breath and pimply skin?

Because when someone who once made you feel special, was once special in your eyes, isn’t there anymore — somehow you feel less important. I think I’ve used the words disposable, forgettable, unimportant in blogs past. But that’s not really the case. Having a relationship end doesn’t make me any of those things, it doesn’t take away my special-ness that many someones once loved. In fact, in an odd sort of way, it makes me more special.

Because I valued my own…value. I took matters into my own hands. I realized that what I wanted wasn’t possible, who I loved wasn’t an actual person, but an idea I had in my head, that having someone to remind me of what makes me shine isn’t nearly as beautiful as reminding myself. I decided that while I love my gold stars and my business card that goes along with the job of my dreams, and having a partner to fall in love with, the thing that makes me special isn’t how well I did in school or how I am in the office, or really how I am as someone’s girlfriend, it’s the fact that I’m just me.

And as adults, the person to hand out the certificate of merit is ourselves. Not our parents, not our teachers or coaches, our bosses or our supervisors. It’s not our very best friends (who are so special themselves) or the men that we hope will never stop seeing us as incredible, gorgeous creatures. The special-ness stops being told to us all the time by other people, so instead, we have to keep telling ourselves.

When we’re upset or sad feeling disconnected or forgotten about, it’s our own spirit, our own saving grace that comes in and whispers: “You’re still special, you’re still going places, you’re still going to find that love you want. Why? Because you’re really someone special. Because someone, someday will really notice that about you because first, you noticed it about yourself.”

by - 11 Comments

Can’t Have My New York

After brunch at 40 Carrots, M, A and I browsed the racks at Bloommies full of clothes  we can’t afford (but like to pretend we can), and chatted vigorously despite our hangovers. Deciding it was about time to get snow boots, we took a load off to try on Hunters, that unfortunately only came in one size and one color — neither of which suited any of our needs.

As M tried on a boot, I received a text message from Mr. P that felt like it made my heart stop.

Unable to really comprehend or to make sense of anything, I started gathering my things and wrapped my scarf loosely around my neck, when A looked up and noticed my panic. “What’s wrong?” she asked. I showed her the text message and said, “I have to get out of here.” M quickly stepped out of the temporary footwear and I pushed through Bloommies like I was someone important, completely careless to who I ran into. I felt like I was losing my breath and I needed to get to fresh air and out of a store that while I love it, doesn’t exactly give a warm and fuzzy feeling.

When we reached the cool outside, I exhaled for the first time and felt the tears splash down my cheeks, uncontrollably. I didn’t care who on Lexington Avenue gawked at me, the pain hurt so deeply that I knew trying to conceal it would only sting worse. A gave me her D&G sunglasses to hide the mascara residue and M quickly filled our conversation with laughter and always-insightful perspective. Walking to the subway on the way home, where we would all veg on pumpkin cheesecake and movies that have nothing to do with romance, I tried my best to not look around at everything we passed.

The Plaza, Central Park after the first snow of the season. Barney’s, Columbus Circle, the horse-and-buggies that are so old-fashioned and cliché that they’re beautiful. Tiffany’s. The last surviving multi-colored leaves and the feeling in the air that the holidays are near — all of these things make New York what it is at this time of the year. And for me, they remind me of all of the hope I used to feel toward Mr. P. Of when it seemed like he would actually change from Mr. Unavailable to a true possibility. I’m taken back to strolling while holding hands, to admiring his rosy cheeks that I could feel myself falling for, to how I thought New York was magical because it was New York, but also because I thought I was falling in love.

And you know, I did. I did have that first New York romance that’s every single bit complicated as it is dysfunctional. I stayed longer than I should have, I wore those rose-colored glasses when I would have been smarter to invest in a good pair of D&G’s that apparently, can conceal most anything from passerbys. I was loyal and true, and I let myself believe that someone who can’t love himself could ever love me in the way I deserve. I gave more than I had and when it wasn’t enough, I convinced myself that leaving would surely invoke passion in someone who is quite passionless.

There is no harm in believing, but there is harm in deceiving yourself. And I became the master of tricking myself to see a vision of Mr. P that doesn’t exist — so much that I allowed myself to go back to the scene of the crime, only to be disappointed, again. I played the part of a fool as brilliantly as a fool can be played, and in the end, I only found myself with swollen eyes, bundled up in a winter jacket next to the two best girls in Manhattan, feeling disposable, degraded and wondering how in the world I will be able to love someone with all of my heart ever again.

But then I reminded myself — sometimes you put those big girl panties on and deal, and sometimes you stupidly take them off to make more mistakes. Sometimes you make the wrong decision despite knowing that eventually you’ll just cry about it later. Sometimes you see the goodness in people to the point of self-destruction. Sometimes you love someone blindly, hoping that with love will come change, forgetting that it’s really only changing your outlook and standards that will bring you love. Sometimes you can do all of the right things, say the right words, be the right kind of person, love the rightful, selfless way — and still, the person you give so much to, will not give you the same in return. Being a compassionate and kind-hearted person will get you very far, but only if you’re surrounded by people who are the same.

Looking at me as I stared off into the anonymity of the MTA, M said, “You can’t let him ruin Bloommies for you, though!” A excitedly nodded in agreement and I smiled. She’s right — he can’t ruin Bloommies for me. Or Barney’s or Rockfeller Center. Not even Bryant Park where we had our first date, or Williamsburg where he lived in a tiny little room. He can’t ruin the splendor of Christmastime in New York or the magic I feel in my heart on these streets. He can’t ruin Central Park or Tiffany’s or put a dent in that magnetic skyline that’s always been destined to be my backyard.

He can take a lot of things from me and he has. And I have let him. My patience, my give-a-damn, my dignity, my pride and the pieces of my heart that were too warm and sincere for him to ever deserve. He can make me cry outside of Bloommies, on my birthday, in a sushi restaurant I’ll never go to again, in my hometown with my parents in the next room, at a bar in meatpacking and one in the Lower East Side.

But he can’t have my New York or define my happiness here. As a native, he’ll never understand it’s shine, and as a self-centered careless 30-something bachelor, he’ll never be able to appreciate my shine for all that it is.

by - 10 Comments

Making a Commitment to Me

It’s a lot easier to see a relationship clearly once you’re not in it anymore. That’s the way it is with anything — sometimes your friends understand you in ways you can’t, your family accepts you, even when perhaps, they shouldn’t, and no matter what you do right or wrong, those who love you, see you through your moments of crazy and of clarity. Even if the first is more common than the latter.

The period following a breakup is like that too: it partly makes you feel like you’re losing your mind and partly makes you feel like you’re finally getting your mind back. In this particular case, it feels like I’m getting my life back.

I was walking back from the gym on Wednesday evening after a very difficult workout, chatting with my friend L and my mom, and I remembered what it felt like before Mr. Possibility. When every decision I made was based on what I wanted and what I needed, not on what I thought would make him happy. I remembered what it felt like to run nearly every single day a week and the instant confidence boost I feel every time I go. I remembered what it was like to reconnect with friends and to make plans for the entire weekend that revolve around nothing else but a good time and giggles. I remembered what if was like to wake up when I wanted to, to not share my bed or my heart, and to just be…me.

I didn’t see how the relationship was affecting me when I was in it — those rare nights where everything felt right with Mr. P always seemed to outshine the rest of the days when everything was completely off. I didn’t realize how I pushed my friends aside or how I put my feelings and my desires on hold in an effort to be what he desired. I knew, but didn’t fully comprehend how little time I took to actually take care of myself or how much I really missed running, even with the aches and pains it brings me. Come to find out, the aches and pains a man who isn’t right gives you are actually quite more difficult to get over, and require a different kind of stretching.

When I returned to my apartment, I noticed how much cleaner I’ve kept my room, how it finally looks like someone lives here, instead of someone who just passed by because she’s in such a rush to get to her boyfriend’s apartment. I looked around at the space that no longer houses anything that really reminds me of Mr. P, and with a glass of wine and a delectable dinner I cooked just for me, I retreated to the living room to enjoy the company of myself. My roommates gradually joined and chatted, and even though I’ve lived here for five months, it was one of the first times I really connected to them.

I would never say I regret anything that happened with Mr. P or that my time with him was time wasted. I value what he taught me (even if I’m still trying to figure that out) and a part of me will always love him. But I couldn’t see how unhappy I really was until I had the strength to leave and rediscover the happiness I had forgotten about. The happiness that comes from just living my life, doing those things I love to do, and spending time with those I love. Regardless of the words I wrote on this blog or the advice I gave, when all was said and done, I was the girl who still let a man monopolize her life. I put him before myself and before my friends, and in the end, I’m not only rebuilding my mojo, but the bridges I let crumble.

For the first time ever, I think — I really don’t want a relationship. In the hysteria of our ending when I was upset and angry, I immaturely screamed at him: “Well you cured me, Mr. P! I don’t want anything to do with love!” Of course one day, I’m sure I will — but I don’t really long for companionship. I don’t envy the couples I see. I’ll go out on dates, but I’m not begging or working for them. I’m quite content on my own and I really don’t feel like I need a man to complete my life — it already feels complete.

I’m healing and I’m learning more about myself each and every single day. And until I get to the point where I know that I won’t lose myself in another relationship or in the arms of some guy, I really have no desire to be committed. Instead, I’m making a commitment to myself, one that involves running again, spending more time with my friends, doing things that I’ve put on hold, taking time to rest, working harder than I have before, traveling and falling in love with this city…

…as I try to fall in love with myself again, too.

by - 3 Comments

Less is More

A month has passed since Mr. P and I officially parted ways. While he doesn’t quite remember the choice between coming home with me and working things out or going to Brooklyn and ending our relationship, I do — and I’ll probably never be able to return to that corner because it reaps of bitterness currently.

That was the Saturday night following my birthday and on Monday, the day I ended the daily-post regimen of this blog, I met him at a sushi restaurant after work. I dressed particularly attractive for the occasion — determined that if I felt good about myself, I’d be strong enough to stand my ground. We took our seat and he instantly grabbed for my arm and started apologizing for the weekend. Where he was 30 minutes late to my birthday dinner, and an inexcusable three hours late for his own friend’s party, leaving me alone with his family without anyway to get a hold of him. It wasn’t about his tardiness or his decision to not go to my apartment that night and try harder, really. It was just the tip of the iceberg, the final act where I realized the man I had been falling for may just be a figment of my imagination, not the actual man behind a clever mask.

I could barely look at him and I remember focusing so intently on a poster displaying different types of a sashimi, I could probably recite it if I tried. He wanted to take some space and some time, but stay together because he loved me. Tears welling up in my eyes, and Seal’s “If You Don’t Know Me By Now” ironically playing in the background, I set the key to his apartment on the table, along with a notebook I had kept our entire courtship, even dating back to when he was Mr. Unavailable. I told him that I’d either give it to him when we married or when we broke up. The latter just seemed to be our fate. As far I know, he hasn’t even opened it once since that day.

I meant business then and I knew I had to do the right thing, even if it felt wrong and it was extremely difficult. We had been fighting relentlessly, feverishly for six weeks and I couldn’t take another night where my eyes stung from tears, or worse, we were both so silent because there just wasn’t anything left to say. The only way to salvage any type of anything — and to build my own self-worth back up — was to end the relationship. In some sort of odd way, I felt like I was breaking up with a part of New York because he’s been part of my life here for nearly as long as I’ve lived here. He wasn’t just my lover or my first Manhattan boyfriend, but my best friend. And having that constant consistency is an awkward thing to wean yourself off of — especially since there wasn’t a big fight that transpired or some huge awful thing that either of us did that was entirely unjust. It just wasn’t working and we both knew it.  I didn’t want to have to be the one to walk away, but I knew I’d be angry if he got to it first. It’s a petty thing to admit — but aren’t we all a little shallow when our hearts are breaking?

Even so, I didn’t fully remove those rose-colored glasses. Maybe it’s because I know him so well or because the way I got to know him was through a grand gesture for another girl (who happens to now be more of my good friend than she was ever his ex-girlfriend) — but I expected a parade. I thought I would be showered with gifts and kind, reassuring words. I was convinced there would be an email waiting in my inbox that declared his passion and his commitment to me, regardless if he felt passionless himself. I didn’t want to believe that he’d just let me go, just like that, and that would be…that.

But when you part from someone because they aren’t meeting your emotional needs, aren’t falling for you at the same rate you’re falling for them, and can’t give you what you want right now — why would you expect them to step up to the plate once you bruise their ego, hurt their feelings, and walk away? It’s a terrible double-standard but one I was led to believe was the standard for him: a woman is pushed to her limits and he can’t allow her to disconnect because he realizes how much he cares.

But there haven’t been flowers or love letters. No box of chocolates or lilies at my door. No sweet sentiment that makes me wonder if there is still possibility blooming between us. No wonderful anything, no declaration of love, no paramount change to change my mind. Instead, there have been a handful of emails, a dozen calls, some text messaging, and lunch delivered to my office. Oh and a pumpkin. I’m not sure why I expected more — but in some sort of odd way, I’ve started to tell myself that in this case, in the case of our relationship, less is really more.

If someone sees that they are only hurting you by being in your life, that they’re disappointing you, that they can’t give you that love that you want and that you deserve, if they can’t do the gesture to win you back because winning you back would only result in more trouble for both of you — isn’t the greatest gesture of all…no gesture…at all? If you can’t love all the way, why settle for meeting in the middle? If you’re not ready for va-va-voom, there’s not reason to keep all that room open in your heart.

Maybe he realizes that and so instead of dragging out the conversation, making a play that he can’t follow-through with, even if he wanted to, he’s releasing me to find someone who can go the distance. To find someone who won’t need to make a gesture because they’ll see what they have when they have me. Someone who can meet my needs and even surpass them.

There is pain in the silence and a lot of frustration, but if you’re brave enough to not blame yourself for the lack of a chase, you’ll see there’s actually more peace without the persistence. Having a grand gesture can be grand, but not unless it’s the one you need. And sometimes the one you need is simply…nothing.