Tag Archives: Women

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What About Me?

A month ago, I was sitting at a place I didn’t want to be at in Murray hill, drinking wine I didn’t want to drink, waiting on a man I didn’t know if I wanted to date.

I was passing time and nursing my one glass because I didn’t want to leave the place and be forced to sit outside his building where Lucy would die of thirst. Mr. Unexpected had some sort of test that night and Lucy had a grooming appointment the next morning a few blocks from his apartment, so it made sense that I would sleep over… but as I tried my best not to obsess over when he would text that he was out, I wondered what the hell I was doing.

On paper and mostly in person, Mr. Unexpected and I really connected. The sex was great. He made me laugh. He was honest. The chemistry was there but there was also a big ole’ thing missing that I knew, he knew and probably even Lucy knew if we had a way of asking her. I couldn’t put it into words then, but a month later after a weekend of silence to “clear our heads” and “decide what we both wanted,” I found myself sitting across from yet another man who couldn’t give me what I wanted.

But there was one big difference in this mini relationship – and that was me.

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Don’t Let Her Down

That 5-year-old girl who didn’t know better than to believe in imaginary friends and far away places, where being anything at all was not questionable, but expected. That girl with that braided hair and those wide, eager eyes who saw beauty in old, ragged dress-up clothes and in the mud of the front yard that could be turned into cakes and pies, doughnuts and cookies for a tea party with a very wise queen. That girl who wanted to be everything she could think of: a trapeze artist, a sculptor, the President of the United States, a teacher, a preacher, a princess, Lois Lane, a warrior jet fighter, a this and a that. That girl who never told herself she wasn’t pretty enough or smart enough, that wishing and hoping could make things come true, that by simply being herself, she would grow up to be not just something, but a someone. A big, big someone.

Don’t let that girl down. Chase your dreams, no matter how far-fetched they might seem or how much you’ve forgotten how to run.

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That 10-year-old girl who insisted on getting certified as a babysitter so she could have her very own babysitters club (with all of her best friends). That girl who didn’t think twice before jumping from patio furniture to table, from one side of the kitchen counter to the other, performing an elaborate dance routine to the Spice Girls for her parents, the cat and the dog. That girl who wore the same bracelet she made for weeks beyond end, not caring if it was in style or matched her clothes or was part of the popular kid’s approval list. That girl who stood up to the mean guy on the bus who commented – inappropriately – on the body she hadn’t grown into mentally, who wouldn’t stand for someone talking down to her, especially for something her mother called “breasts.” That girl who was awkward and probably obnoxious, sporting crooked teeth and the first signs of acne – but more than anything, she was herself.

Don’t let that girl down. Be brave enough to be who you are, wherever you are, whatever you do, whoever you’re around or puts you down.

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Ya Gotta Do You

When you write a weekly column about relationships in your college paper – that no one takes seriously – but gets great traffic, you suck up the snide remarks from other staffers. When friends and people remind you time-and-time again that when you move to New York, you might not work for a magazine. You might not get a job in editing at all. You might end up being an intern forevermore and never make any money and eat Ramen until you can’t possibly stomach another noodle – you smile and take it all with a grain of salt (or put it on said Ramen).  When you receive hate mail on the very last day of your very last class of your college career, where someone says they hope you fall on your “pretty little face” in New York because “being pretty” doesn’t mean you can be an editor – you vow to frame that letter when get that corner office. When the chancellor of your university says that you just don’t really have what it takes to lead a staff and that you would fit in better at a glossy than writing about “serious topics,” you congratulate the new editor-in-chief, graduate early, move to New York, and land a job… writing about “serious topics.”

Because even if people find you ridiculous or don’t believe you can’t do what you keep sayin’ you’re going to do — ya gotta do you.

When you start a blog way back in 2010 because your day job –  an editorial assistant at a business magazine – just wasn’t quite what you wanted, you spend hours (and hours) after work building your social presence, writing content and scheduling posts. When you meet someone two weeks into designing a blog about being single, about learning to love yourself first before loving a man, you put off the relationship talk for as long as you possibly can and stick to your rules, no matter how self-imposed they are. When your blog generates traffic from all around the world and you’re basking in the afterglow of being featured on the homepage of WordPress, you remind yourself that fans are fickle and the Internet, like some men, loses interest quickly, so be thankful. When your boss at that business magazine isn’t a fan of you posting the blog on LinkedIn and pulls you aside about it, you kindly decline the request to remove it because it’s part of who you are.

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How to Breathe

During the summer in New York, right around 8 p.m., as we’re heading off to indulge in sangria and sunsets, there is an orange shadow that cascades across the streets, beaming off the buildings, and leaving everything it touches with a crisp, bronzed haze. It is one of my favorite moments in the city all-year-round, and regardless of where I am or who I’m with, just seeing the amber reflection is enough to distract my attention and make me take a big breath.

I was thankful for a moment of clarity before meeting Mr. Unexpected for a celebratory sushi and sake date on Friday night, after a very long, very exasperating week. I had a hard time sleeping every night last week, my nerves never calming down from the many changes of the past few months circling in my head and enticing my heart to race. And though I always get a little anticipant to see Mr. Unexpected, once we start talking, he has a certain way of calming me down, too. Sitting across from him, with the citrus sun still radiating above us, I took another big breath of pure stress release.

In fact, I’ve been reminding myself to breathe a lot lately.

To say this year has been ripe with change, expenses and new experiences would be a vast understatement. If anyone would have told me all of the things that would happen in 2014, I would have never believed them.

Just to recap:

  • My dad had unexpected heart surgery at the start of the year.
  • I had my last day at iVillage – after three years – on a Thursday in April.
  • The next day, I left for a 10-day trip to Paris and Rome with my mom.
  • Two days after I got back, I started my exciting, challenging and entertaining job at WEtv.com.
  • Then I got in – via raffle – to the NYC marathon.
  • Two weeks later I met who I thought would be my roommate for an October 1 move date.
  • Then I realized my lease ended on September 1. (You know, when I’ll be in London visiting J for a week.)
  • Which means I would have to move by August 15.
  • Two weeks later, I met Mr. Unexpected.
  • 20+ dates later, we are an actual thing.
  • The roommate, who I thought would be moving with me, couldn’t anymore.
  • I decided that I couldn’t possibly train for the marathon, go on a big trip, do well in my new job and find an apartment and train for the marathon. So I backed out.
  • So with a month to go to find an apartment, I somehow found two roommates.
  • And a subletter for my current apartment – for just a month.
  • I signed a lease yesterday. To move to the East Village!

Whew.

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You Never Know

I’ve now been seeing Mr. Unexpected for a while now, and though it hasn’t been long in the scheme of things, it is the most time I’ve spent with someone (who could be a someone special) in almost three years.

And even though I’ve written hundreds of blogs about dating, and even though I’ve given advice to basically everyone I know, and even though I’ve been down this uncertain road before…

…it still feels like the first time I’ve ever had, well, a crush on someone.

They say a lot of things get easier as you age and hopefully, through experiences, you earn wisdom. They also say that the point of going on dates and meeting new people is to figure out what you want, what you’re willing to accept and what type of relationship you desire. And I’ll agree with all of those things – but there are certain truths that I believe never change. Often, they are the ones that we analyze or the ones we question. They are those knots in the pit of your stomach that you always call butterflies and that you secretly teeter between hating and appreciating. They are those feelings that bubble up inside of you – and you look at them – spiraling around in your pretty little head and you (not so eloquently) think:

Why is this so fucking scary?

Before three years of endless, terrible dates (and the poor decision of sleeping with an ex for half of that time), I probably wouldn’t have thrown in a curse word, but my Southern upbringing and manners lose this time ’round.

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