On 365 Days + Leap Day

Today is my one year anniversary with B. The funny thing is that it feels so much longer, and not in the interminable way. More like, in the time flies when you’re having fun kind of way.

I remember sitting facing each other on my couch, toasting our one month anniversary with champagne at 2 o’clock in the morning. I leaned in and asked, “No offense, but what’s the catch here. There has to be a catch, right? Things like this don’t just happen to me.” Turns out there wasn’t. Love just fell into our laps by chance, like most of the best things in life.

So, happy anniversary, B! To many more years together.

Sap Ahead

So much for blogging every day this month...

Thanksgiving came and went, as did my birthday. I sort of consider my birthday the beginning of a new fiscal year, and inevitably I find myself looking back on the past 12 months. Overall, it's been a great year, although at first, I couldn't think of any good examples to support this conclusion. I've been in the same job for over a year now. I live in the same apartment, drive the same car, and care for the same naughty cat. My friends are consistently wonderful. My family hasn't changed. Don't get me wrong, last year wasn't bad at all, but why was this year so much better than the last? The only big difference was meeting B. in April. And, since then, my life has been undeniably brighter. I feel like I finally have it all: a cool life and someone to share it with. I wasn't actively looking for a relationship back then, nothing more serious than a weekend boyfriend, but one rainy Friday night, I reluctantly went out with friends and met the best thing that would happen to me all year. Maybe my whole life.

Here's to another year even better than the last.

Shifting

I updated my MySpace profile today, and in a weak attempt at humor, in the About Me section, I gave a quick rundown of a day in the life of me. I won't subject you to a full recap, but the primary activities on an average day consisted of working, playing with the cat, and chilling at home with B. For a split second I considered deleting it because, frankly, it sounded a little geeky. Then I added the following to the end: "Give or take an activity or two, this is my life, and, minus the 8 hours of obligatory work, I love it."

And it's true; I do. However, there was a time in the not so distant past when I was continually on the go, especially on the weekends. Even the occasional Friday night that began with my ordering pizza and settling in to watch movies, ended with getting bored and heading out in search of fun. Not that we don't go out now. We go to dinner with friends, we get drinks in favorite pubs, we go to parties and hang out in friends' homes. But, it's amazing how simply all the other stuff slide away unnoticed. I considered this on Friday when on the way to meet up with his brother for dinner, B. asked what I wanted to do afterwards. My vote was to stop at Schnucks for a bottle of wine and drink it while we finished up season 4 of Buffy the Vampire Slayer. "Are you sure?" B. asked, "I feel like we used to go out a lot more before we started dating. I don't want you to get bored."

I once thought I would. I remember asking a friend in a long-term relationship, "Don't you just get bored out of your mind? Don't you miss all the firsts? How can you sustain that initial excitement about each other?" Her answer was that a long-term relationship is a different kind of happy, that you trade that edge-of-your-seat adrenaline rush for the milder but equally satisfying excitement of building a life with someone. I hoped she was right, but honestly, it seemed crazy. Until it happened to me.

It turns out there's not a lot to miss about the past. I don't miss the silly drama and mixed signals or waiting all night for a text from boy of the moment. I love that when I go out with friends, it's 100% about spending time together, not scoping the room for prospective guys.
I've found that sometimes firsts are over over-rated. It's not just that first magic kiss but the random kiss before work one morning that makes my day. It's not just the spectacular dates but the times we spend the whole day together, doing laundry, getting groceries, and making dinner. It's the unconscious rituals and inside jokes that create the story of the two of us together. It's being able to say anything in front of him, to be my most authentic self, and know that he loves me for it, not in spite of it. It's making plans together, some we'll accomplish tomorrow and others for future years and knowing we mean them both. It's feeling everything has just been practice for this moment. It's knowing this is the closet thing to a sign from heaven I'll ever get.

The I in Team

I spent Sunday afternoon attending the bridal shower of a close friend. It was an old-school shower, the kind held in the fellowship hall of a church, filled with an interesting mix of girlfriends and church ladies. Halfway through the event, one of the church ladies gave a devotional on the characteristics of a "good wife." Some of the attributes were hard to disagree with: Compassion, kindness, wisdom. Then she requested that other married women in the group give the bride their best marriage advice. At this point, a word kept coming up that made me a little nauseous. Submission.

"Submit to your husband."
"Let your husband be the leader of the home."
"Allow your husband to guide you."
"Give him the final decision."
"The husband is the head of the household."
"Order your home as God intended."

I watched the bride nod politely, and I hoped she wasn't buying the advice wholesale. Another friend leaned over, "I'm going to lose it here in a minute." As I sat listening to their words, I remembered why I grew up with a screw-that attitude toward marriage. On one hand, marriage was billed as the spiritual and physical joining of two lives. On the surface, that sounds like an equal partnership, except for the little matter of the philosophy that god made men leaders and they should be in charge of everything in the household, including the woman. Ummm, sorry, count me out.

Plenty of religious texts support either implicitly or explicitly the idea that men are somehow more valuable than women in this capacity (plus, if the woman is busy making babies, like she's supposed to, how is she going to have time to be an equal partner??) Most ancient cultures were patriarchal in nature. Of course the men writing the texts were going to hear their god(s) tell them to stay in control. And might I point out, there were also rules about keeping women away from others during their periods and after childbirth and forcing women and men to worship separately, both of which we mostly no longer observe. If we've been capable of identifying other ideas as culturally obsolete, why can't some people see that subjugation of women in marriage is equally ridiculous? Women run companies and countries. Women are as intellectually and emotionally capable as men. So, why then wouldn't women be able to lead a home with her husband?

What about teamwork? I see myself as more valuable than a supporting player always being told to pass the ball to the star of the team, even when I have an open shot. Maybe this idea worked when a girl was passed from her father's house to her husband's. But in a world where most people don't get married until many years later, those old philosophies just don't work. I love B. more than anything, and I love all the little ways in which he makes me feel cared for, but I've been taking care of myself on my own for more than a decade. I don't need or want someone to make decisions for me (except maybe which restaurant to eat in). I don't want to acquiesce simply because I'm a woman and he's a man. I won't be a second-class citizen in my own home.

To the bride, if she's reading, I'd say what I didn't have the opportunity to say that day: Make your marriage a parliamentary democracy. Discuss the pros and cons of decisions together and make decisions based on logic rather than which partner thought of the solution. Be all of those other great things, compassionate, kind, and wise. If you truly want the best for each other, finding satisfying compromises for the daily issues of life will come easier. When they don't come easy, keep talking it out. Hold onto each other and float, rather forcing one person to swim and pull the other along. No one need "wear the pants" in the relationship; share the pants. If anyone must submit, keep it in the bedroom. *wink*

Stirring

Life has not been conducive to blogging. I have a thousand excuses: too much working at work, too much time living life instead of writing about it. It's not like I haven't had any ideas, just no luck getting them on paper. But here's something I've been thinking/talking about recently, strictly a work in progress.

I grew up in an environment where open-mindedness was tantamount to compromise. "If you don't stand for something (ie, what we stand for) you'll fall for anything (ie, the other)." I tried to do, and more importantly, feel all the "right" things, but somewhere along the line, things just didn't add up for me. It seemed less like faith and more like the ultimate intellectual arrogance to think that every tenant of my belief system composed the only truth and that everyone else was simply wrong. I spent most of my twenties struggling through all the discrepancies between teaching and experience, intuition and pragmatism. I tried to pare away all the extraneous cultural pinnings and find the core values that meant something to me. And, eventually, I have developed a hybrid of ideas around which I organize my life, the basis of which is mutual respect for differences. I'd forgotten that this is apparently a revolutionary idea.

It's easier for people to shut themselves off from the other, to cover their ears and chant to themselves what they want to hear, to judge others inferior for choices that aren't ones they'd make. This post could go in a thousand directions, a dollar a dozen example of ways I see people around me threatened by the idea of coexisting with difference. It comes down to the fear that by failing to bring the difference into submission, one might instead be changed by it. Few people seem willing to look past the surface differences of religion, culture, race, or politics to find the values that could often connect us, if we'd let them.

One place the divide has become clear is the area of religion and dating. I've dated Christians, Jews, Hindus, Buddhists, agnostics, and atheists. I've never thought twice about it. I've cared more about what kind of human being he was than what philosophy he practiced. Relationships have come and gone, but not because of our religious or cultural differences. My current relationship is an inter-faith/cultural one. I respect that his religion is his culture's way of making sense of the world. I respect his right to practice his beliefs while I practice my own. I respect that, regardless of where we come from, things like love, family, honesty, and thousands of other values remain the same.

If both people in the relationship live under this assumption, then everything is great, right? Right...mostly. Except for dealing with the people around them that think all this respect and coexisting stuff is just dangerous and scary. Will each other's parents accept and support the relationship or pray their respective gods that the couple break up? What about those non-existent children? Won't they be confused if they are taught that there are multiple ways of seeing the world? Will one person's cultural and family traditions be ignored in favor of the other? And ultimately, what if one of us gets the shaft in the after-life? What then?

I'm certainly not the only one of my group of friends to experience this or similar issues. The common theme in those discussions has been that when you are in an amazing relationship, all you want are the people in your life to celebrate your good luck with you. Admittedly, in our case, most of our friends and family feel like we do and are just happy that we are happy. Honestly, I don't think it would matter either way. I'm stubborn that way. Change is slow...It amazes me that so many of the lines that once divided the world--catholic/protestant, black/white, gay/straight, conservative/liberal, wealthy/poor--still exert so much power, especially in a country that prides itself on the melding of cultures.

And the post drags on...more on this topic later.

Baggage Check

"Don't waste yourself in rejection, nor bark against the bad, but chant the beauty of the good." Ralph Waldo Emerson

I love a good quote, literary, movie or otherwise. I added the above one to my page because they seem like words to live by. Because, it seems like the things I remember, the things that hold on, are those small rejections from the past. Why don't I remember when former boyfriends and dates told me I was beautiful or smart or funny? Why do I bother to recall, usually when least I want to, not being good enough or pretty enough for someone who doesn't matter anymore?

Everybody brings a little baggage to a new relationship, even when they think they don't. When I arrived in my current relationship, I showed up a little (or maybe a lot) jaded by my interactions with previous, less than deserving men. But I was pretty sure I'd dealt with all the really important issues. I thought the real baggage had been checked at the gate.

This delusion lasted right up until our first discussion about the future. I could barely bring myself to talk about it, even theoretically. Why? "I'm afraid after you've really thought about it, you'll freak out and break up with me." The reply reassured me, and I had to remind myself, "He is not any of those other guys." But it wasn't the last time I had to shove the bulging suitcase closed.

Unprovoked insecurities still show up at the door unannounced, like the luggage you'd given up as lost only to find out it was just misdirected. I find myself wondering how I compare with past girlfriends (or any of a million faceless, nameless women who might want to replace me): am I prettier, skinnier, smarter, sexier, more creative, a better cook, more successful, more athletic...the list goes on and on and gets more absurd.

And, for every ridiculous question that pops into my head, I can remember the guy who dumped me for his ex, the cheater, the guy who got random calls at 3:00 am from girls I didn't know, the one who made fun of a haircut or looked at my thighs in disgust. Somewhere along the line, I internalized those comments and actions and began, on some subconscious level, to believe they were right. If I wasn't the best, I wouldn't be loved, and he wouldn't stick around.

And then I met someone who turned all those subconscious ideas upside down. I could hardly believe it. "What, you like my hips?" "You don't want to keep a few girls on the side, waiting for me to screw up?" There were millions of other little epiphanies like those, things any rational person should already know. I guess I never realized how much other people had messed with my head until I met someone who didn't.

He is amazing, and I want to throw out all that baggage once and for all. If I never think about a long-past shitty moment again, it would be fine by me. However, those images pop into my mind far less often than they used to. So, I'm thinking that the longer two people build trust and security between them, the quieter the negative memories become, until one day maybe they cease to exist all together. I want to empty the bag and treat this relationship like the brand-new experience it is.

Daddy's Day...a day late

I remember hearing somewhere that lots of girls want to marry a guy like dear old dad. I didn't used to understand that. It seemed way too Freudian. I thought that would mean wanting to marry someone who liked to go fishing or lived in a small town or imposed early curfews.

Now I get it. It's more than listening to Cardinals games on the radio. It's more than motorcycles and Dirty Harry movies. Maybe it's because I've fallen in love with someone that now I can identify how many of the qualities that make me feel loved in my relationship are qualities that made me feel special back when I was daddy's little girl.

Whether it was hearing him walk around the house before bed checking that the doors were locked and the oven was off or knowing that if it came down to it, my daddy would kick some serious ass to protect me, I learned from him that the one who loves me will go to great lengths to keep me safe. I'm a tough girl, I can take care of myself, but I like the security of knowing someone else has my back in a sometimes scary world.

My dad was forever checking my oil, gauging the air pressure in my tires, changing spark plugs, filling up washer fluid, giving me emergency gas money. At the time I took it for granted that it was something fathers were supposed to do. Now I realize that those little gestures were just one of the nonverbal way he showed he cared. Those little gestures have come to mean the world to me. Sweet notes left on my keyboard, some much-needed Advil, blue sour Skittles...Because of my dad, I know to treasure all those little "I love you's".

My dad and I have a similar sense of humor. We're both sarcastic and witty and sometimes just plain goofy. We laugh at the same slapstick comedy. We instigate inside family jokes and never let them die (much to the annoyance of the person the joke is on). We used to watch the old Pink Panther movies and be the only ones laughing hysterically. We've been quoting the same lines from Ferris Bueller's Day Off for like the last 15 years, but it never gets old to us. Today, one of my favorite things about spending time with B is that most of it is spent smiling and laughing. We entertain each other endlessly it seems. And, that's the way it should be.

My dad loves my mom like crazy. I almost never heard them argue (although I'm sure they must have). I caught them making out in the kitchen more than once. They still hold hands and go for weekends away together. They still can't wait to sit down together and hear about each other's day. When I was younger all I could see was the old-fashioned division of chores in the household and once said I didn't want a marriage like theirs. I wanted someone who would do the dishes with me and help fold laundry. I still want those things, but more than that, I want someone whose passion for me sustains and grows until we are old and gray the way theirs has. (Not that either of you are old or gray, in case you're reading, Mom, Dad...)

There are so many more instances I could share. My dad is awesome. Both of my parents are, really. I often wish it hadn't taken me so long to grow up and realize how much I appreciate them and the way they've shaped so many of my perspectives. Better late than never! Happy Father's Day, Dad!

MySpace Rules...

Rules the world that is. Or maybe rather, MySpace has introduced a whole new set of rules for social dynamics.

Case in point: I received no less than seven emails concerning a recent small change to my MySpace profile. I made the switch from "single" to "in a relationship". A sampling of the emails follows:

"Dude, I thought you were swearing off dating indefinitely...what's with the status change?"

"Something changed on your profile, Call me ASAP!!"

"WHAT??? Why didn't you call me immediately?"

And the like. We've all done it.

"I think X is so cute...too bad he's dating someone."

"His profile says single, how serious could it be??"

The "Define the Relationship" talk (DTR) has become one part about the two people and one part about if and when to change the status line. Ours went something like this: "I see you changed your profile status but left the Here for section with Dating and Serious Relationships...Is this an open relationship? Should I hold off on the memo?"

Kidding.

MySpace should also consider ways to represent all the variation of "relationships". "In a Relationship" can sound so very sobering and serious. We need something between that and "Single". I propose more categories (and more confusion): "Casually Dating," "Booty Call," "Considering Each Other Romantically," "Hanging Out," "Make out Buddies," Seeing Each Other on the Weekends." Let's send a petition to Tom.

Only we don't see each other on just the weekend any more. We just spent the last four days together. It was mind-blowing. We didn't even get sick of each other (well, I didn't get sick of him...). There's a foreign toothbrush in my toothbrush holder and three cans of peaches on the kitchen counter that I didn't purchase...and I SO love it.

If the label fits, wear it. With a smile!

In Praise of

I'm still smiling this morning. I smiled so hard last night my face hurts. But I can't help it. I just can't stop.

I've done more than my fair share of bitching in this blog about dates who did not meet my approval, so it's only fair to, as Salt N Peppa so wisely said, give props to those who deserve it.

I went on the best second date ever (well, technically, fourth, if you count walking around Forest Park and having coffee as 1 and 2). The first (third?) one was pretty amazing too. But you can write things like that off as a fluke. I'm the queen of the good first date. I have a hard time making you hate me in just one evening. Usually by the second, the poor guy has done something from which he cannot redeem himself, and I never answer the phone again. Not so this time.

We went to Terrene and sat on the patio, ate, drank, laughed, flirted. Next stop was Brennan's wine bar. More drinking and laughing and flirting. Final stop, Dressel's. We closed the joint down.

Then came the moment of truth. I put an inordinate amount of faith in the value of the first kiss. So much so that it scares me. It's why I didn't do it last week. Life is too short for bad kissers, and many a poor fellow has been unable to meet the challenge. It's always a shame. He could be the nicest guy in the world, but if the kiss doesn't do it for me, I'm out. So back to the moment of truth...Sometimes a girl needs to be grabbed and kissed. And I was. And I liked it. And I didn't want to stop. I actually can't wait to see him again.

Okay, that's enough. I'll stop. I'm a closet gusher...shhh, don't tell. I have rep to uphold.

An Open Letter to the Universe

**I wrote this a couple of months ago and still amused by it after the fact, I thought I'd post for our mutual enjoyment**

I read somewhere that putting what you want into words has a mystical power, that putting desires into the universe sometimes makes them materialize. I think this is probably more a case of finding what you want because you have articulated to yourself what you are looking for. Nonetheless, here's my wish list (laundry list, perhaps) for the great universal Build-a-BF.

Dear Universe,

I've been a very good girl this year. Ummm, actually no I haven't, but that's another story. How about giving me the goods anyway without all the strings attached, huh? Okay?

Alright, here's what I do not want: I'm tired of half-ass guys. I don't want to go on any more lousy dates with people I don't have anything in common with. I don't want any more guys who like me just enough for drunken making out but not enough for an actual date. I don't want to meet any more men who lack balls. And since you have such a funny sense of humor, I also don't want any more guys who should theoretically be a good match but with whom I have no chemistry. Got it?

Here's what I do want: I want confidence! No neediness. No petty jealousy. No clinging. No uncertainty. I want someone who takes chances. I want someone with the self-esteem to go for it instead of analyzing everything to death (I can do that enough for both of us promise). While I do enjoy being adored, I want someone who can deal with my intense need for personal space and who isn't bothered that some weekend nights will be non-negotiable girls' only nights.

All of that said, back to the adoration…I'm no diva (well, okay, maybe a little bit of one), but I need some motherfucking romance in my life. Send/bring a girl some flowers. A cute text, email, a handwritten note even (gasp). Seriously, I'm a sucker for that shit. Tell me my outfit is cool. Tell me I'm brilliant. Tell me I have a hot ass (make sure I indeed like you, otherwise that one might get you in trouble). Remember little facts about me and incorporate them, that way I think you were actually listening to me when I was talking. These things are not hard, they do not cost money (I have no ethical issues with accepting flowers stolen from your neighbor's flowerbed); what they do require is a little genuine interest. Therein lies the rub apparently.

Intelligence can also never be over-rated. I don't care if he has a degree or not. He can collect the garbage or perform brain surgery, but if he can't hold his own in a conversation, no deal. Liking to argue (in a good natured way) would also be helpful, making him less likely to get pissed when I try to pick a fun little debate just to spice things up. Push back when I give you a mental shove. Have hobbies, have opinions, be passionate about something. That's sexy as hell.

It would also be super cool if he "gets it." So few guys get it. I'm a complex creature (or would like to think that I am), so being gotten isn't a simple task. Personality similarities, shared interests, common ground—would these be so much to ask? Not all philosophies, values, politics need be the same, but mutual respect for those differences is required. Open-mindedness is a trait likely to work in his favor. Oh and no attempts to change me. Appreciation of me as I am is all-important.

Other various little wishes: A sense of humor, preferably sarcastic like me, please. I like a guy with a little athleticism (as long as this does not lead to camping). Creativity is a huge plus. Play something, make something, write something, and I'm in. Knowing the fine line between being confident and egotistical is essential. Good taste in music and movies. An acceptable fashion-sense or willingness to let me style him. Living in the same time zone would be nice, maybe even the same city? The desire to travel. Tolerant of my cat. Willing to try tofu, just once. Little or no discussion of or watching sports together. Lover of coffee. Someone who enjoys going out. Someone my friends don't hate. Someone who does not want to meet my family for a good long while. Someone I'm as into as he is into me.

And there you have it, universe. What can you do for me?

**Aside to readers: this is not your cue to check your contacts list for potential set-ups. We'll leave this one to chance!

02/04/07

When did it become okay?

On the weekend when I go out to run errands, as in going grocery shopping or doing laundry, my goal is to finish what I'm doing and get back to having fun or being lazy as soon as possible. I mind my own business. I bring the iPod to discourage conversation. I don't make eye contact. I do not dress up for these activities. Generally wardrobing includes a fleece pullover and yoga pants. Yet, in my neighborhood, no matter how awful I look when out doing errands, I still manage to draw unwanted attention from nasty men.

In the course of two hours at the neighborhood laundry, I experienced the two following come-ons. The first one was mildly funny...at first. I climb out of the car and wrestle my laundry basket from the trunk. Some random guy loitering in the middle of the parking lot watches this and proceeds to state the obvious; "You about to do some laundry?" "Tryin'," I answer. "You tryin' to get my number too?" I almost had to give the guy props...nice segue. "Nah, man, I'm full up on numbers. Thanks though," I reply. So I go get my laundry started and then come back outside to put my detergent bottle back in the trunk. By this time he has wandered back toward the Metro stop. But he has excellent eyesight apparently because the next thing I know he's yelling at me from the waiting area. "You change your mind, girl? That's a bangin' ass you got." Thanks guy, I and the other twenty people who heard that really appreciate that you appreciate my ass. Awesome. Asshole.

The rest of the laundry doing went fairly smoothly. So, an hour or so later, I emerge again with my basket of Gain-fresh, neatly folded laundry. 20 feet or so to my car and I can go back home and take a weekend afternoon nap. I'm not that lucky. "Damn, girl, where you from?" some guy shouts in my general direction. Rudeness two times in one day is more than I can handle. I roll my eyes (and those of you who know me know that I do this with particular contemptive flair). "What you too good to talk to me?" I'd frankly had enough, "Yeah, asshole, I am. When the fuck did it become alright to yell at women on the street. That method working out for you?" I'm very brave when it's daylight and there are lots of witnesses around. "You ain't gotta get mad." Too late, buddy.

Seriously, when did that become okay? I don't know you, you don't know me, but I'm supposed to swoon when you yell at me across the parking lot? I'm supposed to believe that my good looks are so inspiring that there's no other possible reaction (fleece pullovers are hott!)? Whatever happened to non-threatening flirtation like smiling and saying hi?

I've never understood this courtship method...what about whistling and yelling from cars? Really, guys, what do you think is going to happen? The girl is going to be so turned on by your ability to whistle that she's going to flag you down to get your number? This is particularly offensive when women are out running. Yeah, laugh it up, fellas. I'm out here sweating my ass off in shorts and a t-shirt just for your viewing pleasure. Woohoo, legs!!! Seriously, get a life.
My question is are there women who actually respond to this? Have these behaviors been reinforced by some woman somewhere signing up for a date with one of these morons?
Shouldn't repeated failure signal a need to change tactics? Unless you are President, you think the correct answer here is yes. I get a little up in arms about stuff like this because at its deepest level, I think agressive come-ons like this are just that, aggressive. Call it a "cultural difference" or whatever, but I don't buy that. Can't we all agree on a cross-cultural definition of general politeness? I can't just be "flattered" by random ass comments because from my perspective in this context of blattant objectification, I'm being verbally assaulted. And that's just not cool, regardless of the initial intention.

I don't know when the neighborhood shopping plaza became a pick-up joint, but I'm not having it. Let a girl do her laundry in peace!

12/18/06

Death of a Pessimist?

I've always sort of prided myself on my cynicism, held up my pessimism like a badge of honor. "It's not pessimism; it's realism." That's what a friend of mine always says when I call him on his bullshit. Isn't pessimism why I became a writer in the first place? So I could bitch about all the things I hate about the world and my life? I was going to blog today, not because I necessarily had anything valuable to say but because when things are slow at work, doing something creative for myself feels like a redemption of 8 hours at my desk.

Looking back at recent posts about how much I love my life makes even me a little nauseous, so I was wracking my brain for something edgy to discuss. Better yet, I wanted to write something fictional this time. Thinking I might cop out and post something I'd already written, I went through the files on my USB drive. There were a couple of short pieces that were still powerful to me in their anger and sadness. Fiction based on real life events…who am I kidding…line for line transcription of real life with the added lines of what I once wished I'd had the balls to say. But I couldn't post them in their hideous, post mortem honesty…because I don't feel that way anymore.

Somewhere along the way, the girl who was such a hard ass, who took joy in holding particular grudges, lost her grip on the past. Maybe it's that I don't have the energy for resentment. Maybe I'm genuinely too lazy to exert the force of indignation. I prefer to think of it as forgiveness.

I was reading a meditation the other day that said the only permanent thing in life is impermanence. I don't like that idea. All I (and most other people) want is for our happy moments (read: euphoric moments, not mildly contented ones) to last forever. But here's a piece of realism for you: continual euphoric happiness is completely unrealistic. Life is cyclical. Soaring highs. Abysmal lows. Some average stuff in between. I thrive on excitement. I hate the average stuff almost as much as the lows. At least the lows provide a little drama. Too bad, because I think the middle ground, which seems to make up the largest part of the cycle, is probably where daily happiness (yeah, the contented kind) exists.

The part of this that does make sense to me is that if I'm going to really enjoy every fleeting moment of where I am right now, I can't waste time and energy thinking angrily about how I may or may not have been wronged in the past (as though I'm perfect and everything was completely other people's faults). My new mantra: Let. It. Go.

I can't change 4 years ago. I can't change 3 months ago. I can't change 2 minutes ago. All I can do is move forward and create the kind of present that I want to live in. I can build better bridges in place of the ones I've burned. I can give the gift of seeing people for who they are today and not who they once were. I can try to appreciate the moments without trying to hang onto them after they're gone or spending all my time anticipating future ones.

So somewhere in all this forgiving and living, I've misplaced some of my cynicism. Making changes instead of bitching has softened my pessimism. I feel hopeful. I'm happy. And goddammit, that makes for very bad fiction. When was the last time you read a short story with a happy ending outside of a children's book?

12/04/06

Points off for Incoherence

I have a new addiction aside from caffeine and shoes...and the hordes of other frivolities I can't live without: reading other people's blogs (places other than on here I mean).
It all started with reading the Glamour magazine dating blog. This chick Alyssa knows/meets more men than humanly possible, dates them all, writes about it, and asks readers to weigh in on daily polls about what she should do next. The draw there is obvious. Who wouldn't want to have the vicarious fun of fucking up someone else's dating life with capricious advice instead of her own for a change?

From there, I found out about this one called Greek Tragedy by a Stephanie Klein. She's also a writer who started out writing about life in NYC...although now she's gotten married, moved to Texas, and gotten pregnant. But somewhere between worrying about gestational diabetes and what kind of Rachel Ray side dishes to make for Thanksgiving, she has some really good observations and creative writing exercises she's done.

From her weblinks, I've discovered more blogs, mostly by women, writing about work, friends, relationships, creativity, politics, celebrities, and a million other things. I'm not sure why I like it so much, other than it seems like, as different as individual women are, whatever city we live in, whatever work we do, we spend time thinking about very similar things. Maybe that's comforting.

Anyway, it inspires me. Makes me want to write more often. However, I don't think I could be a daily blogger...does anyone really care what I did last night? In case you do, Karma and I watched Strictly Ballroom, after which I salsa-ed around the house for the rest of the night. Aren't you glad you asked? Sorry there are no pictures available.
What's weird is, just as soon as you think there's a deep interconnectedness between people and that we are all just here to build each other up, there's always someone to bring you back to reality. Mine was this morning. I went to Starbucks with a coworker that I usually avoid spending quality time with (but we were both on our way at the same time). She said she heard I had a birthday coming up and wanted to know how old I would be. She is a good 5-7 years older, so I didn't mind telling. Then in a seemingly unrelated question, she wanted to know if I had a boyfriend. When I told her no, this was her response, "You better work on that; women in their early 20s have all the power when it comes to dating. If you don't find someone before 30, you will regret it."

Find someone? Geez, forget coffee, let's buy cianide and end it all. In fairness, as I mentioned before, she's a little older than me and single too, so maybe it's been a bad dating month. But seriously...is the situation as dire as all that? It was early and I was a little shocked, but I think I said something like, " Wow, I'll be sure to hook up with the wrong guy ASAP."
I'm not trying to be a bitch, I get her point. It is much easier to meet people (in sheer volume) when you are younger, college and all that. But whoever said it's quality not quanity that counts hit it on the head. If I wanted to choose from strings of men, I'd try the modern equivalent of the mail order bride catalogue, online dating. It totally works for others, but it's just not me. Is it wrong to prefer the organic method of meeting people through your friends and acquaintances, even if that limits the number of options? I don't know 100s of guys; I know a few gems. Good enough for me.

As for nearing the big 3-0, I'm really really okay with being 28 next week. I was thinking the other day about the difference between life now and when I was 22. Six years makes a big difference. I wouldn't go back even if I could, I don't think. Yes, perhaps I could make better decisions now, but where's the fun in that? I had a great time in my early 20s. Lots of love, laughter, and trouble. But truth be told, the 22-year-old me was a little bit of a dip and a lot of a drama queen. There's still plenty dippiness left (very little drama queen), but overall, in the past year or so, I've become much more secure in my life and my choices and sooooooo much happier than I was then. It's not a bad place to be for a change.

So welcome 28. I think it's going to be a good year.

Oh, and go read some blogs.

11/17/06

Making and Breaking the Rules

It's no secret that I'm not a fan of rules. They are fine for others, I suppose, but when they directly inhibit me, no thank you. After seeing the book The Rules mentioned on Sex and the City, I glanced through it one day in the book store. It seemed so old-fashioned and ridiculous to impose those kinds of rules on our social interactions with men. At the time it confirmed my negative feelings about the "rules" of dating. Until recently. I realized that all of us, whether we've sat down to analyze it or not, have our own set of dating guidelines, ones that make perfect sense to us and more often than not baffle those around us.

About two weeks ago, I went out with some friends and acquaintances where I made a new acquaintance who asked for my phone number at the end of the evening. I usually don't give out my number to near strangers, but this one was unusually cute and despite his slightly goofy demeanor seemed sincere. The kicker is that I actually sort of hoped he'd call. 72 hours, the time I arbitrarily set as the appropriate amount of time between meeting and calling (not over eager, not so long I forgot who you are), came and went. When the next Saturday--day 7--rolled around, I officially wrote him off. No hard feelings; people ask for numbers they ultimately decide against using all the time. Fast forward three more days to day 10, Tuesday night. A strange phone number appears on the caller ID, so I screen as per usual. A voice mail registers. It's from Mr. 10 Days Ago. He wants to get together. He makes NO mention of how much time has passed. He leaves his number for me to call him back if I'm interested. The End.

I am stunned by this latest development! It just isn't done. Who does he think he is? (Who do I think I am?...someone who gets called in 72 hours, apparently). Doesn't he know how this stuff works? Is he dating-challenged? While I was debating the to call or not to call back issue, I started thinking about all the games people play, if not to openly manipulate others, then to keep them firmly in line. There are rules for how soon to call, whether or not to answer, when to return call, what to wear if you go out, where to go, when to hook up, how to act if he forgets your birthday, etc, etc. The games go on and on and on.

I'm not writing in favor of obliterating the rules. As much as I'd love to advocate transparency and forthrightness, it's never going to happen on a grand scale. I might be forthright, but how do I know you are, or for that matter, how do you know my forthrightness isn't an act? All games have rules, even if it's only so we can cheat them later on. And dating is a game isn't it, at least in the opening stages of the match? Is it one competitor scoping out another, looking for a worthy contender for our affections, or at the very least, someone worthy of three hours of our time on a Friday night? Why don't we call the very next morning after we meet someone interesting? Because then the other person would know we are crazy about them and might even be turned off by the overzealous way we've played our hand. I'm just postulating here, but the very nature of the game it seems is to keep the other player intrigued and a little off balance.

So who wins you ask? Well, if the two become a couple, probably no one. It's a truce where both players eventually shake hands and say "Well played, well played." They've met their match. If the two stop seeing each other after a few dates, one player must have found the other wanting in some respect. He/she just couldn't keep up, couldn't meet the demands of the game. Cynical? Maybe. But the beauty of the game and its splendidly confusing rules is that it's not static; the rules can be changed, bent, or broken at a moment's notice and reinvent the entire playing field. We are drawn to the excitement of the challenge, the hunt, the gamble--all the elements that early romance is built on. I love the game and hate it, sometimes simultaneously.

Where will my interpretation of the rules take me in this case? I'm not calling back for at least 24 hours.

08/16/06

When conversations become blogs...

I was talking to an old friend the other night about her boyfriend problems. A long story short, she made him aware of something about the relationship that troubled her, only to have him respond negatively. "I made myself vulnerable, and what did I get? Confrontation!" she complained. It got me thinking about the nature of vulnerability and when in life we learn the possibility of being hurt by it in our relationships. Why is sharing ourselves, opening up if you will, so difficult even in long standing relationships?

It seems as though we share the positive things easily--the things that make us happy, what provides pleasure--even when those things are silly. It's mildly embarrassing that I can't get enough of cheesy dance movies, but that's a cute quirk at worst. No one has stopped calling me because of my obsession. But what about the negative? What we struggle to keep back are the negative feelings--what causes hurt, sadness, self-consciousness. Surely there are people who have never experienced a great degree of this in their relationships, those unselfconscious souls who share energetically with those they are close to. But honestly, I know about two of those people.

The rest of us live much more guardedly. Are we all jaded cynics or is defense of our soft-spots just the way life has to be? Isn't that what the whole concept of love is built on--the idea that somewhere out there is another soul who will love us no matter how twisted or weird we are, that they will be just as strange, and we'll live out our lives together in the equilibrium of mutual oddity?

What my friend and I decided was the worst of it was that theres really no way around vulnerability. In the bonding process at the beginning of a relationship (or even friendships), we have to share with each other. We start small with the superficial; "I like to eat giant bowls of chocolate chip ice cream while I watch horror movies," or "I once cracked my head open during a bicycle accident when I was 10." But sooner or later, usually before the direction or potential longevity of the relationship is clear, we have to begin stripping ourselves. Think about how exciting it is to be on the receiving end of this experience; it's a tease, it's seductive, we can't wait to find out the next thing about this person. And the fear is similar I think to literally taking one's clothes off, losing all the camouflage. No one wants to stand (either literally or metaphorically) before the object of his/her desire , exposed to whatever degree and have him/her say, "Ewww!"

But it's a risk we all take eventually if we want to grow together. The older we get, the more and more difficult it becomes. Psychologists often say that we learn our first model of relationships in our families--what we can/cant do, say or feel and the consequences of breaking those expectations. Maybe repeated phrases like, "Nobody likes a whiner" keep us from sharing legitimate frustrations with future partners. And then there are phrases that most women can relate to: "Nice girls dont..." Just fill in the blanks and think of all the pieces of ourselves that we've held back at the risk of seeming "un-lady-like." Not to discriminate, males are under just as much pressure. What about all those social norms about providing, being competitive, or not crying? Millions follow these roles at their own expense. Even the enlightened among us at some point struggle with the norms weve been taught. I've heard versions of the following from almost all my friends at one time or another: "Does she think I'm too sensitive?" "Does he think I'm a freak because I want sex more often than he does?" "Is she turned off because I make less money than she does?" "Will he date me if he finds out I'm a feminist?" And the examples could go on and on.

And if we fear these differences enough, we will hide them and hide behind our defenses to avoid being called out or rejected because of them. We've all had these techniques reinforced by past relationships that didn't work out. From the superficial--"Well, I LOVE camping, so obviously this will never work out"--to more hurtful proclamations of our supposed deficiencies--"You're too obsessed with work," "You don't share your feelings enough," "You just dont excite me anymore"--leaving that person thinking, "Great, I'm not outdoorsy enough, I'm not relaxed enough, I'm too shy, I'm too fat/thin/old, etc."

We carry these insecurities right along with us into our future relationships and do our best to conceal them, afraid that if it gets out that we don't like baseball or are slow to bond with our partners friends that he/she will kick us to the curb. By doing that, we are limiting the relationship because we are really imposing limitations on what we believe the other person is capable of. By never giving him/her the chance to truly know us, we are missing out. And then we wonder fruitlessly why our relationships are so superficial, or we blame the other person for not caring enough.

I'm not advocating sharing with wild abandon on the first date or even the third--"Hi, nice to meet you! I fear spiders and abandonment. What are you going to order for dinner?" But when the partner is worthy, we can start sharing in good faith. How do we determine the worthy? That's the trick; we don't really know, but as the give and take continues and the trust builds, we can begin letting go of more and more.

I don't know about you, but in new relationships (or friendships), I've come to recognize the ingrained fears that arise, not because of anything this person has done but because of past experience. The true issue, the real potential for personal growth comes when after we hit the wall of our own pre-formed limits, we can identify that the person in question has not been the one responsible for offending our vulnerability and we can go beyond ourselves and give that person a fresh opportunity to know us.

My friend Mel (a wise, wise woman) once said, 99% of relationships end in breakup, as we only marry (or long-term commit) to about 1% of the people we date. That said, theres no guarantee of success when we share ourselves; just because we share our deepest fear with someone doesnt mean he/she will be there in ten years or even ten minutes. But if the possible goal of human existence is to know god, know others and know ourselves, and ironically, we grow in each category by practicing the other two, then isn't the potential worth the risk? Isn't the experience of the journey greater than the ending? Rather than seeing vulnerability as weakness, can't we see it as a tool of flexibility to become more and more ourselves whatever the nature of our relationships? It's a growth process into balance...I won't become transparent with my loved ones over night. But this is a theme that has recurred in conversations I've had recently, and I'm genuinely interested learning how to present my true self and knowing others for who they really are as well.

05/22/06

Feminist Manifesto...Read at your own risk

So last night, I was at a friend's house, the television was on, it was the final episode of that god-awful reality show the Bachelor. We were drinking and chatting and suddenly I looked up to see one of the women on the show (my "favorite" in the five seconds I'd seen of it) sobbing in the back of the limo after having been rejected. This is what she said, "The good girls always win. I'm just not the girl you take home to mom. I told him I didn't 'need' him but that I certainly wanted him to be in my life...I shouldn't have said that."

I was appalled, first that we were viewing what should have been someone else's private grief billed as entertainment and then that she felt like she had to be something she wasn't to "win" this guy (who seemed like an indecisive moron--in the five seconds i saw). Then we all started talking...Is that true? Are we all supposed to morph from wonderfully unique and interesting individuals into the suburban soccer moms and mini-van dads when we turn 30? What does it mean to be a "good girl" anyway? Does it mean wide-eyed agreement with everything that comes out the guy's mouth and passing it off as my own beliefs? And what about this "needing vs. wanting" bit? If I am a strong individual who enjoys her life and is capable of doing so regardless of her romantic situation, do I have to stroke the male ego and say that "need" him, "can't live without him"? Isn't it more honest to say that I "want" someone in my life? Then I'm making a choice to love and include someone as opposed to being forced to be with him b/c I'm too incomplete to function on my own.

So obviously "reality" tv isn't real life, but as we talked, we came up with many more examples that supported the above views than non-traditional couples. I haven't actually stopped thinking about it yet (thus the writing about it). If that's what relationships are really like, televised or not, that's pathetic...the (small) part of me that is an optomist would like to believe that there are men in the world who appreciate a woman who knows who she is and what she wants and is willing to stand up for her own beliefs and opinions. With that woman, a man could have a partner in life as opposed to a little adoring wife. Loving doesn't mean losing myself in the other person to the point that I could not fuction alone. Being devoted doesn't mean that I won't call the other person out when I think he's wrong. In my opinion, a good relationship always has push and pull that balances out into something like harmony. If someone doesn't challenge me, what's the point of being with him? I guess that's the flip side; some people want to only be petted and comforted and have no willingness to grow or experience new things, and for them, the kind of person I described above would be vicious and intimidating.

So enough rambling...It takes all kinds of people to make couples, and as long as they are happy with their situations, that's super. But here's hoping that there are at least a few of the open-minded, independent male variety left!

02/28/06