The Average Man November 18, 2009

I have dated great men. I have dated sub-par men. I have dated the fantastic and I have dated the average. Most recently it is the average man that seems to preoccupy my musings. Not that I am unhappy or lonely or missing the sweet mediocre loving. In fact I am satisfied with where I am; personally, sexually, and socially. I don’t need him but for some odd reason, I do miss him.

The average man made no sense for me. He and I shared very little in our interests or lives and yet we were drawn to one another. I don’t understand it and thankfully I won’t ever have to do that. Unfortunately I will need to get to the bottom of why he keeps popping into my head when all I want to do is move on and forget him. I can’t say that I didn’t love him, him and his lame if not semi-fantastic group of friends. I loved that man for so many “god-only-knows” reasons. I stopped loving him for the same, and maybe that’s the part that isn’t true.

I didn’t stop loving him, he stopped loving me. The average man who really should have been thanking God, Allah and the cracker jack company for getting my attention and for dating me decided he didn’t love me anymore. A month later, he changed his mind, realized he loved me and that I was perfect but I had already moved on.

I moved on but I did not let go of the anger or resentment I felt for him choosing someone, something else or other than me to make him happy. Sure he came crawling back to beg forgiveness, blah blah blah. Ever notice how chivalry is completely dead until a man wants something from you? Typically this is sex, other times it’s a free meal. Trust me. Either way he had a lot of really profound, powerful and inspiring things to say. Things that I was quite proud, relieved, and happy to hear – still not enough to convince me to take him back. Unfortunately, I felt what he wanted was another easy lay and to continue the fucked up together not together dance.

Whether that was the honest truth or not, I’ll never know I suppose. I do know that he wanted what I could no longer give him. The average man waited too long and I had met a man, a man that is all the things he wasn’t and will most likely never be. The man I am with is extraordinary.

Get out- Ask for help November 8, 2009

My early twenties were a depressing and dark time in my life. I thought it important to never let your friends know you have a problem. My juvenile fear was that their pity would be more than I could bear. I was more concerned with them thinking I couldn’t handle my situation than the fact that I was hiding my misery from the only people who could or would help me.

 

I was terrified of being loved and helped. Trapped in an emotionally abusive relationship I thought I wanted what I had. I thought that because I had something it was something special. I worked every day to justify that unhealthy relationship. I was convincing myself that working through it means forgiving a man everything and asking for nothing in return. I thought I couldn’t leave because I didn’t have any fight left. I was completely exhausted by being the relationship and couldn’t put forth the energy to fight out of it. I allowed myself to be controlled and beaten down because I thought that was love. And I wanted to be in love more than anything.

 

Had I only allowed my friends to be there for me, I could have saved myself  four years of hiding in a cocoon of covers all day long. The tears and self-imposed exile could have been avoided. I have learned from my mistakes and firmly resolve to let people in, even when my news isn’t great. My only hope is that no young person feels the way I felt from 19 to 23. If the only voices telling you that this is a good relationship are yours and his, consider the value of talking to others. If it is a friend, if it is a sibling, parent, or a complete stranger, it is someone. When you have to create a way to make the story sound good or make that person sound nice so others will like them, chances are you’re not convincing the person you’re telling. You’re convincing yourself.

Pleasing Obsession August 17, 2009

Jack’s  need to always be organized and responsible was the driving force that made me want to possess him. I coveted his eyes, his hands, his lips on mine, and the rest of his body. He was a constant distraction all summer. There was so little I could do to stop thinking of Jack, talking about Jack. What began as summer love quickly devolved into an ongoing obsession.

As though my mind were not my own, all that was me melted into a selfless pleasing shell. My only desire was to touch him, to amuse him in some way so he’d love me. I wanted Jack to love me most, love me best, and make me the center of his universe. I wanted his world to revolve around me. I wanted him to need me the way I did him. In a jealousy driven obsession, I lost myself in emotion thinking it was love.

The obsession with Jack concealed the fear I felt of loosing him. I wanted Jack to know the pain that was my world when he was not around. I justified my obsession with unequivocally leading questions, “Does that make him my one?” Never considering if the needs I wanted to meet for him, were needs that he was able or unable, willing or unwilling to meet for me. I sought anything to keep me from thinking about the shallow one-sided nature of our relationship. I almost made the insurmountable leap to, “He could be my one for always.” He just might have been if not for inevitable growth that happens as a young woman ages. In a way, I never thought I wasn’t right for Jack but on some level I always knew he wasn’t right for me.

imperfection April 6, 2009

In a perfect world you would understand your own feelings. You would always know what and who you want to be and how to get there. You would know what people wanted and how to make them want you. Maybe in this Utopia everyone would just understand and appreciate their differences. But this is not a perfect world and I seem to have fewer days where I understand what I want and need than not. We’re not perfect. We have not led perfectly honest and wholesome lives. Why do we feed on the misfortune of others? It is as if as a species we crave malfunction and drama when many of us could just look into our own homes and see our personal soap operas unfold. But instead, we project the negative energy outward.

I hate when that happens. I hate when perfectly good days are ruined by insecurity, false hope or a lack of trust. I don’t know why people do the things they do. I have seen, so many times, the destructive and horrible things people can do to one another. I have been hurt by people who have called themselves my friends. Unfortunately, I foolishly believed that other people felt as I did, live as I do and attempt first to do no harm. Sadly, people do not seek to commit kind acts unto others or generously live. Many of the individuals that I have met or spent time with over the past two years have very little ethical or moral fiber. Searching for the next temporary high, they do whatever it takes to feel good for a moment. They do not consider the pain they are causing or the impact of their actions.

There is more negativity surrounding the choices and decisions that people make and yet I am guilty of the same behavior. I don’t understand myself and most certainly don’t understand other people. I don’t know what I want, I don’t know where I’m going and yet I attempt to paint others into organized boxes of friend or foe, kind or cruel and trusting or trustworthy. It’s never easy to determine what your calling in life ought to be, it is far simpler to look out and judge those you do not know or attack them for their flaws. I would like to be a person who is able to see and appreciate the grey areas. Who does not constantly strive for perfection in herself or in others. Who sees what good and bad all people are capable of doing and does not live in fear that there will be more of the second. It is a tricky balance between guarding one’s inner sanctum and self while also being open to life’s experiences and the relationships we share with other people.

learning from mistakes March 28, 2009

It is difficult to have patience with yourself. So many days I wish away time, I wish this was over, I wish I was already there. I wish it was next week so I could be doing something else. It’s hard to see that all along I may be learning something. For every time I’ve wished to be done with something, ten times over I wish I was back in time doing it again. It’s difficult to rejoice in times of trial and self discovery because in situations where change and growth are inevitable, it’s sometimes difficult to see what it’s all worth. Only later do we see how truly far we’ve come in our personal journey.

Hope is a tricky thing. The very force that gives us the strength and audacity to reach for the impossible is the same as that which crushes the life within us when the expectations we create for ourselves are not met. Imagining the future is a wonderful gift. It allows us to see our own potential. Unfortunately we can only see what we want and never know what tragedies are yet to befall us. The futures we imagine are limited because what we are able to see and what will actually manifest are two truly different things. Do we learn from our mistakes? Do we learn to make new ones? Or are we doomed to repeat the same mistakes until the outcome is the right one by some stroke of fate?

I’d optimistically like to think that we learn from our mistakes. I hope that when I screw up, I mourn the sadness of loss, but learn how to avoid making that same mistake again. Unfortunately, that isn’t always true. There are times when I look around and realize I have just made not only the same mistake again but I have created the same situation again. In relationships, I feel as though I rush to the same point with different people. Possibly in an attempt to fix the problem I was unable to remedy last time. It could also just be that I don’t know how to get out of the cycle. When I find myself happy or dissatisfied I react in the same way and choose to surround myself with people who will respond and interact in the same way as those I failed to satisfy before. Not paying attention to the patterns, I have managed to subconsciously recreate the same dead end situation. Ideally would learn how to resolve the first or second time around. Instead I continue to find myself in the same rut. Wearing different clothes but still quarrelling over the same things. Something different versus more of the same, if there is a better or a worse of the two I have yet to find it.

Hell Hath No Fury… January 13, 2009

Do not tempt me to hit you boy. There are limits to what I can and can not do. But ripping your leg off for the singular purpose of beating you with it is a reasonable possibility of what can happen if you mess with me. I’m not a woman to be trifled with. I don’t take kindly to being ignored and first and foremost, I will not be forgotten. I will not stand for this treatment. I am an independent woman, show some respect. You will do as I want and succumb to my desires. Do not pretend to have control of the situation because you don’t. I am not going to fail. I do not fail. I will win this game do not tempt me to hurt you in the process.

I am a different breed of woman. I was not meant to date boys like you. I’m not a politically correct type of girl and I’m grateful for that. I’m not the stay sober and take care of things woman, I’m the center of attention partier. Drink in hand; I dance the night away with any number of guys. You sir, are a dime a dozen people pleaser. I, however, am a choice commodity, a rare breed of femme fatal. It’s not a choice I make with some alternate goal in mind. It’s reality, it’s who I am. No one can change that; please don’t flatter yourself to think that you might. I’m no Jackie-O, I’m a Marilyn. I wasn’t meant to be a wall flower. I was meant to be admired. I was created to part the crowd not to observe from the sidelines. I’m just not that type, or more aptly not your type of non-specific and bland lacking personality, panache, class and vibrancy. I’m out of your league and you’re out of time to impress me so thanks for playing better luck next time. But should you try again I recommend you stay towards the shallow end because you most certainly can not keep up with the sharks.

A Life Unexplored January 13, 2009

The obviousness of life is oftentimes so silly. Insanity is defined as doing the same thing over and over again, expecting different results. My own foolishness typically slaps my face upon realization. I come to the most common of discoveries, learning what I must have already known. My real friends are the ones I want my family to meet. Those that I feel will give the best representation and picture of myself. These few are not the ones I talk about, nor are they the ones that I spend the majority of my time with. But when I need them, they arrive silently to console and uplift me above the low caliber people I surround myself with.

How silly it is that I would rather be with these people who bring nothing to the table. And yet I have friends with whom I honestly feel I grow each time I speak to them. Unfortunately because of physical appearances and petty popularity standards, I walk away from them. I was embarrassed today by my “friends” because I saw through critical eyes the stupidity of their conversations. How worthless what they said would become because that is what they say, everyday. When I looked to Steve with apologetic eyes, I couldn’t see how understanding his reply would be, “You were there, they were just talking about things that were important to them.” And he makes me think, ‘are the things I think are important the same things my friends value?’ The answer, is ‘no’. In surrounding myself with these people, aren’t I saying ‘yes’? My actions speak for themselves. Now I am confronted with the question, can I not change this about myself? Is it now better that I have acknowledged that which I wish to alter and can look unabashed to my future and create a world I like looking at in my introspection.

Conclusions are myths created to pacify the restlessness of the conscious mind. I can hear myself being cocky rather than confident, self-absorbed and self-obsessed rather than self-empowering. There are a number of shallow emotions and actions I have been indulging in lately. The decision to change myself and my behavior is a mine alone to make. I have nothing to prove to everyone else, I have everything to prove to myself. In this focused review of my personal situation I have potentially altered my life’s course.

Self Sacrifice January 13, 2009

More than before I’m realizing the necessity for me to reach out to others, rather than expecting them to always reach out to me. There is a very important trade off of favors but as Daniel O’Hagan used to be quite fond of saying, “You don’t get letters if you don’t send letters.” Which is a beautiful message in and of itself. You can’t receive if you don’t give. And as St. Francis of Assisi said, “Grant that I may never seek, so much to be consoled as to console, to be understood as to understand.” Therein lies a message and a promise. Seek out ways in which to serve and your reward will be greater but less important. For that which we most need is not more for ourselves but to give more of ourselves to others.

In the past year I think I spent a large amount of my time ignoring this truism because I do feel better knowing I have done something for someone else. Having these gestures returned however is also important. Because I have found that having someone in your life with which you are constantly is one way to assure the demise or failure of your relationship. Having any relationship of this nature also to ruins your desire to bestow kindnesses upon others. Generosity of self is a thankless job, however when giving unto others, specifically those in dire need it is important to remember that this is a gift that will most likely not be returned. However, when doing kind acts and making selfless gestures to one’s friends and acquaintances it is paramount to realize that when one gives of their time, energy, creativity and personal effort it is not without the understanding that you are to respond in kind. Perhaps the amount need not be returned to the dollar but the realization that, “to whom much is given much is expected” should be fairly recognized and applied. The aim is not for this other person to be a martyr but for them to be a supportive and loving friend. One of the truest characteristics of a good friendship is when there is give and take from both partners not one consistently giving while another only takes.

Walk Away January 13, 2009

How prepared does love leave you to walk away? Even love for the sake of loving is not pure in its demands. Love has no rationality and knows no bounds. It exceeds far more quickly the bounds of the heart than hatred but its boundlessness is also the curse that draws the innocents, moth-like to its flame to be beckoned, taunted, and inevitably engulfed in its impassioned dance of chemicals and fumes.

When you try to cling to who you were you come to realize you don’t know her anymore. Try as we may, we fall into the haze, the intoxicating glow of romance. We are hypnotized by the fairytale of what could be, someday and when we save up. There are so many of us seeking love, embracing love and hoping to retain love. Regardless of age, no matter how mature and reasonable we become we are still guilty of falling prey to the temptation to love and be loved in return. We think that, to live as we do, to be as we are, you have to be in love, because like so many things in this world, it doesn’t make sense.

Drunk on intentional naïveté, feigned innocence and a dream of being in a proverbial mutually fulfilling relationship we drop our guard. We forget the goals that once made up our entire existence. We forge ahead creating time where there was none before. Giving up appointments, being late for work and skipping plans with those other than our beloved. We drown ourselves in the high love creates. We strive to take in every sweet memory and every lingering touch as though it will never exist again. In the honeymoon of our affections we dread the loss of this great love more deeply than many of the lasting relationships we already possess. Like infants we become inconsolable until the figure that meets these needs returns to our sight. Fearing abandonment, betrayal or worse, returning to our lives as they were before the momentous encounter that brought this other into our lives we cling to every call. We savor every text and pour over the comments shared with friends. Advertising our joy becomes our highest calling and the focus of all energies not drained in love making. As we look to others to quantify our emotions we share to prove that what we think is happening really is there. We are terrified of sharing too much and also too little because what if we forget, what if tomorrow this bliss is gone suddenly, much as it came into our lives.

It is this dread that is most disconcerting. Because when love is used to manipulate, how quickly we can release ourselves from the tentacles that we have intertwined and mingled into the rest of our lives. So many victims of abuse seek refuge with the very person who harms them most. Remembering, realistically or imagining that a time existed when the relationship was better, their partner kinder and their lives sweeter. They cling to a dangerous relationship in hopes of evoking some desire in the other person to come back to that utopian place. Returning to a time when things were supposedly better. Though the desire to live and love completely exists it is dangerous to fall too swiftly, too deeply or too sickly in love. Because when love becomes obsession or controlling it ceases to be love and becomes some other animal that is tortured, cruel and hungry. Love exists when you do not need the other person but rather you want them in your life. Teaching our children the difference between these two emotions is paramount. Our relationships must be allowed to blossom and come to wholesome fruition. We need never be the victims of abuse, we need to learn when enough is enough and when to walk away.

Lasting Relationships December 11, 2008

There are few things in life that are as comforting and soothing as a hot cup of tea. When I am lonely, when I am sick, when I am feeling creative and especially when I am bonding with the women in my family; it is usually over a hot cup of tea. Sunday afternoons in the summer or blustery winter’s evenings, tea seems to be the unchanged constant in the most intimate conversations of my life.

My tastes have changed over the years and growing up in a tea drinking household the flavors have grown with me. As a child listening to my mother, aunts and grandmother talk at the dining room table I had my own lukewarm cup of raspberry herbal tea. I would sip at poignant breaks in the conversation, raising my pinky for effect. This was my time to be among women and learn the art of and joy in sharing yourself and learning the familial history that is the story of my own life’s journey. Sitting in the dining room chairs my patent leather shoes dangling a few inches above the floor, I felt like a grown up and like I had become a part of some secret society. A world I had not known before was opened up to me as the matriarchs of my family smiled down at what could only be described as tepid sugar water but I drank that raspberry tea as if it were nectar from the gods.

As I grew into a young woman still living at home I graduated to Earl Grey to prove I could drink the strong brew that everyone else enjoyed. I of course still filled half the cup with sugar and lemon juice. It was only after I realized the difference between my mother’s taste in tea and my Grandmothers that I began to develop my own tea preferences. My mother will allow the bag to sit in the pot until the water is cold. My grandmother dips the bag in twice and puts it to the side as she prefers a lighter tea. I have learned that I prefer the tea my grandmother’s way. But had I never met such selective connoisseurs, I might be one of those American women who does not know the difference between strong or weak tea.

I left for college and studied abroad in Italy. During my adventures my family always made sure to send me a little box of tea in every care package. The flavor reminded me of home and helped keep me awake when I studied, calmed my nerves after a long day and let me know I was loved by a family that was physically far away but no further than a hot cup of tea. While traveling in Ireland, I shared a hot cup of tea with my best friend. In front of a roaring fire in her flat we made plans for our future. Tea cups warming our chilly hands we discussed our hopes and our dreams for the lives we would lead. We stayed up all night talking and sharing our most intimate thoughts sipping tea and imagining what excitement was next in store for us.

Throughout my life, tea has not only been the marker of a good conversation or the beginning of a never ending card game, it has become synonymous with the passage of time, the sharing of traditions and moments of personal growth and revelation. When a woman in my family puts the kettle on and sits down to talk, you know she means business. And when someone says they don’t have a minute for even one cup of tea, you know something’s going on. Some people read their fortunes in the tea leaves at the bottom of their mug. My great fortune is in the women I drink my tea with. As the years pass and conversation ebbs and flows, I learn more about them as people and through their wisdom, more about myself and the woman I would like to become. Sharing a cup of tea is our tradition, it is our ritual and it is a gift I share with my female friends, family and someday my children.