Pazienca

Patience and I aren't the best of friends. For some unknown reason, I've always been of the instant gratification mindset. In the past, when I found something to be beyond my reach, I would often cut my losses and move on - even when that meant a messy, painful and broken aftermath. I spent years viewing this driving force as a good thing, especially in terms of love. If I wasn't getting what I needed, I'd move on. If I wasn't feeling appreciated, there would be someone else who'd make up for it. And if a man was taking too long to put it all on the line, I was already on to the next one.

Until the day I realized I had feelings for ManFriend.

My world's been turned upside down since that day, but it hasn't been the outer Elle that's shifted. I still look the same, make the same exaggerated, silly faces when telling a story, laugh rambunctiously at the same corny jokes, wear the same "serious" face that lead most to believe that I'm usually mad. (I'm not, by the way.) That Elle has remained patient and composed to the outside world (minus the drunken night when I went slightly bat-shit on ManFriend's ass and demanded to know what he wanted from me, arms flailing in the air and all; but we don't talk about that). It's the inner Elle that's been seriously shaken - like, to the core, unaware of how to handle these new feelings and trying this whole "patience" concept instead of running when she doesn't automatically get her way.

I've thought about waving my white flag, and then somehow misplaced it. I've attempted to convince myself that I am sooooo over this waiting game, and then noted progress occurs. I have had actual out loud conversations with myself (what? I was in the car!) where I've demanded I call this what it is - just a fleeting crush, that this "connection" is a figment of my imagination. And then he pulls a Ross (from Friends) on me and says that him and I are never "off the table."

Want to know the sort of response I've gotten? My mind took the diplomatic approach and used subtle hints to show me that this isn't going anywhere. Translation: I have dreamt of him at least four times a week, ranging from significant cameos that leave me wishing I could still be dreaming when I'm awake, to subtle whimsical moments with him and his family. And if that weren't enough to drive a girl mad, my f'ing heart joined in with this whole bit about opening itself up to a place it hadn't been to in a really, really long time.

So here I sit, nearly four months since THE letter was sent bearing all of my bits and pieces, still hoping there is good to come.

There has been progress. We've jumped some hurdles (his traveling for work which limited leisure time to spend together, me wanting to run AS FAST AS I POSSIBLY COULD away from these feelings), but we've also experienced good moments that may very well attribute to bringing us together...eventually.

Recently, though, I've started wondering when I'll have had enough. When will I revert to my former self and walk away?

I had initially set a deadline. End of November, if no talks had been prompted, I was going to sit him down and inquire. Now that the end of the month is rapidly approaching, I've noticed that a) we've barely spent time together in the last month due to hectic schedules, making this discussion semi-inappropriate on timing and b) I'm not ready to let go. I decided it'd be best to push it back to the end of the year, gauging how often we hang out from this point forth, what the dynamic is like and then, instead of having a whole "sit down," just casually bring it up while we're together one day.

My fear is that I won't stick to this second deadline, that my insides will start making new and improved excuses and I'll stay. Because secretly, after the number of guys that haven't been worth the wait, I actually think ManFriend is. Because we've experienced too much together for this to not be right. Because I still get the butterflies when I'm on my way to see him even though we've known each other for over a decade.

Because maybe, just maybe, I needed a forceful slow down, a good lesson on patience, to finally get it right.

Unholiday

There are moments when being single actually is all its cracked up to be. My schedule is mine - there is no sharing it with anyone else. I do what I want, when I want, and how I want it. My thirst for time to reflect, read a book, write or just watch mindless to TV can be quenched at a moment's notice I relish plopping down in the middle of my comfy bed while I hog all of the covers and spend seven glorious hours a night tossing and turning without worrying about possibly whacking someone in the face. There is plenty of time to focus on school, and if I choose to procrastinate, it's my own choice. And it feels good knowing that I've elected to be single: while there have been some nice guys, none were right for me. And that's okay. My time will come.

Of course, the world is a funny place and too much of a good thing is unrealistic. Because there are moments when being a singleton is the most frustrating thing in the world. Like when my f'ing toilet pump needs to be replaced and my landlord keeps pushing it off. A guy would be convenient to have around then. Or when I really want a pickle, and my mouth is watering from wanting the pickle, but I can't get the damn jar open! A guy would really be good then. Or when a lazy night in on the couch with candles lit, a good movie, a bottle of pinot noir and a hot man is in order...well, not having a dude around then just sucks. But the worst of all times when being single makes you want to scream is when you're invited to holiday parties - specifically work related ones - and every invitation reads "You and your significant other/spouse are cordially invited to..."

You see, I'm okay with "plus one." That can be anyone. The guy you've sort of been seeing but don't really know what to label yet, your sister, best friend, cousin, roommate, the last minute date you really, reaaaallly didn't want to bring. And if you choose, if that last minute date is just too much to bear, going solo is the best option of all. There's no pressure, no awkward introductions - just a whole lot of schmoozing with people you already know.

But "significant other/spouse"? It's so limiting! What about us single people? What happens if you're still new to the job and you don't have anyone to converse with? And if conversation gets awkward, who is there to turn to for comfort or an escape?!?!

Not that I'm bitter or anything...just saying.

On Wanting

It is a basic human trait to want. Wants may not always equate to necessities, but that's half of the beauty: it's individual, creates motivation, stirs up dormant feelings. In many ways, wanting makes you feel alive.

Clever Girl Goes Blog is familiar with wanting, and just the other day, she dedicated a post catered to just that. Then, because it was such a genius idea, Miss Amber Lane jumped on the bandwagon with her own wants. I felt so good reading both posts that I, too, wanted to become a part of the WW's (Wanting Women). Here's my rendition.

I want to live in a charming NYC brownstone with wide concrete steps to sit and people watch during the summer months. I want a house with a wrap-around porch on the beach, and maybe one at the lake, too. I want a bathroom that resembles this one, but most of all, I want a vintage bathtub to lose myself in after long, strenuous work days. I want to remember to light candles more often. I want to decorate my place with a dash of Pier One, a pinch of Ikea, 4 tablespoons of Pottery Barn, and a teaspoon of vintage findings. I want a bedroom like Carrie Bradshaw's in the Sex and the City movie, but with the closet Big had built for her at their penthouse.

I want a long-haired dauchsund, even though he/she will never be my adorable little Sussie. I want to live in a neighborhood where I feel comfortable and safe walking my dog. I want to eliminate my credit card debt and have a little bit of money in the bank. I want to travel around the world with that little bit of money. I want to live in California and know what it feels to be part of a mild climate year round.

I want to learn how to play the piano, and then try to master Duke Ellington's style. I want to feel free enough to dance with no reservations whenever a feel good song is playing. I want to build a music collection with multiple genres, and one day pass it on to my children.

I want to read more books - old and new. I want to write fiction that I'm confident about. I want to always be as passionate for writing as I am now. I want to publish a novel, or maybe a book of short stories. I want to have my own column. I want my own personal library - a room with walls that are lined with bookshelves - and I want them all filled.

I want to be a good high school English teacher, one who inspires her students to appreciate the beauty of literature. I want to implement creative writing in my classes and help my students understand the importance of writing. I want to learn from them.

I want to be passionately kissed in the rain like they do in movies. And then I want to be okay with knowing that will probably never happen. I want to meet Adam Levine of Maroon 5 and be serenaded by him (every night). I want to fall so deep in love, it actually makes me a bit crazy. I want to love harder and stronger than I have in the past. I want to look at my man, acknowledge his faults and shortcomings, but not care because I love him THAT much. I want to shoo jealousy away. I want to marry a man with green eyes, and hope that our children acquire the same genes. I want to be loved wholly for who I am - underneath the makeup, well-ironed clothes and high heels; instead, barefaced, with unwashed hair, worn in pajamas and glasses. I want to be in a relationship that doesn't falter when lust grows dormant because we genuinely CARE about each other. I want to grow old with someone and reflect back on our younger years together. I want to get married barefoot on a beach as the sun is setting. I want "The Way You Look Tonight" to be our first dance.

I want to always be close with my family. I want my children to be spoiled by their grandparents. I want big holidays filled with thanks, good company, plentiful food and wine, and a little bit of drama. I want family to always comes first, and to know that those no longer with us are still present in our thoughts.

I want to always remember the importance of friendship, continuing to cultivate the ones I cherish most. I want to experience different life stages throughout different decades with different friends. I want to be a pillar of support. I want to be old ladies together, saying phrases like, "In my day," and, "Things just aren't what they used to be," while we sip on spiked tea.

I want to accept that things happen for a reason and in their own timing. I want to always believe God is watching and guiding me. I want to continue to strengthen my faith. I want to take my time doing things, to enjoy life's little pleasures. I want to teach my children to do the same.

I want more sleep - at least nightly, seven hour snooze fests - so that I can continue to dream boldly and vividly of these wants and maybe, with hard work and a little bit of luck, one day turn them into reality.

But most of all, I want to know what your wants are.

That Kind of Friend

A few weeks back, I received a Facebook friend request from an unfamiliar name. Carefully, I studied the profile picture, checked if we had any mutual friends, yet found no traces of the selected face in my memory. So, I clicked "ignore" and chalked it up to error or a nosy stranger. Then, last night, the same friend request came through, this time with a message saying she hoped I remembered her. A new profile picture was included this time, and when I looked closely, the memory was recalled. It was my former best friend from fourth grade.

As I viewed pictures, examining the first one that left me clueless, I'm not sure how I didn't initially recognize Mrs.Childhood. Her long black hair and dark eyes flooded me with memories that had been stored away for too many years.

We immediately began chatting on Facebook, excited at reconnecting and playing catch up after a gap that lasted over a decade. Mrs.Childhood is married - has been for five years - and is the dedicated mother of three beautiful children. I learned she is currently pursuing her dream of Fashion Merchandising, as well as keeping her family healthy, happy and loved in their Florida home.

We spent an hour reminiscing about the life of our friendship. It started off rocky - we initially despised each other over jealousy of another friend who ironically stabbed us both in the back. Once that was finished, we joined forces in spite of the backstabber and realized how much we had in common, but soon came to find that perhaps our commonalities were too alike when we fell for the same boy. So we fought. And competed. A LOT. We argued, then made up. Sent love notes to the crush, then simultaneously got called into the Principal's office once the notes were found by the crush's parents. (They were displeased that two girls were fighting over their young boy; at the age of 8, he should have been focusing solely on school. Scandalous, I know.) That was when we reconvened and truly began enjoying our friendship again until my family decided to move.

And then, she said something that took me by surprise. "Wait until I tell my husband we spoke!"

"He knows about me?" I asked.

"He probably doesn't remember by name, but he knows of you, yes. I haven't had a friend like you since we lost touch... God, that sounds sort of pathetic." I pictured her small laugh building up and releasing into the air as her head fell back in satisfaction; it was the way she laughed when we were children. Then, I thanked her for such a kind remark.

Because in all honesty, that is one of the nicest, most genuine compliments a person could ever offer. It isn't every day that the impact we serve on others' is noticed, but just because it's often overlooked doesn't mean it ceases to exist. Whether positive or negative, our personal energies are exerted into the world and often attach themselves onto those we love the most. It is a force more powerful than we realize.

It's hard to assess our own impact on others. Some may even consider it self-righteous, but I find it important to be aware of the example I set. I have my faults and shortcomings: I am sometimes too stubborn, fail to stand my own ground, can harbor selfishness. But I'm also kind, patient, loving, supportive, humorous, light-hearted, caring, fair and honest. I strive to be a chameleon friend - the one who will party with you until the sun rises, or gladly lounge around in worn-out jeans and a t-shirt, sipping wine and watching movies. I can be the girl sitting beside you at a congested lounge in a trendy NYC neighborhood perusing the scene for handsome strangers while downing overpriced martinis, or the girl next to you at a smoky local dive bar, pounding $2 beers for hours. I am the kind that willingly serves as a pillar of support - whether it's as traumatizing as a heartbreak or menial as a papercut - regardless of other priorities just because I want to make sure you're okay. Most importantly, I strive to be the sort of friend that has experienced the old with you during our younger days, and is anxious to see the new with you when we're old.

I don't have many close friends, but those I do have are a part of my extended family. Without their individual presences, I would not be the woman I am today. I may not have been as carefree, or feel as loved and cared for. My self-esteem might not have developed as healthy as it has without the years of support I've received. I might have turned out to be a poor student had my peers not pushed me to stop procrastinating and start excelling. Even my humor - which is often beyond cheesy - might not be a part of me today without the acceptance and appreciation of friends.

It's amazing how one simple statement as the one Mrs. Childhood confessed could put so much into perspective. No matter the time, place or age, we should all be so lucky to have and be recognized as that kind of friend.

GRE, I hate you.

Last night, I received the official paper scores for the GRE's, including what I got on the Writing section.

I will be the first to admit that when it comes to standardized testing, I'm borderline "special." I don't do math, and the verbal part - which I should know and possess the ability to master - tricks you with four or five plausible choices until your brain crawls out of your skull and commits suicide by plummeting to the ground. But if it's one thing I do, one thing I'd dare say I'm pretty f'in good at, is writing.

You know who apparently doesn't agree? The motherf'in board of GRE members who evaluated my essay portion, that's who.

Let's just say my overall marks were below average. And again, I have accepted that fact on the Verbal and Quantitative Reasoning parts, but in writing? Essays?! Really!??! HOW!?!??!

I must have read both essays at least five times before submitting them. I did exactly what I was told - provided analytical arguments based on past experiences and prior knowledge. They deemed that as flawed. Okay, but how? Do they specify? Nope, because that would mean this test has some semblance of decency.

I'm so perturbed that I actually had nightmares about it. I'm one of those people who dream every night - vividly, in color, with feelings and scents. And the star of my dream last night was my GRE for Dummies book chasing me around an abandoned warehouse while darting physical math equations and fill in the blank sentences at my head. (No, I'm not making this up.)

I don't know what would be worse - not being accepted by my alma matter where I graduated with Honors from or having to retake this freaking thing. At this point, I will do anything - take a school test, be accepted under provisional conditions to prove I'm good for it - to get my Master's. Isn't education encouraged?! A test full of trickery and unfairness does not boost anyone's confidence!

It'd be one thing if I was a poor student - lazy, careless, unmotivated. But instead, I'm an intelligent, organized, hardworking girl who, after a long trek, had realized she cannot - correction, WILL not - spend the rest of her career days stuck behind a desk working a 9-5 that will only escalate to unheard of hours if success is the goal. I cannot continue this paper pushing, travel agency imitating, computer screen glaring, lunch coordinating, conference room approving routine that I've been swallowed by in the last two and half years!

Because as much as I whine about the level of difficulty school presents and at times wish I had nothing to do but lay on my couch and watch Sex and the City all day long, I want more. For the first time since graduating, my brain is actually being stimulated. I'm challenged, motivated, learning, applying and, most importantly, realizing this has been the right choice. I need to be a teacher. I want to make a difference. I want to actually care about my career.

A standardized test cannot take that away from me.

Theory of Evolution

Remember back in August when I realized I was falling for my ManFriend? It was an amalgamation of messy feelings: confusion, fear, hope, excitement, more fear. I managed to hold it all in for awhile until exploding during a hot, drunken night in which I was seeking attention and he failed to supply. It snowballed, like most drunken half-confessions do, and in an effort to keep our friendship intact, I opted to fully and soberly confess my lingering feelings.

If you may recall, he had a simple solution: include each other in our social circles more often and take it from there. He was still not ready for a relationship, I was still distracting myself with other false notions. Somehow, meeting in the middle seemed to work.

It has, but ask me if it's worked smoothly and you'll get a different explanation.

The Taurean in me tends to jump at impulse. When I want something, I want it then and there. I want to throw myself into the mess, rip the bandaid off, grab life by the horns, and all those weird sayings that sometimes just don't make much sense. Essentially, I'm a stubborn, headstrong bull who thinks she knows best.

ManFriend, on the other hand, is a practical Libra who must weigh the pros and cons, balancing the likelihood of success or failure for most of his actions. And as much complementing traits that there are between Taureans and Libras, this one drives me bananas. Did I mention I also lack patience?

But because I have so much history with ManFriend and I know he is one of those rare, geniune good guys who truly has my best interest at heart, I've decided to play this game differently. I've decided to prove myself wrong and learn that I am capable of being patient for things of worth. And while it's been undoubtedly challenging at times, I've somehow managed to find peace in this whole ordeal.

C.S. Lewis' quote that I last blogged about was the beginning of my transition into a calm mind. Most of my crazy stems from fear of being vulnerable, but each new day I awake, I find that nothing worth having in this lifetime comes easy. It means putting yourself out there, sometimes risking heartbreak, dedicating a large part of yourself for the benefits of something wonderful. That is what I see when I think of ManFriend - a potential filled that dynamic that may just equate to the best relationship of our lives.

That may be jumping the gun, and for a long time, I battled with myself on these thoughts. I'd chalk it up to loneliness or the need to share a fling with someone of established comfort. But after months of thinking the same thing, of finding myself trying to shue off butterflies everytime I knew I was going to see him, looking forward to his texts and calls, essentially being the giddy Elle that I am when slowly falling for someone, I realized I, too, was being genuine.

As with most situations, though, the next step is, or should be, approaching. His job's travel season is coming to a close and he's expressed excitement towards being home more often and having the ability to spend more time together. Our dynamic is slowly beginning to take flight into something more involved and he's even started referring to us as "we" versus "you and I" - something my best friend noted he even did around his guy friends.

But what does it all really mean? Could it be that with his upcoming permanent residence at home, he'll finally be ready to commit? Is he past all of his ghosts of relationships' past? Will I be the one he chooses after months and months of patience on my part (that he's even recognized and thanked me for)? Or will not much change?

It's anyone's guess at this point. Some may say things may remain stagnant as, in some senses, ManFriend is "having his cake and eating it too." (Except that he's not because, well, I just don't roll that way and to have ALL Elle benefits, one must work and prove themselves.) But others - like those closest to me and him - recognize that there is a clear change of behavior on his part that may very well lead to a commitment in the coming months.

And as my best friend - my other half for the last 13 years - pointed out last night, I've never displayed this much interest, dedication and future thought into someone as I seem to be doing with ManFriend. Not even with TheEx (in the beginning, anyway).

Now I just hope I haven't bit off more than I can chew.

All of the Different Kinds of Love

Mrs. has recently designated herself as my source of enlightenment. She is, as I've reminded her, my own personal Confucius when it comes to pushing away love-related fears. As our friendship has survived years of transitions, we've reached a level of genuine honesty and care for one another. There are few people I trust with my life in this world, and she is one of them.

Perhaps it is because she's a newlywed and therefore, amply living out her honeymoon phase, that causes her to be so enthusiastic about love. Or maybe she just wants to see me settled down and happy. Whatever the case, a few weeks back, she pointed out how untrusting I am of amour.

"I am not!" I snapped. There was a pause, a hunch of my shoulders in retreat, and then an agreeing head nod. "All right, I am."

In my defense, the ice age surrounding my heart has slowly been going through its melting period in the last two and half years. Each dating experience has exposed me one step closer to love, teaching me new lessons along the way. And when the time is right, I want to love stronger than before, more genuinely, faithfully, wholly.

I've known love intimately, in comfortable moments surrounded by plush down covers and Egyptian-threaded sheets with jazz quietly humming in the background. I've known it feverishly, light and strong caresses enveloping my body, lips softly grazing mine. I've known it in frustration, mini-vortexes of thoughts on the path to destruction of all rationality. I've known it happily, where everything has the power to become a cliche and my body is light enough to float. When you've grown that acquainted to love and it's lost, you're deeply affected.

It's like quitting a drug. The control you once had is snatched from your grip, taking you hostage to love's overwhelming powers. It's all you can think about. You crave it, want it, NEED it. You'd be crazy to deny it, but as with most drugs, it sometimes becomes unhealthy. Perhaps it's making you sick or it slowly starts dominating your life. Maybe it ceases to become the right drug for you.

So you quit. You cut love cold turkey thinking your strong enough. Then withdrawal kicks in. You cry over everything, your body aches, your heart actually feels like it's in pieces somewhere inside of you, and you just hope it's all condensed in the same vicinity. You lose your appetite, you dream about it, you hallucinate. Your mind reaches a point where it's willing to do anything, no matter how irrational, just to get one step closer to love.

There are those who simply find themselves too weak, battered down by the process of withdrawal, and run back to their demise. But others, the ones who one day are reminded of life on a cold, January morning as they watch their breaths take unrecognizable form, choose to heal. Slowly, they rehabilitate themselves, building endurance and more strength than before, until finally finding that quitting the wrong love was perhaps the best decision they could have ever made.

I chose to be of the latter, but the battle scars are still a part of me. Some days, I find myself discouraged at love. And others, fate steps in and I'm reminded to keep fighting. Last night, I received an e-mail from Mrs. with a blank subject line. It read:

"It's a risk to love. C.S. Lewis has made this profound observation:



'To love at all is to be vulnerable. Love anything, and your heart will certainly be wrung and possibly be broken. If you want to make sure of keeping it intact, you must give your heart to no one, not even to an animal. Wrap it carefully round with hobbies and little luxuries; avoid all entanglements; lock it up safe in the casket or coffin of your selfishness. But in that casket --safe, dark, motionless, airless--it will change. It will not be broken; it will become unbreakable, impenetrable, irredeemable.'


You may have experienced deep hurt because you made the choice to love. It would only be natural to tell yourself, 'I'm never going to open myself up to that kind of pain again.' Of course you feel that way. Who wants to be wounded? Lewis's statement reminds us that there is an even deeper hurt to be found in NOT loving than in taking the risk to love. If you choose not to love, not only will you be hurt, but the people you could have loved will be hurt in ways you may never know.
 
It's a risk to love, but it is the one risk worth taking more than any other. "

While I've yet to reach that level with romantic love again, life feels different - better - when realizing you're surrounded by the indulgent, selfless love of your family and friends.