Fearless (T-Minus 442 Days)

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If you have realized one thing by now, it may be I like lists. Pre-30 bucket lists, Christmas appreciation lists, To-Do lists for life; I’ve done them all. Even when there is a distinct lack of forward progress, it at least makes me feel like I am organized and at least making an effort. So it should probably come as no surprise then that I also adore making lists of New Year’s Resolutions.

I try to keep it to a manageable number – fewer than five – and I try my darndest to avoid the cliché lose 20 pounds; though let’s face it, that’s always a goal. Now, as I look back on the promises I made to myself for 2010, I realize I actually did reasonably well at attaining all – or most – of my goals. I competed. I became a frequent visitor to the library. And I cleaned out (some of) the clutter from my life.

Those are all things I certainly hope to continue, but at the risk of being completely overwhelmed by lists, I have opted to make just one Resolution for 2011. There are several levels to it, but it all boils down to one idea (shamelessly stolen from page 24 of the January 2011 edition of Self magazine). 

BE FEARLESS.

If you make one resolution this year, let it be to live boldly.
You control this moment: rather than cautiously test the water, 
dive straight into life with freeing abandon.
Imagine the person you want to be and the life you want to live, 
and then simply commit to them.
Believe in yourself. Embrace your beauty. Discover a new passion.
And whatever you do, wherever you go, don’t be afraid to make a splash.

If I close my eyes and imagine the person I want to be, I see someone strong and independent that exudes style, grace and respect. I see an athlete. A lover. A better sister and friend. I see myself as a traveler, a wanderer and a beacon of hope.

I want to see true, unbridled happiness.

Who knows if that’s realistic, but I think it’s certainly something we all should strive for. I do not want to end this next year saying I wish I had done something different from what I did. I want to take advantage of every single opportunity, whether it is personal, professional, romantic, spiritual or physical, and I think if I can do that, then I can’t help but find my groove along the way.

Sixth Sense (T-Minus 446 Days)

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The idea of urinating canines didn’t seem very festive, so I decided to hold off on writing about them until I knew everyone would be in a post-holiday funk, sad to be back at work and looking for some sort of distraction. Even if it’s only by me. And even if it created this mental image.

I think we are all painfully aware of the innate sixth sense men have. I know you know the one. It’s the thing that gives a man the ability to at one moment be blissfully ignorant of reciprocating emotion, interpreting silence or simply recognizing interest … and at the next to be so keyed in to our psyche that he knows the very second we find happiness elsewhere. Or at least are prepared to find happiness.

He then feels the need to mark his territory. For all intents and purposes, to pee on our leg.

I wish I could take credit for this analogy, but it was relayed to me by a friend via one of her friends upon their discussion of my latest plight. How I was attempting to fully immerse myself in the dating world; how I had found a prospect (or two) … and how no sooner did I say it aloud that “neither defined nor satisfying” came around to make dinner plans.

I might as well be a fire hydrant. Or a bush in the neighbor’s yard.

Either way, I leave myself wide open as territory to be marked, and you know what … I don’t mind. I act annoyed and frustrated, but let’s face it, you can never truly be upset with an adorably cute dog. And I say this as someone who has come to be a pet lover late in life.

In fact, I would probably be more upset if he didn’t come sniffing around.

Whether women admit it or not, we love this phenomenon. We moan and complain about how we wish they would just leave us alone, but everyone loves to feel wanted and appreciated, even if it’s not necessarily the person we want making us feel that way. And even more so if it is the one person, but he just hasn’t realized it yet and this is the one indication it might at least be on his mind.

I experienced a second dose of this late last week when I got an email from the former Mr. Big, the first attempt at communication in close to probably four months and only the second since about three months before that (not that I’m keeping track). I can unequivocally say I do not want him in my life, but I still got a sick sense of self satisfaction he still thinks of me at the holidays.

You’re probably lying to yourself if you don’t admit to at least partly feeling the same way.

The problem comes in how you choose to handle it; how I have chosen to handle it. Just as dogs need to be trained, men cannot (or at least should not) be allowed to continually piss on whoever’s leg they please without some repercussions, unless you are truly OK with just shaking it off, washing your pants and moving on.

How’s that for an extended metaphor?

Lost and Found/10 Things (T-Minus 453 Days)

Ever since writing my letter to Santa and admitting that I have no idea where I lost my groove, I started to think maybe I should figure that part out before I worry so much about finding it. I have to confess though, the more I psycho-analyze myself, the more I find I really don’t like.

Almost two years ago, prior to the 27^th birthday, I made a list of 10 things I wanted to do before I turned 30 (there’s that number again). I remember being inspired by yet another Lifetime movie; one cleverly titled “7 Things to do Before I’m 30” and decided to three-up it in creating my list.

At that point, I came up with two handfuls of things that I thought would make me a more complete person.

And so, I got a tattoo, my No. 1 (a ladybug) and made out with a stranger (it wasn’t on purpose, I did not realize until after that I never knew his name), thus fulfilling No. 3. I also willed my prematurely arthritic knees to start running and cycling again and followed through on No. 6 and the promise to compete in something. My first cycling century filled a void and left me wanting to do more. My first triathlon, as well as the 2011 Warrior Dash is on tap for this summer.

Then came No. 7 – I started to volunteer.

Little by little, I checked things off.

As time went on though, I realized there is one thing on the list I am fairly certain I will never check off, and that it may be better in the long run. And yet another that I find myself having to do again and again …

No. 4: Let it go.

In other words, stop recycling relationships. Stop holding on to the past and start recognizing that exes are exes for a reason and cut them out of my life. I used to pride myself on my “inordinate capacity for forgiveness,” a trait I gave myself to rationalize my tendency to keep schmucks in my life based on the five seconds they once showed that they were worthy.

Most single women our age have that one guy that they have held on to the idea of what might have been. I, however, had a list.

I thought I could accomplish this purging process with a bottle of wine, some tissues and a ceremonial dumping of cell phone numbers. About a year and a half ago, I even went so far as to change mine and give the new one out on a case-by-case basis. (Basically, if I had ever made out with you, then you were left out of the phone.)

Instead, I felt the need to talk it out with each of them. Discuss what was right and what was wrong and mutually make a decision about the future that did not include booty calls, sneaking around or guilty consciences.

So, after seven years, I officially ended the relationship with the former college boyfriend turned man affectionately known as “Mr. Big,” despite the fact that we kept coming back to each other time after time and I couldn’t imagine my life without him. And the minor detail he is half the reason I moved to Ohio. That inability to let go had to mean something, so I held on.

Just like part of me held on to the minor league baseball player that I befriended when I was 19 and used to have long talks with while he was on the road because, clearly, his desire to open up to me meant that there was something there. Even eight years later.

And the hot doctor who doubled as my guilty pleasure.

Until now.

I surreptitiously said farewell to all the men that represented the best sex, cutest story and the strongest hug after finally remembering the selfishness, cheating hearts and lack of chemistry that caused me to say goodbye to them in the first place. Suddenly the days of obsessing over late nights, long chats and butterfly kisses were gone.

And I was cleansed. Almost.

For there was one other man that I thought I needed to cut out of my life for good, even though he had already taken himself out of it months earlier. He represented one of the only post-college, adult life relationships that actually meant something. He was the only one that I had truly fallen head over heels for and, subsequently, the only one to truly break my heart.

And only now, do I realize he also took the biggest chunk of my groove to date.

It should be a no-brainer. I should not have any desire to talk to the man that I never should have entered in to a unethical “relationship” with, only to do so and then have him decide after a few months to get back together with his ex-girlfriend and go to the Bahamas for a week with her – without telling me and leaving me to find out from a cohort.

What could there possibly be left to hold onto?

Yet, after nearly a year of not speaking, but continually and inwardly obsessing, I found myself wanting to tell him about the journey of self discovery that I was on, and to ask his opinion on everything from what I was writing to what he thought of my tattoo. I knew, out of everyone in my life, he would appreciate this story the most.

Because long before the reasonable facsimile of a relationship ended, I fell for him for his ability to see straight through me. To get me. To push me to want to be a better person.

Two years ago, I started to think why I would ever want to let that go.

For it is very easy to get caught up in the circumstances around why someone leaves your life, but in some instances, it is more important to recognize the reasons for which he or she came into it. Everyone does for a reason and sometimes it’s not the reason you want to believe.

I spent so long wondering how something that started out so passionately could end so abruptly and so pointlessly.  I now know he and I were never supposed to be together. He came into my life to change my reality, make me question my choices and to ultimately make me a stronger person.

While that remains to be true, yet another two years later, he is happily (I assume) married to the woman that he ended our relationship for. A woman I think I would be BFF with (at least according to some drunk Facebook and wedding registry stalking), which does not make any of it easier.

Nor does the startling realization that four years after the fact, I have yet to fill the void he left or found what he made me recognize I was missing. Alas, I am now attempting to do just that and, as I continue to go through my checklist and my search with the very goal of ultimately becoming the stronger person I know he saw in me, I realize he continues to serve his purpose.

So, in addition to telling him goodbye, I would like to mentally tell him thank you. Thank you for breaking my heart in a way that woke me up and for helping me learn I have the strength to put it back together all these years later so that it is more whole than I ever could have imagined.

And even more importantly … open.

Santa, Baby (T-Minus 457 Days)

Dear Santa:

Forgive me St. Nick, I know it’s been awhile since I last wrote. It doesn’t mean I stopped believing and, in fact, it may be just the opposite. I have been so fortunate in my 28 years on this great Earth that I have had very little to ask you for … at least once you gave me that kitchen set circa 1984.

As you probably know, it’s shaped who I have become.

I think I could use your help now though. I’m wary of asking for your support, given that there are millions of people in this world that could use a dose of Christmas spirit more than I could, but I’m not sure where else to go. Now, I don’t expect all of these things wrapped up with a nice little bow by next Saturday and maybe not even a year from now, but somewhere down the line (maybe in the next 457 days), you could help a woman out.

I mean, I think I have been at least a fairly good girl this year. Sure there were some indiscretions every now and again, but hey, it was my birthday and it was cold in Wisconsin and the other one was just the realization of a former fantasy. You can’t blame a 28-year old single woman for following through on either.

At times, I certainly tried to be worse (or at least thought about it) and I definitely dreamed about being better.

If it were truly up to me, I would probably be about 11 months into the best relationship of my life. Instead, I left it unfulfilled and unsatisfying and have only been finding the same in searching for a replacement.

So no pressure or anything, but I’m asking you for help in figuring that whole situation out. I’m not getting any younger and I’d really like to meet the person I am meant to make out with every night/brush my teeth beside every morning. Can you give me a sign? A kick in the right direction? A screen name perhaps?

And while we are it, can you do the same for where I am meant to settle down, because I am starting to think [city in the Midwest] is definitely not the place to be. Although I could see where it could be OK for awhile if the former thing worked out, it still doesn’t totally feel like home. And if you can’t find me something nice to come home to, it may be time to move on. I should note: I can deal with snow and bitter cold, as long as there is some sun involved. And some topography … mountains, an ocean, something other than nothing.

Now, if you can deliver the answers to those two things, or even just one of them, it might help me in figuring out whether I am unhappy or happy doing what I do for living. I really hope on all that is green, red and jolly that I could be happy because I frankly don’t have any idea what else I would do. It’s kind of who I am.

I hate to simplify happiness down to just those three categories – love, life and job, especially as we encroach on my first Christmas spent away from my family and the increasing feeling that maybe just a couple days with them could help put things in perspective, but alas … I am.

So now that you’ve had time to process everything Santa, could you please, in short, help me find my groove? I can’t even begin to tell you when I lost it, but I promise I am trying to figure that out and I am willing to do whatever I can to track it down. And I could really use your help.

XOXO,

You-Know-Who

Flannel Sheets (T-Minus 460 Days)

I have spent so long thinking about what to write about next that weeks have gone by without even noticing. I finally realized, however, that not every entry needs to be end with some deep, thought-provoking message, a lesson learned by yours truly or grand step towards the infamous groove.

It’s about the little things. And the tiny steps in between the big ones.

This came to me early this morning as my alarm (Joshua Radin’s - I’d Rather Be With You) continued to play over and over while I lay in bed thinking there are few greater feelings than being snuggled in new flannel sheets. I think that is one of my favorite things about winter, about the holiday season.

And so, here is a list of some of my other not-so-guilty little pleasures I relish during this time of the year (in no particular order, other than stream of consciousness).

1.       Hallmark movies. And Lifetime. And ABC Family Channel. – The Christmas Card, Fallen Angel and Recipe for a Perfect Christmas are some of my faves.

2.       Joni Mitchell’s River and Sarah McLachlin’s Wintersong … Achingly sad Christmas songs make me happy.

3.       My “I Believe” t-shirt. Yes, Virginia, there is a Santa Clause.

4.       Egg Nog … with bourbon. Great Lakes Christmas Ale.  Basically the open excuse to drink.

5.       Cookies, cookies and more cookies.

6.       Coming home from work to Christmas cards in the mailbox – even if they’re pictures of ferrets in Santa hats, from your realtor or reminding you that you are not married with 2.5 kids and a cute puppy.

7.       This probably shouldn’t have taken me all the way to No. 7, but the satisfaction of knowing you have found someone the perfect gift. I have found two of those so far and I cannot wait to give them.

8.       Putting the angel on top of the tree.

I admit it has been tougher than usual to get in the holiday spirit this year, even with all the things listed above. For the first time in my 28-plus years, I will not be spending Christmas with my family and the weight of that hits me at odd times. I am, of course, fortunate enough to have amazing friends that will open their hearts and home for me the day, but nothing will replace misbehaving in the pew with my brother and sister at the late service Christmas Eve, sleeping in the next morning and not opening stockings til 10 a.m. or helping my mom make dinner in the kitchen.

To me, family is a big thing.

And so, in the absence of the big thing, I am left with all of the small ones. I will spend this holiday nestled in flannel sheets, nursing an egg nog … with bourbon and watching FaLaLaLaLifetime. In short, making my own traditions, as seemingly pitiful as they may seem.

Whether you are heading into the next couple weeks alone, with your family, with your significant other or with your friends that might as well be family, appreciate all the little things that come with the season. They are what makes it great, or at least what makes it bearable.

Out-of-Office (T-minus 466 Days)

I know it sounds sad, but putting up the out-of-office reply is one of the most satisfying acts in my adult life. I had a very random weekend off to start the month of December and I used it to go visit friends and family in Boston, perhaps one of my favorite cities in this great Union. Before I left, I opened up the automatic reply option and realized I had not put one up since the end of July/beginning of August (also the last time I had time off to see a member of my family).

In short, it had been four whole months since I had basically been able to tell someone “Bug off, you’ll have to wait four days.”

It felt marvelous.

I even went as far as to leave my computer at home, so I would not physically be able to do work while I was away. I quickly found that also meant I was not physically able to write. And so I found myself in Cherry Bomb Bakery (I highly recommend the flourless chocolate cupcake) with a polka dot notebook and pen scribbling notes for upcoming blog entries. I had forgotten how satisfying it was to scribble out text and draw arrows to rearrange thoughts.

Of course the arrows quickly turned into doodles of flowers and hearts and stars. I’m such a girl. If only I had a crush to write in a big heart or do the compatibility test based on the numbers of vowels in each person’s names (Anyone else know this one? Anyone?). It was a standard doodle back in the day.

Alas, now I am back in the office and responding to all the emails, phone calls and notes from people that I told to “bug off” … and also back to writing.

There’s some good stuff coming up. This girl is going to find her groove … sometime in the next 466 days any way.