When I first started dating, I believed attraction was an art. A beautiful mosaic that two people painted together, each with their unique brush strokes and favorite hues. I still believe this to some degree. It’s two intricate, complex humans coming together to create something equally intricate and complex.
This view of attraction as art suited me in the early years. I was never much of a math/science person. I naturally gravitated towards the humanities and would run rapidly from anything that required small numbers in even tinier boxes (hello, excel!).
But as I started dating more and reflecting on…
I am one of the untold *millions* who got a dog during quarantine. Exaggeration I’m sure, but it feels like millions, doesn’t it?
Her name is Perdita (yes! for those who guessed it, the moniker comes from 101 Dalmatians). She also goes by Perdy, The Perd, Princess Perdita, or ‘Hey you’ if you have a treat bag in your hand.
She is a 40lb, adorable goldendoodle who is probably best described as a teddy wolf. …
I’m hesitant to reenter.
Dubious to have things be the way they “used to be.”
Because they will never be the same; and with that acknowledgement, I’d rather not reenter.
It’s not fear, obstinance, or denial. It’s my spirit crying out for more.
More depth. More connection. More layers.
The world has suddenly become one-dimensional. Seemingly everything is viewed through a single pair of glasses — the lens of COVID and the lens of politics.
I crave something deeper. Vibrant and multi-faceted hues. Beautiful tapestries of human connection that cannot and will not subordinate to that pair of glasses. …
I have deleted and re-installed my Instagram a total of (at least) 10 times. Anyone else out there a binge deleter?
I did this not just from a place of wanting to ‘unplug’ or to embrace the nomadic drift that has found shelter in our culture. You go your way, I go mine. It’s something much deeper.
I retreat from social media — in bursts of frivolous indignation — partly because people’s engagement doesn’t meet my expectation, and partly because I realize I care too much about that fact.
Each time I delete it, I can’t help feeling ashamed, like…
I need to process in solitude.
Please remain on the line and a representative will be with you shortly.
I’ve come to treasure the comfy respite that is my own mind. It’s familiar. It’s welcome. It has equilibrium & alignment. It’s home. ❤
When a question of significance comes my way, it’s the equivalent of a knock at the door. The question can come from any source: a boss, a colleague, a friend, a significant other. If the question exceeds the banality threshold and requires any modicum of processing, I am reticent to open wide the door and…
With everything closed and stay at home orders in place, I would like to say I’m spending all my extra time on fruitful and edifying pursuits, like reading, scrapbooking, and deep cleaning my apartment.
In reality, the majority of my time has been consumed by take-out and TV. And watching the dramatic performance that is 2020 unfold in all it’s Shakespearean, horror-infused glory.
Please tell me I’m not alone in this.
The silver lining of this couch-potato, sedentary existence has been the absence of a few extra pounds around the waist (what some have wittily monikered “the COVID-15”). Ironically, I’ve…
Enter: Seemingly perfect single person at a family gathering.
The scene goes something like this. You’re at a function. A relative (a usually caring and compassionate one, I might add) inquires about the State of Your Love Life.
You clear your throat. You’re prepared. It’s only the 5,846th millionth time you’ve been asked this question.
I’ve been dating a bit, but no one in particular that I’m excited about right now.
The relative turns to you, bleary-eyed, with Mother-Theresa-imbued understanding and consideration, and says,
“Just be yourself.
When you meet the right person, it will work out.”
I’ve never played…
It’s the little foxes that spoil the garden.
It’s the little stains that ruin the outfit.
It’s the little shards of glass that, when stepped on, prove the trickiest and most painful to extract.
Truth is, most dangerous people we meet aren’t serial killers. They are your average Joes (sorry to all the people named Joe out there) who *seem* okay for a while, then come at you with such cruelty that you’re like who the heck is this, and how did I not see this before?
If we’re being real honest, though, there were things. Little things.
So, it’s over.
It’s been over (perhaps) for a while.
And you’re wondering am I actually over them?
I’ve read a lot of advice on this topic — how to know whether you’re over your ex. Most of it recommends readers to look out for the following indicators:
People-pleasing behavior amounts, essentially, to behaving like a doormat. It’s never saying ‘no.’ It’s wanting to be liked more than wanting to be respected. It’s not having a spine. It’s bowing to others’ opinions at the expense of our dreams.
Psychologists and therapists have done a great job identifying the signs of people-pleasing. That’s not what this article is about. This article is about how I’ve learned to acquire freedom from this destructive tendency.
To do this, I’ve had to understand that people-pleasing is crippling, but not as destructive as the thing it is masking —namely, selfishness and fantasy-building.