I know, it's like beating a dead horse....women want to get married...but men won't commit. I say this from time to time myself. I hear it said often by the women I know and love. But whose responsibility is it that this guy won't commit? Surely, if there isn't a guy who will commit, there is a woman that will commit herself to him. Sounds crazy right? However, don't you think it's funny how we (single gals) talk to each other endlessly about the guy who won't commit, yet he's in our lives?
There is enough information in the psychology field that shows us what some of the psychological reasons for commitment phobia are. We are well aware of those kind of things: childhood trauma, fear of abandonment, loss of parents, sexual or physical abuse. These folks aside, there are several men who have not had these experiences, and yet, fit all the characteristics of a commitment phobe, Why?
It's my thinking they do this because there are not enough women to stand on solid standards (non-material standards that is...and yes, this includes your education) and focus on requiring a man to demonstrate the strength of his character to you. Flimsy beginnings create flimsy relationships, and disastrous endings. Usually, though, it's only disastrous for one person: the woman.
I say women have to be vigilant about who they get involved with. Ask questions, provide opportunities for him to be himself, and show you who that self is. Don't fill in the gaps. If he isn't calling, don't call him. If he isn't providing you with the conversation you want, get off the phone. If the date shows a lack luster effort, don't continue going out with him.
I urge women to set standards for the men that they are dating. Not only to improve their dating experiences - but for the greater good of the group. Remember if we're not learning, we're teaching. If you are letting these guys have all the fun while you don't ask for a thing he'll be some other woman's problem when he's finished with you.
If I have anything to say about my exes it's that they are better men to the women they are with now, then they were with me. Rather than looking at that as a sore spot, I count it as a strong representation of my expectations while I was with them. If I or the man I'm seeing cannot grow in the relationship, well then, our time is only going to be devoted to fighting and fucking. Let's keep it real.
In order to be ready to love, you have to require respect, honor, and love. This is not to say you stomp your feet and demand. It's quite the contrary actually; quietly, and with dignity and respect, respectfully decline to be treated like anything less then the best!
Saturday, August 29, 2009
Tuesday, August 18, 2009
A lil' Fiction (this is dedicated to you GypsiJ)
This isn’t love, its friendship. I try telling myself these words as I watch him fixing the leg of my coffee table; a household job I imagined an exclusive lover or husband would fulfill. I hand him the wrench, watch the beads of perspiration moisten his upper lip, and I love him. I love him in this moment the same way I loved him the moment he read my poems and told me I was “talented”. Best friends. We’ve been fest friends for nearly fifteen years and I know his every fault, can’t stand the way he longs after love, while I stand right in front of him.
My new home is delightful. I managed to save enough money and to find the courage to move alone. Being 35 and single sort of makes you grow up. When I saw this house, I didn’t think: I’ll raise my children here. I thought: “this is going to be a nice place for a single gal”. Go figure, me, exquisite me, single. The crown molding in the living room and the exposed brick in the kitchen made love to my eyes when I walked into this home for the first time. I could see myself filling up the mantel on the fireplace with pictures of my family and maybe finally getting that golden retriever I always wanted. He would be my friend.
I got this coffee table from the estate sale in the ridiculously exclusive estate sub-division down the road. Some painter and his artist wife were divorcing and so their life of excess and glamour had now become my premiere Saturday Yard Sale find. It’s heavy oak, my new coffee table. I might have not gotten it for the overpriced $50 I paid for it if it didn’t have that map of the world engraved on the top. When I saw it, I figured that when I have visitors they could come over and take trips with me. Whatever country they sat their glass on becomes our destination. I always ask the same question: “Looks like you just got to Honduras, what is it like down there?” Puzzled my guests always ask me what the hell I’m talking about. Then I draw their attention to the table. I show them that they are sitting in front of the world. They now, have the power to go anywhere they want. It makes for great conversation; although inevitably the conversation turns into what they need to do in order to live a more authentic life. They began, through using me as the sound board, to ask themselves questions like: “Am I doing everything with my life that I’m supposed to be doing?” I never answer their questions; I always assume they are rhetorical. Besides, I haven’t answered that question for myself yet, so I surely can’t answer it for them.
Then there was the night of the singles party that I allowed you to convince me to throw at my house. You were sure that I might just find my “soul mate” if I just lent my home to your business. I knew my soul mate wouldn’t be there, at least I wouldn’t find him there; I have already found him. But to appease you and to meet some new people I agreed to throw the party. We had a fabulous time that night didn’t we? Isn’t that when you met that girl that you just knew had the key to your heart? I think her name was Jess. Yeah, you kept saying Jess the whole week after that. I got tired of her name around Thursday and was happy she was out of the picture by Saturday. Why I keep letting myself get drowned in sorrow every time you find another soul mate, I don’t know. I should know after fifteen years of friendship that you only love the idea of love, but never its representatives.
When they decided to do the electric slide at three in the morning I knew people were going to get wild. We started drinking about what? Seven? So clearly there was going to be some foolishness. But I was just as drunk. I had just bought my table two weeks before when we were out that morning for our daily jog. You tried to tell me it was matronly, but I forced you to see how it could be an incredible “conversation piece” and so you agreed it would be a great piece for my living room; resigning that I “didn’t have a coffee table anyway, and it’ll do the job”. I often wonder whether or not you are able to see the beauty in things even when the beauty doesn’t shine directly in your face.
I knew the guy who broke the leg of my table was a jerk when he walked in the door. He had that hungry look in his eyes. He seemed like one of those creeps that preys on women for “flings” but has absolutely no interest in getting seriously involved. I secretly watched him all night. I wanted to make sure he didn’t spend too much time “assessing” my home; he seemed like a thief, although it was clear what he wanted wasn’t hanging on the walls…it was between some unlucky girls legs. I heard the crash from inside the kitchen while I was brushing up against that mechanical engineer with the corky glasses on. I knew everyone was getting ready for the electric slide but I was sure I was going to get a revenge fuck out of this night since you had just met Jess, the love of your life. I figured if you could fall in love in seconds so could I. Then, in the midst of me batting cow eyes at the engineer I heard the crash. I love the way you jumped up from the couch and sprung into action. I felt like you were protecting me. The look of horror on your face was indescribable when you realized he had broken my newest favorite conversation piece. Maybe I was too drunk to be mad; I faked devastation though, I wanted your concern to linger, perhaps even distract you from Jess.
Your voice got all baritone, even though you’re more like a tenor, and you announced: “Okay everybody, party’s over, thanks for coming out!” My engineer put his glass of grey goose on the counter, slipped me his card and walked through the kitchen towards the front door. Your Jess just sat patiently on the couch refreshing her lip gloss. While you herded people out of my house, I couldn’t help imagining that this was our house, our party, our associates, our life. But just then, stupid “Jess” came to console me: “He’ll get them out of here girl, he knows how to handle people”. I remember how intense the desire to smack her was. She was telling me, your friend of fifteen years how you would handle this situation, because of course, she was an expert on you after a couple of hours of kissing and one too many margaritas. I’m always surprised by the women you choose.
In some small way, you’re my hero right now. I know you feel totally responsible for my favorite table being broken and so that is why you are here, fixing it. I know you also feel like if you don’t do it, it may cost me a pretty penny. I would have to get it professionally taken care of, and since its recent appraisal for $25,000 me having to pay to have it fixed is out of the question.
“Okay, we’re gonna have to keep this clamp on this edge of the table so that the wood glue sets correctly, I’m going to go wash my hands. You got anything to eat?” you say wiping the small beads of sweat from your upper lip.
I walk towards the kitchen. I’ll make you a hummus and cucumber sandwich on wheat bread, I know it’s your favorite.
Readers Challenge: What should happen next? What's going on with these two? Is this a relationship that you would like to see flourish/why or why not? Let's write the rest together!!! - ms.b
My new home is delightful. I managed to save enough money and to find the courage to move alone. Being 35 and single sort of makes you grow up. When I saw this house, I didn’t think: I’ll raise my children here. I thought: “this is going to be a nice place for a single gal”. Go figure, me, exquisite me, single. The crown molding in the living room and the exposed brick in the kitchen made love to my eyes when I walked into this home for the first time. I could see myself filling up the mantel on the fireplace with pictures of my family and maybe finally getting that golden retriever I always wanted. He would be my friend.
I got this coffee table from the estate sale in the ridiculously exclusive estate sub-division down the road. Some painter and his artist wife were divorcing and so their life of excess and glamour had now become my premiere Saturday Yard Sale find. It’s heavy oak, my new coffee table. I might have not gotten it for the overpriced $50 I paid for it if it didn’t have that map of the world engraved on the top. When I saw it, I figured that when I have visitors they could come over and take trips with me. Whatever country they sat their glass on becomes our destination. I always ask the same question: “Looks like you just got to Honduras, what is it like down there?” Puzzled my guests always ask me what the hell I’m talking about. Then I draw their attention to the table. I show them that they are sitting in front of the world. They now, have the power to go anywhere they want. It makes for great conversation; although inevitably the conversation turns into what they need to do in order to live a more authentic life. They began, through using me as the sound board, to ask themselves questions like: “Am I doing everything with my life that I’m supposed to be doing?” I never answer their questions; I always assume they are rhetorical. Besides, I haven’t answered that question for myself yet, so I surely can’t answer it for them.
Then there was the night of the singles party that I allowed you to convince me to throw at my house. You were sure that I might just find my “soul mate” if I just lent my home to your business. I knew my soul mate wouldn’t be there, at least I wouldn’t find him there; I have already found him. But to appease you and to meet some new people I agreed to throw the party. We had a fabulous time that night didn’t we? Isn’t that when you met that girl that you just knew had the key to your heart? I think her name was Jess. Yeah, you kept saying Jess the whole week after that. I got tired of her name around Thursday and was happy she was out of the picture by Saturday. Why I keep letting myself get drowned in sorrow every time you find another soul mate, I don’t know. I should know after fifteen years of friendship that you only love the idea of love, but never its representatives.
When they decided to do the electric slide at three in the morning I knew people were going to get wild. We started drinking about what? Seven? So clearly there was going to be some foolishness. But I was just as drunk. I had just bought my table two weeks before when we were out that morning for our daily jog. You tried to tell me it was matronly, but I forced you to see how it could be an incredible “conversation piece” and so you agreed it would be a great piece for my living room; resigning that I “didn’t have a coffee table anyway, and it’ll do the job”. I often wonder whether or not you are able to see the beauty in things even when the beauty doesn’t shine directly in your face.
I knew the guy who broke the leg of my table was a jerk when he walked in the door. He had that hungry look in his eyes. He seemed like one of those creeps that preys on women for “flings” but has absolutely no interest in getting seriously involved. I secretly watched him all night. I wanted to make sure he didn’t spend too much time “assessing” my home; he seemed like a thief, although it was clear what he wanted wasn’t hanging on the walls…it was between some unlucky girls legs. I heard the crash from inside the kitchen while I was brushing up against that mechanical engineer with the corky glasses on. I knew everyone was getting ready for the electric slide but I was sure I was going to get a revenge fuck out of this night since you had just met Jess, the love of your life. I figured if you could fall in love in seconds so could I. Then, in the midst of me batting cow eyes at the engineer I heard the crash. I love the way you jumped up from the couch and sprung into action. I felt like you were protecting me. The look of horror on your face was indescribable when you realized he had broken my newest favorite conversation piece. Maybe I was too drunk to be mad; I faked devastation though, I wanted your concern to linger, perhaps even distract you from Jess.
Your voice got all baritone, even though you’re more like a tenor, and you announced: “Okay everybody, party’s over, thanks for coming out!” My engineer put his glass of grey goose on the counter, slipped me his card and walked through the kitchen towards the front door. Your Jess just sat patiently on the couch refreshing her lip gloss. While you herded people out of my house, I couldn’t help imagining that this was our house, our party, our associates, our life. But just then, stupid “Jess” came to console me: “He’ll get them out of here girl, he knows how to handle people”. I remember how intense the desire to smack her was. She was telling me, your friend of fifteen years how you would handle this situation, because of course, she was an expert on you after a couple of hours of kissing and one too many margaritas. I’m always surprised by the women you choose.
In some small way, you’re my hero right now. I know you feel totally responsible for my favorite table being broken and so that is why you are here, fixing it. I know you also feel like if you don’t do it, it may cost me a pretty penny. I would have to get it professionally taken care of, and since its recent appraisal for $25,000 me having to pay to have it fixed is out of the question.
“Okay, we’re gonna have to keep this clamp on this edge of the table so that the wood glue sets correctly, I’m going to go wash my hands. You got anything to eat?” you say wiping the small beads of sweat from your upper lip.
I walk towards the kitchen. I’ll make you a hummus and cucumber sandwich on wheat bread, I know it’s your favorite.
Readers Challenge: What should happen next? What's going on with these two? Is this a relationship that you would like to see flourish/why or why not? Let's write the rest together!!! - ms.b
Monday, August 17, 2009
Dreams Are The Language of God
Recently I contacted my favorite author Paulo Coehlo, famous for writing the book The Alchemist, and shared with him how much I adore his writing. He emailed me back with a beautiful note of gratitude and in his signature he wrote "Dreams are the language of God". I was humbled by his response and have savored that line in the following weeks.
I dream incredible dreams. Some are filled with fantasy and adventure, others are distinct warnings, and there are others where my subconscious is figuring things out and sending me messages about a particular challenge to my soul.
When I think about these dreams in the morning my first instinct is to look for the lesson. What was my subconscious trying to tell me? What feelings didn't I correctly experience that day that are now being revealed? Have I overlooked a detail that will propel me into the next stage of soul development? Surely, I am the one who decides on the answers to these questions so my interpretation takes some time.
When I think of these incidences in my sleep that I encounter as the "language of God" I wonder what God is trying to say to me. Do I need to resist a person or experience? Is there an aspect of my soul's journey that I will feel challenged by? How can I overcome a particular fear?
God works in mysterious ways, and so, I have come to understand that dreams are another part of God's mystery.
Channeling God's grace is an exciting adventure. Much like when I'm flying or escaping a harsh incident in a dream. One element of my dreams that is always present is an overarching wisdom. This wisdom comes in the form of warnings, reflective moments, and conversations with some of the characters in my dreams. If this is God's language, then I know just how omnipotent God's presence is. In my dreams God never fails to show me what is going on. There is something about the paralysis of my body and conscious mind that allows this communication to happen.
So I think about what God is trying to tell me. Of course, I know, at the end of the day, if I have not correctly interpreted the language of God then ultimately there will be another dream. One theme that used to come up in my dreams a couple of years ago was a sense of powerlessness. This would show up in the form of me being on a plane, or watching a plane, that was going to crash. I would be terrified in my dreams; and awake terrified as well. For months I was convinced that I would die in a plane crash and the fear of flying dominated my life. Until recently, when I dreamed of being on a plane and the threat of the plane crashing was presented. In my dream, instead of crashing the plane was re-directed and brought to safety. When I awoke from that dream the sense of relief I had felt as a passenger stayed with me.
Many things have changed in my life from the time where I was dreaming of dying in a plane to now when I dream of flying in a plane and landing in safety. I have become more involved in my own happiness. I have accepted my vulnerability to this world and the people in it. I have become more accepting of my own strengths and limitations. I believe God was communicating this lesson to me from those plane dreams. Although my immediate response was fear, God gently guided me to a place spiritually that allowed me to see what character defects I needed to improve and what perceptions I had that were limiting me. God wasn't speaking English, He was speaking dreams.
What is God telling you at night when you can't fight his lessons? What is the language of your dreams, or rather, of God?
Have you learned the Language of God?
I dream incredible dreams. Some are filled with fantasy and adventure, others are distinct warnings, and there are others where my subconscious is figuring things out and sending me messages about a particular challenge to my soul.
When I think about these dreams in the morning my first instinct is to look for the lesson. What was my subconscious trying to tell me? What feelings didn't I correctly experience that day that are now being revealed? Have I overlooked a detail that will propel me into the next stage of soul development? Surely, I am the one who decides on the answers to these questions so my interpretation takes some time.
When I think of these incidences in my sleep that I encounter as the "language of God" I wonder what God is trying to say to me. Do I need to resist a person or experience? Is there an aspect of my soul's journey that I will feel challenged by? How can I overcome a particular fear?
God works in mysterious ways, and so, I have come to understand that dreams are another part of God's mystery.
Channeling God's grace is an exciting adventure. Much like when I'm flying or escaping a harsh incident in a dream. One element of my dreams that is always present is an overarching wisdom. This wisdom comes in the form of warnings, reflective moments, and conversations with some of the characters in my dreams. If this is God's language, then I know just how omnipotent God's presence is. In my dreams God never fails to show me what is going on. There is something about the paralysis of my body and conscious mind that allows this communication to happen.
So I think about what God is trying to tell me. Of course, I know, at the end of the day, if I have not correctly interpreted the language of God then ultimately there will be another dream. One theme that used to come up in my dreams a couple of years ago was a sense of powerlessness. This would show up in the form of me being on a plane, or watching a plane, that was going to crash. I would be terrified in my dreams; and awake terrified as well. For months I was convinced that I would die in a plane crash and the fear of flying dominated my life. Until recently, when I dreamed of being on a plane and the threat of the plane crashing was presented. In my dream, instead of crashing the plane was re-directed and brought to safety. When I awoke from that dream the sense of relief I had felt as a passenger stayed with me.
Many things have changed in my life from the time where I was dreaming of dying in a plane to now when I dream of flying in a plane and landing in safety. I have become more involved in my own happiness. I have accepted my vulnerability to this world and the people in it. I have become more accepting of my own strengths and limitations. I believe God was communicating this lesson to me from those plane dreams. Although my immediate response was fear, God gently guided me to a place spiritually that allowed me to see what character defects I needed to improve and what perceptions I had that were limiting me. God wasn't speaking English, He was speaking dreams.
What is God telling you at night when you can't fight his lessons? What is the language of your dreams, or rather, of God?
Have you learned the Language of God?
Sunday, August 16, 2009
Starter Girl
I like to think that I'm flawless. Then usually, that thought passes and I realize I'm human. One of the imperfect qualities of my humanity is that I do a great job starting things...but I'm not so good at finishing. I can think of at least three areas in my life (exercising, writing, and dating) where I started with incredible enthusiasm and fizzled out of energy quickly after. Did I loose interest? Am I more in love with the idea of having these things as regular activities in my life rather than doing the work? Are these simply fantasies, and ideas, but not goals?
I dreamed last night that my trainer looked at me and said "you can start with so much power, but you can't stay at it". I woke up this morning with his statement resonating with me. I have so many passions, so many ideas, and yet, I have a hard time seeing them through.
There are other things that I was able to see through with veracious power, focus, and determination. Like finishing both of my degrees and finding a place and making a home. I couldn't stop thinking about these things while I was in the process of attaining the desired results. I wouldn't let myself find any excuse to let these goals get out of my reach - I considered the completion of these goals as a clear reflection of my person. For that - I was determined to have the right appearances.
Now, when it comes to these particular areas of life: exercising, writing, and dating I loose interest quickly. Perhaps I haven't been able to conceptualize the "reward" or "payoff". In the case of getting my home decorated and comfortable I knew I would "feel safe, and secure" once the place was finished. I ate, slept, and dreamed about the colors, textures, and furniture I would place in my home in order to make it just right.
When I think of the perfect husband, I may daydream for about twenty minutes, then the image of him fizzles. I can work out for three months straight - with all the intensity of a new athlete only to loose interest on some random day, for a random reason. And with my writing - perhaps the most promising dream of the three - I still fizzle out out fiction, crave reader approval and often switch plots in the midst. All for a new start. So I wonder how many others are operating their lives with same kind of attitude. Start - but don't finish. Think - but don't Act. Dream - but don't Create.
This is my public admission of my humanity: I'm a starter girl....
I dreamed last night that my trainer looked at me and said "you can start with so much power, but you can't stay at it". I woke up this morning with his statement resonating with me. I have so many passions, so many ideas, and yet, I have a hard time seeing them through.
There are other things that I was able to see through with veracious power, focus, and determination. Like finishing both of my degrees and finding a place and making a home. I couldn't stop thinking about these things while I was in the process of attaining the desired results. I wouldn't let myself find any excuse to let these goals get out of my reach - I considered the completion of these goals as a clear reflection of my person. For that - I was determined to have the right appearances.
Now, when it comes to these particular areas of life: exercising, writing, and dating I loose interest quickly. Perhaps I haven't been able to conceptualize the "reward" or "payoff". In the case of getting my home decorated and comfortable I knew I would "feel safe, and secure" once the place was finished. I ate, slept, and dreamed about the colors, textures, and furniture I would place in my home in order to make it just right.
When I think of the perfect husband, I may daydream for about twenty minutes, then the image of him fizzles. I can work out for three months straight - with all the intensity of a new athlete only to loose interest on some random day, for a random reason. And with my writing - perhaps the most promising dream of the three - I still fizzle out out fiction, crave reader approval and often switch plots in the midst. All for a new start. So I wonder how many others are operating their lives with same kind of attitude. Start - but don't finish. Think - but don't Act. Dream - but don't Create.
This is my public admission of my humanity: I'm a starter girl....
Saturday, August 15, 2009
It's All Mental
Think about this. Think about that. What do you think? I think I'm in love...Let me think about it.
Think, Think, Think.
We are always thinking, aren't we? We have much invested in our minds. After all, if we don't think about something we determine that we have not properly deliberated, evaluated, or analyzed our daily lives. Then we hope to feel. And we start thinking about how to feel. So we're feeling right? Or are we thinking about feeling, and not feeling at all?
What does feeling feel like? This isn't a riddle; I'm more concerned with stimulating the expression of feeling. There are moments when the mind goes blank: no mental assessment has been made of the person, situation, or anything else. What does that feel like? In the early part of the twentieth century psychologists called those moments "moments of insanity". We were deemed insane if we could not think and then express a feeling. Wow.
So in an age where verbosity about thinking dominates our communication the feelings are pushed to the side. We are given a description (thoughts with evidence) of what feeling is and as a result, have become accustomed to evaluating (more thinking) how we feel. If we cannot judge (thinking) how this makes us feel or that makes us feel then we are "out of touch" with reality. So in a world that is mentally focused we are left with only a small portion of the 10% of our brains they say we use. The feelings get judged, evaluated, distorted, and then discarded. Or so we think.
Feelings re-surface. They have a funny way of making sure they get the attention they desire. Our feelings are our humanity so when we repress them, we relegate ourselves to being almost animal like...simply surviving through the mind. I can guess that all in our lives we have a bunch of unsatisfying circumstances because we "thought" they would make us feel. Thought before feeling is nonsense, insanity, and never leads to feeling. Feeling before thought, however, creates, inspires, and nourishes.
We can think about life and watch it unfold outside our windows. We can feel life if we leave the window sill and step outside.
Think, Think, Think.
We are always thinking, aren't we? We have much invested in our minds. After all, if we don't think about something we determine that we have not properly deliberated, evaluated, or analyzed our daily lives. Then we hope to feel. And we start thinking about how to feel. So we're feeling right? Or are we thinking about feeling, and not feeling at all?
What does feeling feel like? This isn't a riddle; I'm more concerned with stimulating the expression of feeling. There are moments when the mind goes blank: no mental assessment has been made of the person, situation, or anything else. What does that feel like? In the early part of the twentieth century psychologists called those moments "moments of insanity". We were deemed insane if we could not think and then express a feeling. Wow.
So in an age where verbosity about thinking dominates our communication the feelings are pushed to the side. We are given a description (thoughts with evidence) of what feeling is and as a result, have become accustomed to evaluating (more thinking) how we feel. If we cannot judge (thinking) how this makes us feel or that makes us feel then we are "out of touch" with reality. So in a world that is mentally focused we are left with only a small portion of the 10% of our brains they say we use. The feelings get judged, evaluated, distorted, and then discarded. Or so we think.
Feelings re-surface. They have a funny way of making sure they get the attention they desire. Our feelings are our humanity so when we repress them, we relegate ourselves to being almost animal like...simply surviving through the mind. I can guess that all in our lives we have a bunch of unsatisfying circumstances because we "thought" they would make us feel. Thought before feeling is nonsense, insanity, and never leads to feeling. Feeling before thought, however, creates, inspires, and nourishes.
We can think about life and watch it unfold outside our windows. We can feel life if we leave the window sill and step outside.
Friday, August 14, 2009
Mourning The Egg...
I swear I felt sad today - for no apparent reason. I guess we're all allowed those days. But then I realized whyI was sad....I am mourning the loss of my eggs!! This is really to be lighthearted...before you get grossed out...just hear me out!
With every ovulation...we loose another opportunity. That's it. That's all. Gone. It doesn't suck being single because your sex life is unstable. Truthfully, as a single person with married friends, I know married life can be as sexually frustrating as single life, if not more! But I digress. When you ovulate and you know "okay I'm fertile" and then nothing happens....there's an emptiness there. The egg was ready, I am ready, and yet there is no sperm.
So much of our young lives is spent fantasizing about all the things we'll do when we "grow up". On my list was to have babies, lots of babies, and I really didn't think beyond that. For me, success meant family. I would know that I had officially made it when I conceived and gave birth to a child. Over the years, I have had many names for these "imaginary" children: Sascha, Savannah, Pheonix, Solomon, Isaac, Sarai, and a host of other "eggs" that got dropped off and never fertilized.
Is it selfish that I think about being a mom all the time? Is it selfish that I am like an animal on the prey looking for the right specimen to fertilize these eggs? Does it make sense that I have, for a long time, held off on doing soooo many things because "I'd like to start a family one day"? Depending on the day...yes or no.
So I got mad today. I got sad today. I felt a little awkward at the idea that another cycle has passed, and I've lost another egg. I don't care what the media says....30 isn't the new 20....just ask my ovaries!
ms.b
With every ovulation...we loose another opportunity. That's it. That's all. Gone. It doesn't suck being single because your sex life is unstable. Truthfully, as a single person with married friends, I know married life can be as sexually frustrating as single life, if not more! But I digress. When you ovulate and you know "okay I'm fertile" and then nothing happens....there's an emptiness there. The egg was ready, I am ready, and yet there is no sperm.
So much of our young lives is spent fantasizing about all the things we'll do when we "grow up". On my list was to have babies, lots of babies, and I really didn't think beyond that. For me, success meant family. I would know that I had officially made it when I conceived and gave birth to a child. Over the years, I have had many names for these "imaginary" children: Sascha, Savannah, Pheonix, Solomon, Isaac, Sarai, and a host of other "eggs" that got dropped off and never fertilized.
Is it selfish that I think about being a mom all the time? Is it selfish that I am like an animal on the prey looking for the right specimen to fertilize these eggs? Does it make sense that I have, for a long time, held off on doing soooo many things because "I'd like to start a family one day"? Depending on the day...yes or no.
So I got mad today. I got sad today. I felt a little awkward at the idea that another cycle has passed, and I've lost another egg. I don't care what the media says....30 isn't the new 20....just ask my ovaries!
ms.b
Wednesday, August 12, 2009
Thirsty?
There is nothing like a cold glass of water on a hot day to quench your thirst is there? You are incredibly thirsty, you need to be replenished, and of course, you want to cool off. The only thing that can totally mess you up is if someone offers you a glass of water - in the midst of your dehydration - and it's lukewarm. Do you drink the water anyway? Do you go and get some ice to make it cooler? Or do you go and find a cold glass of water, even though you are still thirsty? Well that's what daters seem like today: thirsty. Many people are "searching" for the "one" whether they want to admit it or not. But how many people are actually waiting for their thirst for love to be quenched? How many people are settling for that lukewarm lover because although it's not that cold glass of water...it's better than nothing?
It seems like all too often those in search of love become dehydrated from love's sustanence and turn to that lukewarm lover in hopes of having their thirst quenched; but, they remain thirsty.It seems balance is necessary in order to achieve anything in these modern times. With so much on the edge (changing economic pressures, rising health concerns, and failing marriages) our once structured society, overflowing with "rivers overflowing with water" has now become a thirsty desert of people who are only a shell of what they could be. What kind of dater are you?
Drinks the Lukewarm Water to Quench the Thirst
Boy meets girl, or vice versa the connection is satisfactory. Each are single, and ready to partner, but neither is really "impressed" with the other. She thinks he could be a little taller, he thinks she is a little too aggressive. But they're thirsty, so they empty each other's cup. Two years later, they have nothing in common, arguments are more frequent, and each is dehydrated, on the brink of dying of thirst.
Grabs Some Ice to Chill the Lukewarm Water
The connection is stimulating, but not exciting. They date, meet one another's respective significant friends and family and start making investments: a key to his place, driving her car, a vacation together. Clunk, clunk, clunk...the ice cubes fall into the water, cooling it off...making it more refreshing, and easing the thirst. Then, he looses a job, or she gains thirty pounds. Suddenly, they are thirsty again. They grab for a glass of water - and it's lukewarm! Suprised that their relationship could not "steady" itself in the midst of these transitions, they do what they did before...grab some ice to cool their water off....only to find out the water was too hot...the ice melts...and their glass of water is still lukewarm. They are thirsty and mad!
A Cold Glass of Water Will Only Quench the Thirst
Being thirsty ain't nothing new for these folks. They have "been there, done that" and have found a way to master thirst even in the hottest of temperatures. Life is a desert to them; but these folks are well diggers. They know, no matter how hot the climate, how high the sand dune, they will always have a shovel and a will, and no matter how hard they sweat, they have the stamina to dig for water. They know that under all that sand, under the intense heat of the sun, there is a source of water that is cool that will quench their thirst. It takes time, sometimes they are defeated by the heat...but they continue on. They believe the cold water is there, they trust it will quench their thirst, and they will work to get to it. They refuse lukewarm glasses of water, and they have no time for ice cubes. They are convinced there is only one type of water....natural, cold, and refreshing...that will quench their thirst. These folks although they remain "thirsty" longer than most, will have their thirst quenched and never be thirsty again.
What kind of dater are you? Will you let the heat get to you and grab the first lukewarm glass of water? Will you try to cover and change a lukewarm glass of water with some ice cubes? Will you dig, tired and all, until you reach that ever flowing well and wait until your thirst is no longer there, and finally quenched for good?
Leave a comment...I'd love to hear from you!
It seems like all too often those in search of love become dehydrated from love's sustanence and turn to that lukewarm lover in hopes of having their thirst quenched; but, they remain thirsty.It seems balance is necessary in order to achieve anything in these modern times. With so much on the edge (changing economic pressures, rising health concerns, and failing marriages) our once structured society, overflowing with "rivers overflowing with water" has now become a thirsty desert of people who are only a shell of what they could be. What kind of dater are you?
Drinks the Lukewarm Water to Quench the Thirst
Boy meets girl, or vice versa the connection is satisfactory. Each are single, and ready to partner, but neither is really "impressed" with the other. She thinks he could be a little taller, he thinks she is a little too aggressive. But they're thirsty, so they empty each other's cup. Two years later, they have nothing in common, arguments are more frequent, and each is dehydrated, on the brink of dying of thirst.
Grabs Some Ice to Chill the Lukewarm Water
The connection is stimulating, but not exciting. They date, meet one another's respective significant friends and family and start making investments: a key to his place, driving her car, a vacation together. Clunk, clunk, clunk...the ice cubes fall into the water, cooling it off...making it more refreshing, and easing the thirst. Then, he looses a job, or she gains thirty pounds. Suddenly, they are thirsty again. They grab for a glass of water - and it's lukewarm! Suprised that their relationship could not "steady" itself in the midst of these transitions, they do what they did before...grab some ice to cool their water off....only to find out the water was too hot...the ice melts...and their glass of water is still lukewarm. They are thirsty and mad!
A Cold Glass of Water Will Only Quench the Thirst
Being thirsty ain't nothing new for these folks. They have "been there, done that" and have found a way to master thirst even in the hottest of temperatures. Life is a desert to them; but these folks are well diggers. They know, no matter how hot the climate, how high the sand dune, they will always have a shovel and a will, and no matter how hard they sweat, they have the stamina to dig for water. They know that under all that sand, under the intense heat of the sun, there is a source of water that is cool that will quench their thirst. It takes time, sometimes they are defeated by the heat...but they continue on. They believe the cold water is there, they trust it will quench their thirst, and they will work to get to it. They refuse lukewarm glasses of water, and they have no time for ice cubes. They are convinced there is only one type of water....natural, cold, and refreshing...that will quench their thirst. These folks although they remain "thirsty" longer than most, will have their thirst quenched and never be thirsty again.
What kind of dater are you? Will you let the heat get to you and grab the first lukewarm glass of water? Will you try to cover and change a lukewarm glass of water with some ice cubes? Will you dig, tired and all, until you reach that ever flowing well and wait until your thirst is no longer there, and finally quenched for good?
Leave a comment...I'd love to hear from you!
Monday, August 10, 2009
Just As I Am
I’m Fly. I wish I could upload my world, put it on display for the virtual community to see; there wouldn’t be a critic alive that could say I’m not living my best life, and looking damn good doing it! I have virtues that make me stand out and beauty that makes men and women do double takes. Before you go thinking I am sitting on my couch stroking my ego…let me get to the point. I am also a full-bodied woman. I don’t know if I completely like that label. In fact let’s see…there are a couple others that I’ll try out: “Big Girl” (nah…that doesn’t work…I’m not a girl) “Heavy” (If it’s referring to my thought pattern, then, okay. But heavy…well…that’s not cute) “Plus Size” (hmmm… what size am I a plus too?) “Plump” (I’m not a fruit, even though I am rather sweet!)
My point is that I don’t fit many labels. I am who I am, without hesitation and explanation. Period. For a few seconds, maybe even a minute, I’d like your attention to this topic: why are we so judgmental of a person who does not fit our stereotypes of what a woman “should” physically look like? Specifically, I know, for me, I have been judged and at the mercy of people trying to “help” me because they are sure if I “just lost some weight then you would be the isht!” I haven’t always looked the way I look (my guess is neither do you, since, with age, we all change) and most times I have found that whenever I defend my right to be Just As I Am many assume I am hiding behind an addiction to low self-worth and poor self-maintenance. Not the case.
De-bunking the Myths
For those well intentioned, they may look at me and make the politically correct comment that they “just want to have a woman who is healthy and conscious of her physical well being”. I often giggle at comments like these because I think about how ridiculous it sounds! I mean really, since when have we been able to judge a person’s health by the way they look? Can you see cancer? Does diabetes wear certain clothes? Or better yet, do you know what AIDS looks like? Not so much. In fact, there are many people who would have called Heath Ledger “the picture of health”, that is, until he overdosed on anti-depressants and alcohol. My point is that health and wellness are not visible. Body types are not universal, and women who love themselves are not always under a size ten.
This is not to say that weight gain and excessive body fat are not an indication of poor health; in many cases sudden weight gain and poor diet are an exclusive indication that a person’s health is at risk. Without sounding as if I am attempting to validate myself publicly I think it’s important to mention that for those who know me I snack on a variety of healthy delights! I have a regular exercise routine and pride myself on how much water I drink. In addition, I take my vitamins daily, avoid excessive stress and try to get as much sleep as being single, beautiful and professional at 29 will allow me!
But for the superficial that isn’t enough. I must be smaller. In fact, to some, if I am not on my way to shedding some weight then to them, I’m not healthy.
WTF?
This isn’t a rant out of the diary of a “big girl”. I know we talk relationships on here. So to make it exclusive I thought I’d address some of the other women in our community who are treated as “second rate women” because of their appearances. Here are a few I can think of: “nappy headed girls” (those who have refused to buy into the euro-centric idea that straight hair is beautiful), “dark sistahs” (the beautifully black woman who are “cute” for a dark skinned sistah”, “the giant” those women who are “too tall” for brothas…. My point is that some (black singles) have an issue with realizing how many shades, shapes, and abilities women come in. I am not a man, so I can’t speak for the brothers although I believe they too get slighted. But to be specific, we all know these prejudices exist. We may not want to admit it, but some of us may have missed “the one” while we were assessing whether or not they matched standard perceptions of beauty!
I am in love with my mind, I adore my heart, and I cherish my body. These are the expectations I have for any eligible suitor. Sometimes I wonder if others are judging me. This is an honest admission. I have to be frank: I think my body is super sexy! I love being a woman. I love being a woman who wears a size 18! I think the fullness of my body matches the fullness of my spirit, my girth of knowledge and my exceptional ability to love. Many women who are not my size feel like having this type of love is a farce; that we secretly wish to look like them. This could not be further from the truth!
I will not lower my standards because of my appearance, I will not accept sub-standard treatment because of my appearance, I will not buy your love because of my appearance, I will not cower around other women because of my appearance, I will not accept your recommendations for bettering myself because of my appearance, I will not EVER resist loving who I am because of my appearance! I just won’t!
Disclaimer: I am not angry! I write this for all the women who do not fit “American Standards of Beauty” and want to shout from the rooftops: “I know I’m the SHIT!” Enjoy!
ms.b
My point is that I don’t fit many labels. I am who I am, without hesitation and explanation. Period. For a few seconds, maybe even a minute, I’d like your attention to this topic: why are we so judgmental of a person who does not fit our stereotypes of what a woman “should” physically look like? Specifically, I know, for me, I have been judged and at the mercy of people trying to “help” me because they are sure if I “just lost some weight then you would be the isht!” I haven’t always looked the way I look (my guess is neither do you, since, with age, we all change) and most times I have found that whenever I defend my right to be Just As I Am many assume I am hiding behind an addiction to low self-worth and poor self-maintenance. Not the case.
De-bunking the Myths
For those well intentioned, they may look at me and make the politically correct comment that they “just want to have a woman who is healthy and conscious of her physical well being”. I often giggle at comments like these because I think about how ridiculous it sounds! I mean really, since when have we been able to judge a person’s health by the way they look? Can you see cancer? Does diabetes wear certain clothes? Or better yet, do you know what AIDS looks like? Not so much. In fact, there are many people who would have called Heath Ledger “the picture of health”, that is, until he overdosed on anti-depressants and alcohol. My point is that health and wellness are not visible. Body types are not universal, and women who love themselves are not always under a size ten.
This is not to say that weight gain and excessive body fat are not an indication of poor health; in many cases sudden weight gain and poor diet are an exclusive indication that a person’s health is at risk. Without sounding as if I am attempting to validate myself publicly I think it’s important to mention that for those who know me I snack on a variety of healthy delights! I have a regular exercise routine and pride myself on how much water I drink. In addition, I take my vitamins daily, avoid excessive stress and try to get as much sleep as being single, beautiful and professional at 29 will allow me!
But for the superficial that isn’t enough. I must be smaller. In fact, to some, if I am not on my way to shedding some weight then to them, I’m not healthy.
WTF?
This isn’t a rant out of the diary of a “big girl”. I know we talk relationships on here. So to make it exclusive I thought I’d address some of the other women in our community who are treated as “second rate women” because of their appearances. Here are a few I can think of: “nappy headed girls” (those who have refused to buy into the euro-centric idea that straight hair is beautiful), “dark sistahs” (the beautifully black woman who are “cute” for a dark skinned sistah”, “the giant” those women who are “too tall” for brothas…. My point is that some (black singles) have an issue with realizing how many shades, shapes, and abilities women come in. I am not a man, so I can’t speak for the brothers although I believe they too get slighted. But to be specific, we all know these prejudices exist. We may not want to admit it, but some of us may have missed “the one” while we were assessing whether or not they matched standard perceptions of beauty!
I am in love with my mind, I adore my heart, and I cherish my body. These are the expectations I have for any eligible suitor. Sometimes I wonder if others are judging me. This is an honest admission. I have to be frank: I think my body is super sexy! I love being a woman. I love being a woman who wears a size 18! I think the fullness of my body matches the fullness of my spirit, my girth of knowledge and my exceptional ability to love. Many women who are not my size feel like having this type of love is a farce; that we secretly wish to look like them. This could not be further from the truth!
I will not lower my standards because of my appearance, I will not accept sub-standard treatment because of my appearance, I will not buy your love because of my appearance, I will not cower around other women because of my appearance, I will not accept your recommendations for bettering myself because of my appearance, I will not EVER resist loving who I am because of my appearance! I just won’t!
Disclaimer: I am not angry! I write this for all the women who do not fit “American Standards of Beauty” and want to shout from the rooftops: “I know I’m the SHIT!” Enjoy!
ms.b
Thursday, August 6, 2009
My mama told me I would "kiss a lot of frogs, before I kissed my prince" and now at almost 30 I know what she means. I have had more than my share of frogs. I have had the broke man: "Hey, can I borrow a couple of dollars"....the superficial dude: "Oh I just needed to take the bus up to New York to do some shopping today....the thug nucca: "When I got home, I knew the first thing I needed was some p***y if a nucca was gonna make some moves"....the down on his luck, can't get ahead brotha: "If I could just finish ______ then I would be able to move on" and of course the say anything to get the p**sy dude: "of course I want to be with you...I just want us to take our time..." Then of course there is:-The Alcoholic: gets drunk to hide his problems.-The Graduate: thinks he's so hot cuz he purchased a degree...in Atlanta-The Asshole: Moody, never happy....-The Poor Performer: He couldn't "sort out da ting" if there was a manual.-The Clueless: Goofy...simple...and just don't get it.-The Businessman: Money makes him horny...not me.
Ladies, you know this list could gon on forever, but I'll stop it here. That is, because I kissed a frog I never thought I'd kiss: The Admitted Bi-Sexual. That's right, this brotha wanted to spend time with me, kiss me, and even think about layin me after he told me he has had a "homosexual experience". Now what's a girl to do? Didn't I just say I wanted to be lied to? (smiling, laughing, smirking) But for real. I have to share this story...let yall see that I'm not single because my weaknesses outweigh my strengths...I'm single because these dudes out here are strange!
The Story
Out of the blue while setting up plans for the next night, he says: "I want to tell you something totally random"...I said "okay...do share...". He says that a friend told him about an online porn site that he could visit and gave him the password...long story short....after watching some flicks on the site he decided to "click" on the "gay porn" banner. He watched a couple of men perform oral sex on one another and decided he was curious. Coincidentally (or not) shortly after a "girl friend" said that her fantasy was to watch two men together....and yep! you guessed it, he was more than happy to help his friend. She made the arrangements and a couple of nights later, he was getting oral sex from a man! He claims he couldn't "keep it up" because the whole situation turned him off....but then again, that's just what he told me....Bi-Sexual and Not Know It?
My first reaction was awe and disbelief. I couldn't believe what dude was telling me! I mean, the fear as a single black woman is that there are men doing this and even worse, not sharing their behavior with their sexual partners....but I never prepared myself for what I'd do if a man, a black man, shared this kind of thing with me! And by the way, we were heading on our second date...we have not slept with one another...at all! I know the stats. There are many bi-sexual brothas out here....even if they won't admit it. Which leads me to my next point. When I asked him if he considered himself bi-sexual he responded with an emphatic "NO!" Huh? I'm confused. Now I didn't ask him if he'd be at the next gay pride parade, I simply asked if he felt that he was a bi-sexual....apparently he doesn't see his curiousity and behavior as indications of his sexual preference. Do you?
Ladies, you know this list could gon on forever, but I'll stop it here. That is, because I kissed a frog I never thought I'd kiss: The Admitted Bi-Sexual. That's right, this brotha wanted to spend time with me, kiss me, and even think about layin me after he told me he has had a "homosexual experience". Now what's a girl to do? Didn't I just say I wanted to be lied to? (smiling, laughing, smirking) But for real. I have to share this story...let yall see that I'm not single because my weaknesses outweigh my strengths...I'm single because these dudes out here are strange!
The Story
Out of the blue while setting up plans for the next night, he says: "I want to tell you something totally random"...I said "okay...do share...". He says that a friend told him about an online porn site that he could visit and gave him the password...long story short....after watching some flicks on the site he decided to "click" on the "gay porn" banner. He watched a couple of men perform oral sex on one another and decided he was curious. Coincidentally (or not) shortly after a "girl friend" said that her fantasy was to watch two men together....and yep! you guessed it, he was more than happy to help his friend. She made the arrangements and a couple of nights later, he was getting oral sex from a man! He claims he couldn't "keep it up" because the whole situation turned him off....but then again, that's just what he told me....Bi-Sexual and Not Know It?
My first reaction was awe and disbelief. I couldn't believe what dude was telling me! I mean, the fear as a single black woman is that there are men doing this and even worse, not sharing their behavior with their sexual partners....but I never prepared myself for what I'd do if a man, a black man, shared this kind of thing with me! And by the way, we were heading on our second date...we have not slept with one another...at all! I know the stats. There are many bi-sexual brothas out here....even if they won't admit it. Which leads me to my next point. When I asked him if he considered himself bi-sexual he responded with an emphatic "NO!" Huh? I'm confused. Now I didn't ask him if he'd be at the next gay pride parade, I simply asked if he felt that he was a bi-sexual....apparently he doesn't see his curiousity and behavior as indications of his sexual preference. Do you?
Give Your Ex – To the Next!
Every relationship is not the one. In fact, people have more “ex’s” than they have lasting relationships. When we have tried to work things out with a person and for whatever reason our efforts fail, we move on. Many of us are lucky and mature enough to maintain friendships with those we were once intimately involved with. But what role do they fill in your lives after the break-up? Is it a casual relationship where you keep in touch only periodically? Are you still having sex? Do you have them around as a “friend” hoping that the relationship will mysteriously be re-ignited? Is he/she there to remind you of when someone loved you, or is it because you genuinely like the person you got involved with? Did you decide that having their friendship is more important than losing them all together? If so, have you decided to introduce them to someone else? Have you entertained the idea of introducing them to another one of your friends? Sound crazy? Why?
There is nothing like the present; or better yet, the pre-sent! Many people talk about baggage, how it keeps them from being able to move on. Then on the other hand they have these ex’s lingering in their lives for a variety of reasons. You wonder why you’re still single but I bet there are at least three people in your “circle of friends” that you once slept with, or engaged in some kind of relationship with. If the feelings are no longer there why won’t you share that person with someone else; someone they may really like, and enjoy an exciting relationship with? Could it be your ego? Is it pride? Or is it just downright selfishness?
There is nothing more annoying than “cold dating”. By “cold dating” I mean someone takes a look at you, sees something they like and then approaches. There really is no other introduction than “hey I like the way you look, maybe we can go out sometime”. After that, you have to get to know them, find out what their crazy is, and hope for the best. You have no-one to refer to about this person’s character, no-one who this person will ultimately feel accountable to regarding their behavior while dating you, and certainly no-one to provide you with the “details” of why this person may be compatible to you. And finally, if you’re thinking such and such was an asshole to you and you don’t want them to do that to the other – ponder this: they did what you allowed, period. The next person may not allow what you did, or may have different standards and expectations. Every relationship is different.
Some will say they don’t want to get involved with a friend’s ex because they don’t want “sloppy seconds” or they worry about being “played”. I say that is simply fear masked as pride. There may be a lot of “fish in the sea” but there certainly are not a lot of “great catches”! Part of evolving is letting the past be buried with everything else that is dead, and moving on to the pre-sent! This may involve giving that up that ex to another man or woman and wishing them the best. After all, if you really think of this person as a friend, why not try to make them happy – introduce them to someone that could possibly do what you couldn’t do!
You say you have self-esteem, you say you are comfortable with yourself, you say you have moved on, you say you are grown….so if you are all those things…..
Give Your Ex to the Next!
There is nothing like the present; or better yet, the pre-sent! Many people talk about baggage, how it keeps them from being able to move on. Then on the other hand they have these ex’s lingering in their lives for a variety of reasons. You wonder why you’re still single but I bet there are at least three people in your “circle of friends” that you once slept with, or engaged in some kind of relationship with. If the feelings are no longer there why won’t you share that person with someone else; someone they may really like, and enjoy an exciting relationship with? Could it be your ego? Is it pride? Or is it just downright selfishness?
There is nothing more annoying than “cold dating”. By “cold dating” I mean someone takes a look at you, sees something they like and then approaches. There really is no other introduction than “hey I like the way you look, maybe we can go out sometime”. After that, you have to get to know them, find out what their crazy is, and hope for the best. You have no-one to refer to about this person’s character, no-one who this person will ultimately feel accountable to regarding their behavior while dating you, and certainly no-one to provide you with the “details” of why this person may be compatible to you. And finally, if you’re thinking such and such was an asshole to you and you don’t want them to do that to the other – ponder this: they did what you allowed, period. The next person may not allow what you did, or may have different standards and expectations. Every relationship is different.
Some will say they don’t want to get involved with a friend’s ex because they don’t want “sloppy seconds” or they worry about being “played”. I say that is simply fear masked as pride. There may be a lot of “fish in the sea” but there certainly are not a lot of “great catches”! Part of evolving is letting the past be buried with everything else that is dead, and moving on to the pre-sent! This may involve giving that up that ex to another man or woman and wishing them the best. After all, if you really think of this person as a friend, why not try to make them happy – introduce them to someone that could possibly do what you couldn’t do!
You say you have self-esteem, you say you are comfortable with yourself, you say you have moved on, you say you are grown….so if you are all those things…..
Give Your Ex to the Next!
Subscribe to:
Comments (Atom)