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One of my favorite aunts is about to undergo chemotherapy for ovarian cancer. Because I’m halfway across the world, there’s little I can do but send emails or occasionally catch her on Skype. Since I was a little, my Aunt Rita (the youngest of four on my mother’s side) has been the “wild” independent one. She was an international flight attendant, married and divorced young, had an abortion, and led the life of drinking, smoking and dating.
Now in her 50s and facing cancer, she admitted that she—like me—went through a lot of life confident in her independence and single fun. But at this point in her life, she regretted not finding someone, finding to be with her through this time and holding her hand. I protested that she wasn’t alone (my mom is there with her) and I certainly didn’t need a guy to take care of me.
“Of course you don’t, Jane, but take it from this old girl, stay OPEN to the possibility of love. That’s all I’m asking. You don’t want to end up like me.”
The part of me that is tired of being lonely completely agrees with her, but it seems to fight against the idea that I’m doing great on my own. I’ve been on a rampage of hobbies, traveling and hookups but still feel unfulfilled. No matter how hard or light I throw myself into things, I come up on the other side looking for an unknown something. Maybe that’s life? Maybe the unknown is what keeps pushing me forward to live life fully and completely.
Slow down, you crazy child
you’re so ambitious for a juvenile
But then if you’re so smart, tell me
Why are you still so afraid?
Oh, Kilimanjaro. How I both love and hate you. You challenged me in ways I never thought possible. You pushed every ounce of energy, emotion and life out of me and every time I thought I had reached that day’s destination, you presented another slope up and laughed.
And so what if I hiked 95% of the time alone as I watched people, including my own friends, run past me? I did it my way, slowly and surely. And yes, you may have knocked me down four hours from the top with your snobby altitude, but for a girl that grew up under sea level and has never climbed a mountain, I came and conquered.
2 weeks later, my mind is still mush. The memories of you are mashed together, leaving me confused and blurred, making me question if I ever experienced what I did. I feel removed, detached and almost emotionless about this grand journey. Images flash sometimes, but I still live with a heavy heart that I don’t understand.
Maybe I put too much stock in you changing my life. After all, Kilimanjaro, you are one of the 7 Summits, the roof of Africa and immortalized by Hemingway. Although the characters in The Snows of Kilimanjaro never actually try to climb the mountain, Harry goes on the safari to get his life back on track and views Kili as a symbol of truth, purity and goodness.
But did you change me? I still feel restless, unsure of the life I’m leading and the person I’m becoming. My fate is what I make of it, but I’ve found that often, no matter how hard I try, I still fall short. And that’s okay. That’s the part I need to learn. Life can’t be measured by the number of successes of grand goals, but small victories.
Kilimanjaro, I may not be back, but I’m going to continue to push as hard and make it to the top some day.
I leave with these great lyrics from Billy Joel. I need to learn from this song. I need to stop being consumed with this obsession of living my life to the fullest and cramming every adventure into every moment right NOW. And remember to enjoy the moments. The journey, not the destination.
Slow down, you’re doing fine
You can’t be everything you want to be
Before your time
Although it’s so romantic on the borderline tonight
Tonight,…
Too bad but it’s the life you leave
you’re so ahead of yourself that you forgot what you need
Though you can see when you’re wrong, you know
You can’t always see when you’re right. you’re right
You’ve got your passion, you’ve got your pride
but don’t you know that only fools are satisfied?
Dream on, but don’t imagine they’ll all come true
When will you realize,
Vienna waits for you?
-Billy Joel, Vienna
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- The view after going up a vertical Barraco Wall.
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- I can never get enough of these clouds.
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- I’m so sick of hiking at this point.
So I did it. I put my feelings out there for him just as a FYI so he would know. I told him and it went exactly how I thought it would. My own intuition scares me sometimes. It’s funny, isn’t it? In the beginning, I figured this would happen. For a fleeting moment, I thought “This will be like Mr. (former) Anti-Committment; he chases after you, you’re half-interested. But in the end, the situation is swapped and you always get hurt.” Oh, how I need to learn.
He was supposed to be different. And he is. But when it comes down to it all, I guess all guys are the same; this one just executed it differently. Surprisingly, I’m not angry at him. I have no regrets, strangely enough. More than anything, it set a hard reminder to myself that I’m better off on my own. I should have listened to my friend when he said, “If there was no talk about the future, there is none. Leave it.” I apparently need to start listening to him more.
The last time I felt like this was during the Mr. Co-worker situation in the beginning of the year. That one, I was stupid. This one, I wasn’t. Pen IS different. I’m not making excuses for him but I should have known his “casual” isn’t very casual. He’s never done this before. I should have known better. He didn’t run away from the conversation, however, and we remain good friends. But it still hurts a hell of a lot. It’s so strange. He did everything he was supposed to with respecting me. He did what I hope every guy will treat me like: buys dinner, holds me, makes sure I’m okay, talks to me. I told him in the future, if he ever does the casual thing again, he should probably stay away from cuddling, no matter how innocent it is. Maybe the other way is really easier. It’s harsher and a quick band-aid rip. Pen’s way drew me in and then I forgot reality sometimes. Hilarious that I was worried about hurting him in the beginning.
I’m not sorry for my feelings. I’m not sorry for everything that happened. I’m sorry that I didn’t speak up sooner; I’m sorry I was stupid enough to think he actually cared for me beyond all this. And yes, we’re friends, so he does care for me, but not in the way I thought he did. Is it always going to be like this? I don’t believe in The One, but I don’t believe that this is my life or my future. Maybe I shouldn’t have gone to NY. I was fine before it; could have left it or taken it. But I can’t even say that I regret NY. I took a chance.
A lot of our convo seemed to be him commenting on how brave I was b/c when taking such giant risks like this, you have the courage to handle it when it goes wrong. Am I brave? I don’t feel it. I feel weak for having landed here, half in love with this guy that I thought would change everything. But maybe that’s just it. I do better when I’m on my own. I accomplish more on my own. I find my own happiness. That’s been my motto for a long time and I need to remember that. I’m going to climb Kili alone and I’m going to keep pushing forward, focusing on me. No more distractions, no more guys, no more swooning. Just Jane.
So I did it. I put my feelings out there for him just as a FYI so he would know. I told him and it went exactly how I thought it would. My own intuition scares me sometimes. It’s funny, isn’t it? For a fleeting moment, I thought “This will be like Mr. (former) Anti-Committment; he chases after you, you’re half-interested. But in the end, the situation is swapped and you always get hurt.” Oh, how I need to learn.
He was supposed to be different. And he is. But when it comes down to it all, I guess all guys are the same; this one just executed it differently. Surprisingly, I’m not angry at him. I have no regrets, strangely enough. More than anything, it set a hard reminder to myself that I’m better off on my own. I should have listened to my friend when he said, “If there was no talk about the future, there is none. Leave it.” I apparently need to start listening to him more.
The last time I felt like this was during the Mr. Co-worker situation in the beginning of the year. That one, I was stupid. This one, I wasn’t. Pen IS different. I’m not making excuses for him but I should have known his “casual” isn’t very casual. He’s never done this before. I should have known better. He didn’t run away from the conversation, however, and we remain good friends. But it still hurts a hell of a lot. It’s so strange. He did everything he was supposed to with respecting me. He did what I hope every guy will treat me like: buys dinner, holds me, makes sure I’m okay, talks to me. I told him in the future, if he ever does the casual thing again, he should probably stay away from cuddling, no matter how innocent it is. Maybe the other way is really easier. It’s harsher and a quick band-aid rip. Pen’s way drew me in and then I forgot reality sometimes. Hilarious that I was worried about hurting him in the beginning.
I’m not sorry for my feelings. I’m not sorry for everything that happened. I’m sorry that I didn’t speak up sooner; I’m sorry I was stupid enough to think he actually cared for me beyond all this. And yes, we’re friends, so he does care for me, but not in the way I thought he did. Is it always going to be like this? I don’t believe in The One, but I don’t believe that this is my life or my future. Maybe I shouldn’t have gone to NY. I was fine before it; could have left it or taken it. But I can’t even say that I regret NY. I took a chance.
I don’t hate him; we remain very close friends. In fact, it was probably the most mature adult conversation I’ve had about this kind of stuff. I can’t even breath the usual words “jerk” or “asshole” or “spineless” in the same sentence because he’s not.
A lot of our convo seemed to be him commenting on how brave I was because when taking such giant risks like this, you have the courage to handle it if it goes wrong. Am I brave? I don’t feel it. I feel weak for having landed here, half in love with this guy that I thought would change everything. But maybe that’s just it. I do better when I’m on my own. I accomplish more on my own. I find my own happiness. That’s been my motto for a long time and I need to remember that. I’m going to climb Kili alone and I’m going to keep pushing forward, focusing on me. No more distractions, no more guys, no more swooning.
Just Jane.
I hit my year anniversary in Austin last week. A year ago, I got into a ridiculously bad car accident on my first weekend here, which also happened to be my ex-bf’s birthday. This year, it was lingering in the back of my mind, but faded quickly as I laughed and screamed through the Coney Island Cyclone roller coaster. Last year, I was stressed and lonely and hysterical. This year, I spent a glorious beautiful weather weekend in NYC with old friends and the crush that seems to never fully go away.
Although I got late Friday night, I didn’t see him until Saturday evening due to busy schedules, the US Open and a checklist of people I needed to see. Up to that point, he had slipped from my mind as I busied myself preparing for Africa and he for a trip to Costa Rica. But when I walked off the subway and saw him grinning at me across the street, all doubts flew out of my head. Is it possible he got better looking since I last saw him?
He gave me options for our plans that night, one of them involving a long walk up a hill through the Cloisters. He being in the camp that I needed to train more for Kilimanjaro strongly hinted at that one so I sighed and agreed. The sun was setting over the Hudson, the weather was cool and there was green all around. It’s as someone directed the perfect scenery for a romantic walk.
We had dinner at a small Italian place by his apartment. Conversation was smooth and fast flowing, filled with laughter and teasing. He lamented over the true meaning of “adoration” and how sad he was it’s gotten lost through time due to the “cuteness” of the word “adore” and “adorable.” To truly have adoration for something is to love and respect and be passionate about it. His adoration is for tennis and Africa, where he did Peace Corp for years. Deep down, I hoped he would have adoration for me some day.
He’s not an emotional man; he’s passionate about a few things, but generally, a stoic person. On the rare chance he makes a comment about us or me, he’s sincere to the point I desperately wish for more moments. My friends find him overwhelming great, probably because he’s so opposite of my usual. As we’re riding the subway, Smallbone giggles and whispers, “He’s so dreamy, Jane! I’m in love with him for you.”
But all these happy good feelings are just that. I leave for Africa next week and I wonder if he’ll fade from my memories or if he’ll move on. There was no talk about the future. Maybe that’s what happens when you live in the moment. The DTR (Define the Relationship) was looming in my head, but I pushed it away. What’s the point? He’s there, I’m here and there’s nothing to debate. But when I fall asleep in his arms and he comments that we fit together very well, I find myself wondering about the future.
Reality bites.
7 months into 2009, I would say I’ve kept to my resolutions fairly well +/- a few steps back and forth.
Except one.
I seem to have a weakness for making out and hooking out with drunk guys. Perhaps it’s because I’m sober and in control or maybe it’s because I just can’t seem to stop being a floozy with hot men.
After all, I’m young and single and when a very attractive man is flirting with you, it’s easy to throw caution to the wind. In the last year, I’ve walked the blurry line between just having fun and getting emotionally involved. Half my friends want me to date more and to just have fun; the other half warn me to be cautious because no matter how hard to be casual, I always get hurt.
After a weekend of drama and angst over July 4th, I firmly decided to stay away from men altogether. If I felt a tug of attraction, I would clamp it down. If I had the itching to email/text/facebook him, I would ignore.
Then I met hot guy. Let’s call him Mr. That Guy. Yes, he’s THAT guy. I was at a beautiful wedding this past weekend in the mountains of southern CA, meeting a lot of new people since I only knew the bride and her immediate family. It was one of those perfect weather weekends filled with endless fun, laugher, joking and everything summer should be.
I’ll spare the details of everything that led up to Mr. That Guy except to say, if I continue this process of “just having fun” (this does not mean sleeping around), I’m going to give myself a few days to gossip and giggle and obsess over it and then move on. I’ll never be at the point where I’ll feel nothing so I have to find that medium ground where I can do both.
So I’m going to squeal about Mr. That Guy for a second and then move on!
The moment I met him, I knew it would be trouble. Not only was he incredibly attractive, he was that guy that I get along with easily: lots of flirting, joking and teasing. He’s that guy who’s a ladies man, who loves women, the life of the party and the one with the stories. When we were introduced, everyone looked as if i I was supposed to have heard of him except until that moment, I never knew he existed. And off we went. I spent the weekend ribbing him for his womanizer ways and the rest of the cousins all laughed in agreement. He was almost surprised how well I could describe him without barely knowing anything.
In his defense, his cousin (the bride) swore that he really was a nice guy and a softie. I laughed and didn’t believe her, but in truth, watching him interact with his family did tug at my heartstrings. When his grandfather wandered in, he automatically went over to help and spoke rapid Spanish (he looks German so I was surprised) to greet him. He helped string the lights and lanterns, built the stage and centerpieces for the wedding and took turns twirling his little cousins on the dance floor. Family man? Check. Good looks? Check. Grad school? Check.
Good kisser? Check check check.
When standing on a balcony at 3am under a blanket of stars over looking a lake with a hot man, there is really only one option: seize the day and let him kiss you the way a girl’s supposed to be kissed. Maybe it’s because he’s older and more experienced, but whatever it is, he kissed me like he had all the time in the world, as if he was perfectly happy just holding me and kissing me slowly and softly. And yes, he was wasted and giggling but it was fun and a hilarious memory as people kept popping up out of the darkness and interrupting us.
So we didn’t talk the next morning as I rushed to pack and catch a ride (we were sharing a room with another girl; he slept on the floor, so nothing happened). We still haven’t spoken and despite the tiny hurt in my chest, I think I’m handling it okay. I’m never seeing him again, after all. Sigh. Okay, I lie. I need to stay away from hot guys.
The end. Next!
Arthur Abbott: Iris, in the movies we have leading ladies and we have the best friend. You, I can tell, are a leading lady, but for some reason you are behaving like the best friend.
Iris: You’re so right. You’re supposed to be the leading lady of your own life, for god’s sake!
- The Holiday
My good friend Roseanne recently told me she was diagnosed with HPV a few years ago. She got it from her ex (and only partner) and it wasn’t the easy curable type, but the kind that could turn into cancer (or just fade away on its own). So she started running and eating healthy to get her body in the best shape to fight it off.
And that got me thinking about how I’ve worked really hard the last 7 years at being single and being the strongest person I can be on my own. I attack hobbies, throw myself into everything and push myself to go beyond my comfort zone– all in hopes that when I get hurt again, I’ll be in the best emotional state to fight it off and not fall down again.
But it doesn’t really work that way, does it? Things never really get easier, things never really change. No matter how strong I am, no matter how many hobbies I surround myself with, I still get hurt. My reactions and experiences may not be as shattering as they used to because of the padding I’ve surrounded myself with, but when someone shuts you down, it still feels like a punch to the gut.
I understand feeling as small and as insignificant as humanly possible. And how it can actually ache in places you didn’t know you had inside you. And it doesn’t matter how many new haircuts you get, or gyms you join, or how many glasses of chardonnay you drink with your girlfriends… you still go to bed every night going over every detail and wonder what you did wrong or how you could have misunderstood. And how in the hell for that brief moment you could think that you were that happy. And sometimes you can even convince yourself that he’ll see the light and show up at your door. And after all that, however long all that may be, you’ll go somewhere new. And you’ll meet people who make you feel worthwhile again. And little pieces of your soul will finally come back. And all that fuzzy stuff, those years of your life that you wasted, that will eventually begin to fade.
- Iris, The Holiday
Well, Mel, you called it. Out of nowhere, Pen is back in my life. Although we’ve kept in touch on and off in the last year through emails and occasional Facebook conversations, I never thought much about it.
Then out of nowhere last week, we ended up talking for 4 hours until 2am on Facebook chat (for anyone who knows, this is dedication because it’s a crappy application and he’s an hour ahead of me in NY). A few more all-night chats the last few days and I think we’ve probably talked about everything most people avoid on the first date (sex, past relationships, religion, work…). Before all this, we had thrown around the idea of him visiting with Mr. Bruised Ego in the fall, but last night, out of nowhere:
“So, I have kind of a big question. How do you feel about a visitor in early August? I would love to spend time with you.”
I, of course, told him it was a great idea, but inside, I was panicking. Because, WHOA. This has never happened to me that a guy that I’m actually attracted to (more on this later) actually is interested and NOT because he’s trying to get in my pants. He’s probably the last existing old-fashioned single male out there with only old-fashioned dates, maybe a kiss at the door and sex only when it’s serious (ha, remember when I was like this a year ago?).
It feels foreign, strange, terrifying and exciting. My friends don’t seem to grasp why this is scary, but emotionally, how is it not? Every guy that I’ve ever been interested in or attracted to was either completely unavailable or running for the hills because they only wanted to get some. And now, there’s a guy who isn’t looking for that and is interested in me for solely me. Yes, it’s great, but it’s also making my chest freeze up and my heart panic.
Firstly, it feels like we’ve been online dating and we’re about to meet for the first time even though we’ve already met. Will be be awkward? What if it’s completely wrong in person? What if it’s just uncomfortable?
Secondly, I’m not sure the physical attraction is 100% there for me. This grows over time, of course, but as most girls know, once you realize there is none of that chemistry/attraction, it’s over and the guy is delegated to the friend zone no matter how much you like his personality. With Mr. Pilot and Mr. Co-worker, the physical attraction was so instant, but of course never made up for the lack of spine on their part. What if it doesn’t show up? Having been here before where the guy really likes me but I feel nothing because of the lack of attraction physically, I just end up feeling awkward.
Third, I’m not terrified of getting hurt at all (strangely) in this case, but more the fear of what this COULD mean. A guy who actually is upfront, doesn’t play games and compliments me sincerely? What am I supposed to do with that?!
So I guess I’m going to just breathe and roll with it and be myself with no expectations. Easier said than done…
I think all guys have a signal in their brain that fires when someone is getting over them or about to clear him out of her system. There’s no other explanation for how they seem to know the exact moment to pop back in your life and throw your emotions back into chaos.
Right when you think you were clear of angst and that endless pinch on your heart, you get a text or an email or a phone call out of nowhere, hurtling you back to somewhere you so hard to get out of.
And of course, right when you get over the shock to your system and accept it, he disappears again. What is that?! Bad timing? Bad luck? Some test of Cupid to see if you can handle as much as heartache as possible?
How does this keep happening to me? Twice in the last month. Two different guys. I have GOT to find a time machine.
I was chatting with an acquaintance recently about my consistent bad luck with men. As a “trained love expert” (he was trained by some famous teacher, Dr. Paul), he is confident about his abilities to diagnose people. I remain skeptical, of course.
N: You’re a romantic.
J: What? I thought I was a cynical realist.
N: Which means you’re a closeted idealist with scars on the surface (yes, he really said this).
J: Huh.
N: You told me before “chemistry” is confusing to you. It’s there and so you think you should grab onto it only to find it means nothing.
J: Mhmm
N: You see attraction as love.
J: Well, I wouldn’t say THAT. I haven’t been in love or loved in years and years. More like I see attraction as potential and possibility.
N: Right, so your problem is screening people.
And then he was adamant I read a book by Dr. Paul that would change my life because it changed his. Like some mysterious guide, he left the conversation with this, “Contact me again when you’ve read the book.”
Huh. I’ve definitely posted enough times on this blog about my confusion with chemistry and attraction. Is it an indicator of anything? In my experiences, it ends up getting me hurt because I thrive so much on it in the beginning. So yeah, maybe I am a closeted idealist (shhh), but where does that leave me?
I have a good friend named Jenny that I met at summer camp in 7th grade; we discovered we had the same birthday, both born out of this country, at the same hospital 9 minutes apart. Our little sisters even share the same name. While I grew up determined to be fiercely independent, lover of camping and backpacking and a tomboy, she moved to California and became the opposite.
She called me at the crack of dawn this morning and dropped the bomb that her boyfriend of 5-years just dumped her because he saw no future. “Why?! Why does it have to happen to me? [Well, Jenny, it really does happen to a lot of people. I want to be married with kids and I thought he was it.”
If someone that believes so much in love can’t get it right, what chances do I have when I’m not even looking? Should I read this book? He’s adamant that it will change everything for me.
I’ve never been great at staying mad for long. I may have a spectacular memory for events, incidents and fights, but I more often than not forgive the offending party and move on (indicated by how friendly I remain with exes, ex-flings, ex-crushes).
One thing I never have accomplished, however, is forgiving myself. More than enough times, friends have commented, “You’re too hard on yourself” and then shake their head and wish I would ease up. Even my parents have relayed their worries that I put too much unnecessary pressure on myself.
In regards to my career and successes, that may never change and I’m okay with that. With relationships and my personal life, it needs to change. As I’ve mentioned before, I was in an emotionally abusive on-and-off again relationship/friendship with an ex-boyfriend that spanned 6-something years. Although I’ve moved on from him and have started a new phase in my life, I’ve realized lately I haven’t gotten over the effects.
A year ago exactly this week is when I finally decided to move out of the emotional turmoil that had been St. Louis. And since then, I’ve been on an exhausting and enthralling adventure to really live my life. If I got a chance to travel, I took it. If there was a guy I felt a connection with, I put myself out there. If there was anything new worth trying (or even not worth trying), I signed up. If you asked me if I could be living life any differently, I would be confident in my answer that I’m living life just the way I should be.
But the anxiety doesn’t leave. I still haven’t forgiven myself for all the time wasted on him. And even though I fought back, I always ended up back in the vicious cycle that is abuse and feeling weak. Of course he’s at fault, but I feel like I knew better. I was never blind to the crap or the hurt or the abuse (although it took me years to finally put a name to it). So in some twisted way, all this carpe diem mentality is an attempt to make up for all the lost time because I just can’t seem to let it go that I put myself through that for so long.
Don’t get me wrong, it’s been exciting and fun and scary and memorable, but also incredibly exhausting. When I have a span of time that I’m not “grabbing life by the horns,” I feel guilt that I’m wasting time again, especially because I’m so young. So many people have told me that the fact I’m no longer around or with him is all the success I need, but each time I stumble a little and find myself hurting over a jerk, I return to being mad at myself for falling back. Not that all men will be abusive, of course, but apparently going through one horrible one doesn’t make it easier to run from the other jerks.
I’m not sure how to ease up on myself or this self-imposed pressure. More importantly, I clueless at how to forgive myself the way I forgive the ones that have hurt me.
