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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.
The definition of strange:
Waking up with someone in the same bed and not because he happened to pass out next to you. It’s unfamiliar to fall asleep in someone’s arms and wake up back in them, even if there was moving around and separation in the night. It’s even more startling to be held for the sole sake of him wanting to be close to you and not because he’s thinking about how to get into your pants. And he’s not afraid to admit how much he enjoys it. He brings a present with him because his mother –like mine–taught him to never visit someone empty handed. It’s a book that I had been wanting for awhile; he remembers, orders it and wraps it in yellow tissue paper.
This is apparently how it’s supposed to be. The whole weekend completely threw me for a loop. It’s terrifying to have someone look at me the way he does. He seems me as a sensual and sexy when all I see is a clumsy awkward tomboy. In the places I see fat and wide hips, he sees beautiful curves and everything that makes a woman a woman. Where I see lopsided different sized breasts, he sees perfection.
While I’ve been on a carpe diem journey with guys in the last few years, he’s been reserved and conservative about his affection. He stood where I stood 3 years ago and it makes me dizzy to be standing in the place where most of the guys in my history were in my life. I teach and he learns and I watch as he lets go years of conflicts.
The time was filled with ups and down and lefts and rights, all shuffling around like a chaotic organized mess. In the quiet moments, I finally felt what a real relationship is like, something I haven’t experienced in seven years.
But the real world slips in on this early morning and we smile at each other under sleepy eyes as I drop him off at the airport. He returns to his NY world and I to mine. To my surprise, I don’t ask him what’s going to happen or the future or what this all was. I don’t even panic or worry. Apparently I’m growing, too. Instead, I leave the weekend just as it was: a great wonderful memory and time spent with a rare kind of guy. If he wants more, he’ll have to keep up his end and come after me.
Summer: “One day I woke up and I just knew.”
Tom: “Knew what?”
Summer: “What I was never sure of with you.”
The definition of strange:
Waking up with someone in the same bed and not because he happened to pass out next to you. It’s unfamiliar to fall asleep in someone’s arms and wake up back in them, even if there was moving around and separation in the night. It’s even more startling to be held for the sole sake of him wanting to be close to you and not because he’s thinking about how to get into your pants. And he’s not afraid to admit how much he enjoys it. He brings a present with him because his mother, like mine, taught him to never visit someone empty handed. It’s a book that I had been wanting for awhile; he remembers, orders it and wraps it in yellow tissue paper.
This is apparently how it’s supposed to be. The whole weekend completely threw me for a loop. It’s terrifying to have someone look at me the way he does. He seems me as sensual and sexy when all I see is a clumsy awkward tomboy. In the places I see fat and wide hips, he sees beautiful curves and everything that makes a woman a woman. Where I see lopsided different sized breasts, he sees perfection.
While I’ve been on a carpe diem journey with guys in the last few years, he’s been reserved and conservative about his affection. He stood where I stood 3 years ago and it makes me dizzy to be standing in the place where most of the guys in my history were in my life. I teach and he learns and I watch as he lets go years of conflicts.
The time was filled with ups and down and lefts and rights, all shuffling around like a chaotic organized mess. In the quiet moments, I finally felt what a real relationship is like, something I haven’t experienced in seven years.
But the real world slips in on this early morning and we smile at each other under sleepy eyes as I drop him off at the airport. He returns to his NY world and I to mine. To my surprise, I don’t ask him what’s going to happen or the future or what this all was. I don’t even panic or worry. Apparently I’m growing, too. Instead, I leave the weekend just as it was: a great wonderful memory and time spent with a rare kind of guy. If he wants more, he’ll have to keep up his end and come after me.
Summer: “One day I woke up and I just knew.”
Tom: “Knew what?”
Summer: “What I was never sure of with you.”
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
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.
Summer always seems to bring change. The end of May into the beginning to June begs for it. After years of watching people leave me and go on their adventures, I finally go to go on my own last year. This time around, I watch my friends go off on their own version of “Jane Moneypenny’s Quarterlife Crisis” move.
In 2 weeks, I return to St. Louis for a much needed visit and relaxation. After 8 months away and almost a year to the date I moved, it’s going to be a mixture of emotions. Hope for the friends packing to move away, sadness to not see those that left, and excitement to feel that familiarity I’ve been missing. I want to return victorious and awesome, as if moving away was the best choice of my life and leaving was great for my soul, my heart, my perspective. But I’m not confident that’s the case.
A year ago, I was leaving for this great unknown adventure with so much potential. Now I’ll return with a lot of mental and emotional exhaustion and unsure of where I belong. I hate my job, still haven’t found the right group of friends and got hurt by guys I should have learned to stay away from.
In some twisted way to control my return, I signed up for a hellish 3 weeks of fitness boot camp. It’s grueling and my shin splints have stopped me from pushing myself all the way. While everyone runs, I have to sit on the sidelines doing modified leg exercises. I feel like a failure, even though I know the fact I’m even doing this boot camp is already its own success. So I keep pushing each day, biting back the pain and thinking of how good it will feel to look tan and toned when I return. Or at least that’s what I imagine in my head as happening, even though 3 weeks is not going to magically give me the body of my dreams.
After all, there ARE old crushes and exes to be seen. 
There are some days I wake up in the morning, stumble into the bathroom and sigh when I look into the mirror. Those are the days I hate my slight overbite (curses to me for not wearing my retainer enough when I was younger), hate my round face and chubby cheeks, hate that one breast is bigger than the other and wish my gut would magically eliminiate.
I never really had much a self-image or self-esteem issue until college when guys entered my life. Going to an all-girl Catholic high school actually boosted my confidence, never having to worry about how I looked or needing to impress someone. My high school boyfriend was the local all-boy high school standard and I rarely felt insecure.
But now, at the age of 25 (26 in a little more than a week!), I seem to feel these issues weighing on me. It’s not something I obsess about, but it’s in the back of my mind when I see pictures of myself or have to meet new people. People who meet me always comment that I seem confident, sure of myself and ready to take on the world. Why do I feel the opposite? Starting over in new city seems to have made me evaluate every part of my life – my career, my personality, my social life…
And I’m still struggling, trying desperately to find patience. I have mixed feelings about my first birthday in Austin; it feels strange and unfamiliar, like I’m an imposter. The people around me still don’t seem to fully understand me and I don’t think I’ll ever fully trust them. It feels wrong to spend it with them. Isn’t that a strange thought?
Too bad moving to a new city didn’t entail a full physical makeover. But I guess that probably wouldn’t fix the inner angst that has been sticking to my insides for the last 8 months.
