Yes, I have been single for forever, and yes, I would love nothing more than to find that special someone. But I have to admit that part of the reason I feel that way is because, despite women's best efforts for equality, there is a stigma that remains for single women in their 30's. I'm absolutely floored by the pressure to get married in our society because it's not like married people don't have their own troubles. The grass isn't always greener.
But in fact just last week I read a bunch of articles about how, despite the growing demographic, this world is just not kind to the single lady. According to one article, lonely people don't sleep as well as their coupled peers. According to another article, single women have far more trouble getting ahead financially, especially regarding saving for retirement. And did you know that, according to yet another article, a book has been written about how there is now such a thing called "singlism?" Like racism, and ageism, etc., but referring to discrimination against single women. Are you kidding me?
I feel like Sex and the City made it trendy to be single in your 30's, but that trend died right along with the progressive-thinking TV series, and everyone has returned to the usual business of applying pity stickers on single women. And, in fact, even Carrie, Miranda, Samantha and Charlotte all ended up smitten by the end of the series.
My eternally wise and wonderful Aunt Denise (who understands me more than I do sometimes, and is a major source of good, honest advice) recently sent me this article from The Huffington Post:
http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2011/09/20/single-married-happier_n_972397.html
It's about the happiness of single women vs. married, and while the level of happiness is fairly equal, one of the main reasons single women aren't happy with their single status is because of the pity society places on them for not being paired up. I totally agree with this idea. I'm annoyed every time I have to tell someone I'm still single, mostly because of the impending judgement, and telling people through clenched teeth that "I'm single, but I'm happy," isn't very convincing.
A lot of women choose to be single though, and good for them! I support any non-traditional life choice, like a good liberal girl should. I, however, am not necessarily single by choice. I actually want to be in a relationship. But I'm having trouble finding someone.
As much as I want to be in a relationship though, I'm accepting of the fact that God, the universe, or whatever other-worldly power simply doesn't feel I'm ready to be in a solid, committed relationship right now. I just wish there wasn't so much pressure in our society to get hitched, making single gals feel like total losers until they find a guy - ANY guy - who will do them the honor. All of the wedding shows on cable networks like Bravo and TLC only contribute to the delusion that a wedding is the single most important event in one's life. I can't even help but be sucked into it sometimes. But what about the marriage? Shouldn't we doll out credit to those women who remained single for as long as they needed to in order to find someone with whom to share a successful union?
Additionally, shows like Why Am I Still Single? and Tough Love only fuel the idea that all single people are alone because something must be seriously wrong with them. These shows cause rather normal single viewers to obsessively pick themselves apart when, in fact, the "subjects" were only chosen to be on the show because they are insane (clearly). And insane people generate ratings.
With crappy TV like this constantly shoved down our optical nerves, the fact there is so much wedding obsession in our culture and simultaneously so much divorce is no coincidence. But I'd rather be single a thousand times over than be in a shitty relationship.
I am thankful that I have the ability to stand my ground, ignore the lure of the hoopla (unlike a certain Kardashian), and be patient and still enough (thank you, yoga!) to shut out the outside judgement and listen strictly to my inner voice, which would love to politely tell society, "I'M SINGLE, BUT IT'S OK! I'M WORKING ON IT, DAMMIT!"
Monday, November 7, 2011
Thursday, November 3, 2011
My Multi-Colored Parachute
As I've made abundantly clear in previous posts, I do not like my job. Besides hating the actual work, the environment is severely unhealthy. I truly believe that working amidst such bad vibes over the years has crushed my spirit and stunted my confidence. Sure, I've been promoted three times within the last eight years, and I'm incredibly thankful to be employed and to earn a decent salary, but is it worth being super miserable for 40 hours a week? I have to keep repeating the phrase, "It could be worse. It could be worse." But could it also be better? I have my doubts, and those doubts are the reason I'm stuck in workplace purgatory.
I often think about what I'd rather be doing for 8 hours a day, and turns out, there is plenty I'd rather be doing.
For example, I love writing so much that time seems to quickly melt away whenever my mind is translating thoughts and ideas into words. I also really like being creative, and I'd redecorate my living space weekly if I had the time and money.
Additionally, I love working with children, and I feel most in my element and most confident when I'm helping them. This is why I allow volunteering with kids to take up a huge chunk of my free time. I also absolutely love working out, which also takes up a huge amount of my time. I love talking about fitness, I love reading about it, and I just love how it makes me feel, because I love pushing myself physically and mentally.
So, I guess if I were to combine all of my passions into one occupation, then I would design a fitness center for underprivileged children and blog about it. Is that a thing? Does it pay well? Good health benefits? Decent retirement plan? No? Nothing like that?
Realistically, I'd be happy doing anything that had to do with any one of my passions. Hell, I'd be happy just being my own boss.
Unfortunately, I wasn't fully self aware during college (who is?!), so I majored in communications without a clear idea about where I wanted that major to lead me. I thought advertising might be super cool, but when I moved to Chicago and met people in advertising working at least 12 - 14 hour days, I realized that I could never care enough about any hot new product to let it suck up so much of my life. But, I would spend 24 hours a day doing any of my aforementioned "passions."
I feel as though my generation got the short end of the stick. Because the economy has been a wreck ever since we graduated ten years ago, we've been forced to set aside the idea of "following our dreams," and instead "follow what is most practical." And to me, what is most practical is a salary that allows me to live and thrive on my own, health insurance, and vacation days.
I have been looking for other jobs. The search has been quite discouraging so far, however, as a lot of what sounds good either pays a lot less than what I make, or is completely outside of the realm of my qualifications. And unfortunately, as a single woman with nothing to fall back on, I can't justify taking a risk, taking a pay cut, or going back to school when I'm still paying for the first round.
Additionally, the poor economy has made me gun shy, as I'm afraid I'll start work at a new place only to fear being laid off at any moment. In fact, I don't really know a "normal" when my job wasn't dangling over my head. So, staying put and hanging on to all those accumulated vacation days until I find something I know will be secure and rewarding makes the most sense to me.
Despite the roadblocks and my concerns though, I really do believe that something better is out there. It has to be. I'm not giving up. But until I find a new job, my current one will remain the means for me to live my otherwise full life.
I often think about what I'd rather be doing for 8 hours a day, and turns out, there is plenty I'd rather be doing.
For example, I love writing so much that time seems to quickly melt away whenever my mind is translating thoughts and ideas into words. I also really like being creative, and I'd redecorate my living space weekly if I had the time and money.
Additionally, I love working with children, and I feel most in my element and most confident when I'm helping them. This is why I allow volunteering with kids to take up a huge chunk of my free time. I also absolutely love working out, which also takes up a huge amount of my time. I love talking about fitness, I love reading about it, and I just love how it makes me feel, because I love pushing myself physically and mentally.
So, I guess if I were to combine all of my passions into one occupation, then I would design a fitness center for underprivileged children and blog about it. Is that a thing? Does it pay well? Good health benefits? Decent retirement plan? No? Nothing like that?
Realistically, I'd be happy doing anything that had to do with any one of my passions. Hell, I'd be happy just being my own boss.
Unfortunately, I wasn't fully self aware during college (who is?!), so I majored in communications without a clear idea about where I wanted that major to lead me. I thought advertising might be super cool, but when I moved to Chicago and met people in advertising working at least 12 - 14 hour days, I realized that I could never care enough about any hot new product to let it suck up so much of my life. But, I would spend 24 hours a day doing any of my aforementioned "passions."
I feel as though my generation got the short end of the stick. Because the economy has been a wreck ever since we graduated ten years ago, we've been forced to set aside the idea of "following our dreams," and instead "follow what is most practical." And to me, what is most practical is a salary that allows me to live and thrive on my own, health insurance, and vacation days.
I have been looking for other jobs. The search has been quite discouraging so far, however, as a lot of what sounds good either pays a lot less than what I make, or is completely outside of the realm of my qualifications. And unfortunately, as a single woman with nothing to fall back on, I can't justify taking a risk, taking a pay cut, or going back to school when I'm still paying for the first round.
Additionally, the poor economy has made me gun shy, as I'm afraid I'll start work at a new place only to fear being laid off at any moment. In fact, I don't really know a "normal" when my job wasn't dangling over my head. So, staying put and hanging on to all those accumulated vacation days until I find something I know will be secure and rewarding makes the most sense to me.
Despite the roadblocks and my concerns though, I really do believe that something better is out there. It has to be. I'm not giving up. But until I find a new job, my current one will remain the means for me to live my otherwise full life.
Monday, October 24, 2011
A Delightful Decade
Happy 10th birthday to my most favorite person in the entire universe - my nephew, Ethan! During the past ten years I have experienced more unconditional love than I ever thought my heart had the capacity to handle. Even though we live several states apart, we share a remarkable bond that keeps us quite close. Being an aunt is the single most important and wonderful privilege I've ever known. Thank you, Ethan, for coming into this world and making me smile more, laugh more, love more, and live more over the last decade!
Also, I never dreamed that when I held him in my arms for the first time a decade ago, that exactly ten years from then we'd be fist pumping in my parent's kitchen together.
Also, I never dreamed that when I held him in my arms for the first time a decade ago, that exactly ten years from then we'd be fist pumping in my parent's kitchen together.
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| 2001 |
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| 2011 |
Friday, October 7, 2011
A Missed Connection, A Shared Connection
I had an odd experience on the train this morning during my commute to work. While I was waiting on the platform for the train, I observed a mother and her child sitting on a bench also waiting for the train. Her little guy was probably about seven or eight years old, and he was quietly working on some schoolwork. His young mother sat staring off into the distance, seemingly not present in the moment. Her expression was blank, but in my heart I felt as though she may be hurting in some way. As the train approached, I felt compelled to get on the same car as they did, even though it wasn't the closest car from where I was standing. The train was pretty full, so I ended up standing next to the boy with his mother on the other side. As the train took off, the boy wasn't holding on because he was busy fumbling with his notebook and back pack. The train took a predictable sharp turn, and when I saw that the boy was going to lose his balance, I instinctively held my arm out to keep him from toppling over until he could get a grip. His mother seemed oblivious to anything that was going on, but this made me more sad for her than angry.
As people were getting on and off the train, a double seat opened up within a few stops, enabling the boy and his mom to sit in front of where I was standing. The boy wasted no time whipping out his school work again, and it looked like he was working on spelling words, as I observed a list he was making down the page. And seconds later, my instincts about his mother proved to be spot on, as I noticed tears in her eyes. She was quick to wipe them away and was doing her best to conceal her feelings, but it was too late. Seeing her so upset instantly broke my own heart, and tears welled up in my eyes simply from speculating about what could be making her so sad.
I can't explain why I had such an emotional reaction to this perfect stranger. I obviously had no idea why she was upset, but I am human, so I know what suffering looks and feels like, and it always breaks my heart. I think it bothers me so much because I don't know if certain gentle souls are strong enough to handle the crap that life has a tendency to throw at them. And in this case, she has a helpless child who depends on her to be strong.
I was so affected by the woman and her son that I inadvertently stayed on that train, as opposed to connecting to a different train line that takes me closer to my office. I wanted to ask this woman if she was going to be OK; I wanted to give her a hug and tell her that everything was going to be OK, even though I can't possibly know if that's true. I really hope that woman is much stronger than I perceived her to be - for the sake of herself and her child. I hope that she has people in her life who love and care about her and can comfort her with whatever she may be going through.
In addition to mentoring, I've also been volunteering with kids at a shelter for battered women, so I'm wondering if being exposed to so many kids from broken homes contributed to my reaction on the train this morning? It absolutely kills me to know that so many women and children are in pain. And the fact that I'm only seeing a tiny fraction of people in this world that are struggling breaks my heart even more. My parents aren't perfect, but I had a near-perfect childhood, and to think that there are children out there witnessing and also shouldering the burden of their parents' pain makes me wish I had the means to somehow save them all from heartache. Why does life have to be so effing hard for good people?
OK, I know this hasn't been a very uplifting post thus far, so what you may find humorous is that the mother on the train instantly seemed to set aside her problems when she saw my crazy ass wiping away tears. She must have been so confused, but she just stared at me with the same concerned and compassionate look that I had probably been giving her just moments earlier. I wasn't about to make her uncomfortable and tell her that it was her tears that were breaking my heart and causing my eyes to spring a leak, so I desperately worked to pull myself together.
I just can't get over how the heartache of a stranger affected me in such a way that my instincts were fully in tune to her emotions, and I wonder if she sensed it too. As wrapped up and involved as we are with our own highs and lows in life, today's morning commute served as a true testament and reminder of the powerful connection humans share.
My subway stop was before theirs, so I offered the mother a smile as I was exiting the train, even though I felt compelled to offer so much more. I at least hope that I see that mother and her son in my neighborhood again, on what seems to be a better day for her.
As people were getting on and off the train, a double seat opened up within a few stops, enabling the boy and his mom to sit in front of where I was standing. The boy wasted no time whipping out his school work again, and it looked like he was working on spelling words, as I observed a list he was making down the page. And seconds later, my instincts about his mother proved to be spot on, as I noticed tears in her eyes. She was quick to wipe them away and was doing her best to conceal her feelings, but it was too late. Seeing her so upset instantly broke my own heart, and tears welled up in my eyes simply from speculating about what could be making her so sad.
I can't explain why I had such an emotional reaction to this perfect stranger. I obviously had no idea why she was upset, but I am human, so I know what suffering looks and feels like, and it always breaks my heart. I think it bothers me so much because I don't know if certain gentle souls are strong enough to handle the crap that life has a tendency to throw at them. And in this case, she has a helpless child who depends on her to be strong.
I was so affected by the woman and her son that I inadvertently stayed on that train, as opposed to connecting to a different train line that takes me closer to my office. I wanted to ask this woman if she was going to be OK; I wanted to give her a hug and tell her that everything was going to be OK, even though I can't possibly know if that's true. I really hope that woman is much stronger than I perceived her to be - for the sake of herself and her child. I hope that she has people in her life who love and care about her and can comfort her with whatever she may be going through.
In addition to mentoring, I've also been volunteering with kids at a shelter for battered women, so I'm wondering if being exposed to so many kids from broken homes contributed to my reaction on the train this morning? It absolutely kills me to know that so many women and children are in pain. And the fact that I'm only seeing a tiny fraction of people in this world that are struggling breaks my heart even more. My parents aren't perfect, but I had a near-perfect childhood, and to think that there are children out there witnessing and also shouldering the burden of their parents' pain makes me wish I had the means to somehow save them all from heartache. Why does life have to be so effing hard for good people?
OK, I know this hasn't been a very uplifting post thus far, so what you may find humorous is that the mother on the train instantly seemed to set aside her problems when she saw my crazy ass wiping away tears. She must have been so confused, but she just stared at me with the same concerned and compassionate look that I had probably been giving her just moments earlier. I wasn't about to make her uncomfortable and tell her that it was her tears that were breaking my heart and causing my eyes to spring a leak, so I desperately worked to pull myself together.
I just can't get over how the heartache of a stranger affected me in such a way that my instincts were fully in tune to her emotions, and I wonder if she sensed it too. As wrapped up and involved as we are with our own highs and lows in life, today's morning commute served as a true testament and reminder of the powerful connection humans share.
My subway stop was before theirs, so I offered the mother a smile as I was exiting the train, even though I felt compelled to offer so much more. I at least hope that I see that mother and her son in my neighborhood again, on what seems to be a better day for her.
Friday, September 23, 2011
Stream of Consciousness...
Warning: Post about random thoughts ahead! I normally don't write posts lacking a distinctive theme, but since four year's worth of my journal entries were destroyed when my computer crashed last June, this seems like a safer way to store my thoughts for now.
Italy
I've been thinking of Italy a lot lately, probably because if original plans would've worked out, I would be heading there in just about a month from now. I found myself (perhaps subconsciously) at Cafe Rome, an Italian cafe located in my office building, twice this week. Once for a latte, and once for gelato. An incomparable substitute, but a substitute nonetheless.
Actually, maybe I'm just thinking about Italy because it's the location of this season's Jersey Shore. Yikes. I expected that the JS kids - while highly entertaining - would fail to blaze a respectable trail for future American tourists, and so far they've exceeded my expectations. In fact, now that I think about it, the image of Team Meatball flashing their "kookas" all over town is probably pretty fresh in the minds of innocent Italian civilians. So, it's probably best to postpone my trip until the disaster that is the cast of Jersey Shore is no longer associated with American tourists. Can I get an amen?! How 'bout a fist pump?!
Tooth Stuff
As I've mentioned in a previous post, the direct result of postponing my aforementioned trip to Italy is due to the $5k worth of oral surgery my dentist discovered I needed last June. Well, I'm happy to report that I'm now post-op, and everything went well. I had to have a front tooth removed and had to get an implant with bone grafting. It's a procedure that not a single dental insurance carrier covers, but I found it quite necessary even though insurance bureaucrats do not. Anyway, my dentist told me this would be the best solution after she discovered that the bone near one of my front teeth was basically dissolving. This was occurring due to an injury I suffered when I was only nine years old, and the tooth has been a problem ever since. I wish I could tell people that I was a "rough and tumble" sort of child, and that the trauma resulted from an awesome monkey bar mishap, or a soccer injury where I sacrificed my body to block a goal. But sadly, I only have the fact that I'm a life-long klutz to blame. (I tripped. In my parent's living room.)
After the procedure of having a screw drilled into my face, the implant site then requires three months to heal and allow for the synthetic bone material to adhere to the real bone before getting a permanent crown. So, during the three month interim, I'm wearing a temporary denture while in public. During the first two weeks post op, I'd feel like such a hillbilly every time I'd walk out the door, despite donning my acrylic substitute. I'm pretty much used to it now, but I'm still hyper aware of it when I talk to people. And before having the surgery, I really thought it would be traumatizing each time I'd look into a mirror at home for the several months that there wasn't a tooth in place. Quite the opposite has occurred, however. It makes me giggle SO much! Mostly, I feel like a 32 year old 1st grader, which in itself is funny, but I find myself doing hillbilly impressions in the mirror to no one's amusement but my own.
But I don't just contain laughing at myself like an idiot to the privacy of my own home! Noooooo! I was at Target a week or so ago shopping for soft foods (of course). When I plucked a packet of rice off the shelf, a fellow shopper, who incidentally had no teeth, asked me, "Eesh that shtuff any good?" Ummm, it's rice, I thought. But not wanting to insult my fellow toothless comrade, I refrained from a smart ass reply and simply said, "Yeah, I like it." He then proceeded to tell me how he likes to cook rice with "tuna feesh." The first thought that ran through my mind was to ask him to go Hillbilly Handfishin' with me. I immediately rounded the corner to the next aisle, desperately trying to stifle my giggles. I didn't want him to think I was making fun of him! Quite the opposite, in fact, as I could relate to his struggle with whistling 's' words.
Dating
I met a guy in late July who seemed quite promising, and we even made it to four dates, despite the overwhelming results from a poll taken amongst my family members when we were all together for my cousin's wedding last month. They made it very clear that, because of his lack of chivalry on our second date, that he should not be granted a third date.
I met John for our first date at a beer garden situated in a neighborhood between our own neighborhoods. We each had a couple drinks and lots of great conversation. Score! For our second date, he suggested a very fancy sushi restaurant downtown. The fact that he took the reigns regarding the planning of this date thoroughly impressed me, so I was excited. And the level of excitement remained high... until the bill came. Even though I was 99.9% certain he'd be a gentleman and pick up the tab, I did the obligatory reach-for-purse-and-offer-to-help-pay move anyway. He then caught me off guard by saying, "So right down the middle works?" I was certainly taken aback, because he planned this whole thing, and when I plan a date, I also plan to pay. If I had known that I was going to have to fork over dough on that particular Sunday evening, I would have suggested the cheapo taco stand under the El tracks in my up-and-coming neighborhood, as opposed to fancy schmancy downtown fare. Instead, I reluctantly paid my half. But his lack of chivalry certainly rubbed me the wrong way, and my Aunt Diana told me I should have said, in response to him assuming we'd be splitting the bill, "Oh I'm sorry, I didn't bring my wallet. I thought this was a date!"
So what on earth possessed me to agree to a third date, you ask? I guess I really liked our conversations? I thought he was cute? I liked that I didn't have him all figured out by the first two dates? Oh wait - he offered to cook me dinner. And anyone who knows me knows that the way to my heart is through my stomach. I thought this could be a redeeming date, especially because the dinner did live up to his incessant bragging about his cooking skills. But, I was deathly allergic to his cat! In fact, I was such an allergic mess that I had to leave immediately following dinner so as not to die of asphyxiation. Also, and possibly the more important reason for making an abrupt exit, the central piece of decor in the living room of his fancy loft was one of those hideous carpeted cat tower thingies. Barfity barf barf.
So what on earth possessed me to agree to a fourth date, you ask? I have no idea, except for maybe I'm insane? Anyway, I agreed and he told me I should plan the date. So, Irandomly intentionally chose to get dinner at the cheapo taco stand under the El tracks in my up-and-coming neighborhood (I'm no dummy!). He pulled out his wallet at the register once we finished ordering. I reflexively executed the reach-for-purse-and-offer-to-help-pay move. (I assume this move is a subconscious reflex developed in women only after years of fruitless dating.) Without a word from me, John spotted the wallet in my hand and said, "Oh you got it? OK." and put his wallet back in his pocket. And at that moment I realized that he would never get it, but I was really hungry so I decided not to angrily bolt out of the place like I had momentarily envisioned in my head.
He was then rude to the super friendly owner by giving him a "note" that the ginger in the fish tacos (which were complimentary with our order) was "too strong." What a d!ck. As we were leaving, he told me that my restaurant selection was great - and SO cheap! Yeah, especially cheap for you, buddy.
Instantly cured of my insanity, I did not agree to any more dates with him.
Italy
I've been thinking of Italy a lot lately, probably because if original plans would've worked out, I would be heading there in just about a month from now. I found myself (perhaps subconsciously) at Cafe Rome, an Italian cafe located in my office building, twice this week. Once for a latte, and once for gelato. An incomparable substitute, but a substitute nonetheless.
Actually, maybe I'm just thinking about Italy because it's the location of this season's Jersey Shore. Yikes. I expected that the JS kids - while highly entertaining - would fail to blaze a respectable trail for future American tourists, and so far they've exceeded my expectations. In fact, now that I think about it, the image of Team Meatball flashing their "kookas" all over town is probably pretty fresh in the minds of innocent Italian civilians. So, it's probably best to postpone my trip until the disaster that is the cast of Jersey Shore is no longer associated with American tourists. Can I get an amen?! How 'bout a fist pump?!
Tooth Stuff
As I've mentioned in a previous post, the direct result of postponing my aforementioned trip to Italy is due to the $5k worth of oral surgery my dentist discovered I needed last June. Well, I'm happy to report that I'm now post-op, and everything went well. I had to have a front tooth removed and had to get an implant with bone grafting. It's a procedure that not a single dental insurance carrier covers, but I found it quite necessary even though insurance bureaucrats do not. Anyway, my dentist told me this would be the best solution after she discovered that the bone near one of my front teeth was basically dissolving. This was occurring due to an injury I suffered when I was only nine years old, and the tooth has been a problem ever since. I wish I could tell people that I was a "rough and tumble" sort of child, and that the trauma resulted from an awesome monkey bar mishap, or a soccer injury where I sacrificed my body to block a goal. But sadly, I only have the fact that I'm a life-long klutz to blame. (I tripped. In my parent's living room.)
After the procedure of having a screw drilled into my face, the implant site then requires three months to heal and allow for the synthetic bone material to adhere to the real bone before getting a permanent crown. So, during the three month interim, I'm wearing a temporary denture while in public. During the first two weeks post op, I'd feel like such a hillbilly every time I'd walk out the door, despite donning my acrylic substitute. I'm pretty much used to it now, but I'm still hyper aware of it when I talk to people. And before having the surgery, I really thought it would be traumatizing each time I'd look into a mirror at home for the several months that there wasn't a tooth in place. Quite the opposite has occurred, however. It makes me giggle SO much! Mostly, I feel like a 32 year old 1st grader, which in itself is funny, but I find myself doing hillbilly impressions in the mirror to no one's amusement but my own.
But I don't just contain laughing at myself like an idiot to the privacy of my own home! Noooooo! I was at Target a week or so ago shopping for soft foods (of course). When I plucked a packet of rice off the shelf, a fellow shopper, who incidentally had no teeth, asked me, "Eesh that shtuff any good?" Ummm, it's rice, I thought. But not wanting to insult my fellow toothless comrade, I refrained from a smart ass reply and simply said, "Yeah, I like it." He then proceeded to tell me how he likes to cook rice with "tuna feesh." The first thought that ran through my mind was to ask him to go Hillbilly Handfishin' with me. I immediately rounded the corner to the next aisle, desperately trying to stifle my giggles. I didn't want him to think I was making fun of him! Quite the opposite, in fact, as I could relate to his struggle with whistling 's' words.
Dating
I met a guy in late July who seemed quite promising, and we even made it to four dates, despite the overwhelming results from a poll taken amongst my family members when we were all together for my cousin's wedding last month. They made it very clear that, because of his lack of chivalry on our second date, that he should not be granted a third date.
I met John for our first date at a beer garden situated in a neighborhood between our own neighborhoods. We each had a couple drinks and lots of great conversation. Score! For our second date, he suggested a very fancy sushi restaurant downtown. The fact that he took the reigns regarding the planning of this date thoroughly impressed me, so I was excited. And the level of excitement remained high... until the bill came. Even though I was 99.9% certain he'd be a gentleman and pick up the tab, I did the obligatory reach-for-purse-and-offer-to-help-pay move anyway. He then caught me off guard by saying, "So right down the middle works?" I was certainly taken aback, because he planned this whole thing, and when I plan a date, I also plan to pay. If I had known that I was going to have to fork over dough on that particular Sunday evening, I would have suggested the cheapo taco stand under the El tracks in my up-and-coming neighborhood, as opposed to fancy schmancy downtown fare. Instead, I reluctantly paid my half. But his lack of chivalry certainly rubbed me the wrong way, and my Aunt Diana told me I should have said, in response to him assuming we'd be splitting the bill, "Oh I'm sorry, I didn't bring my wallet. I thought this was a date!"
So what on earth possessed me to agree to a third date, you ask? I guess I really liked our conversations? I thought he was cute? I liked that I didn't have him all figured out by the first two dates? Oh wait - he offered to cook me dinner. And anyone who knows me knows that the way to my heart is through my stomach. I thought this could be a redeeming date, especially because the dinner did live up to his incessant bragging about his cooking skills. But, I was deathly allergic to his cat! In fact, I was such an allergic mess that I had to leave immediately following dinner so as not to die of asphyxiation. Also, and possibly the more important reason for making an abrupt exit, the central piece of decor in the living room of his fancy loft was one of those hideous carpeted cat tower thingies. Barfity barf barf.
So what on earth possessed me to agree to a fourth date, you ask? I have no idea, except for maybe I'm insane? Anyway, I agreed and he told me I should plan the date. So, I
He was then rude to the super friendly owner by giving him a "note" that the ginger in the fish tacos (which were complimentary with our order) was "too strong." What a d!ck. As we were leaving, he told me that my restaurant selection was great - and SO cheap! Yeah, especially cheap for you, buddy.
Instantly cured of my insanity, I did not agree to any more dates with him.
Thursday, September 8, 2011
Great Unexpectations
Over the past few years, I have developed the belief that the universe has its way of shuffling us in the right direction in life. While it's easy to understand how good experiences move us forward, I also firmly believe that every problem and failure is a blessing in disguise (most often revealing itself in hindsight).
If it hadn't been for my motivation to get into the AUSL teaching program last year, I can't guarantee that I would have become a mentor with Mercy Home's Friends First program. Becoming a mentor had been in the back of my mind for years, but had I not been convinced that I needed experience working with children to gain acceptance into the teaching program, I may have been discouraged by all of the hoop jumping required to become a mentor. But because my eyes were focused on the "prize," I dutifully filled out enough paperwork to make trees cringe, took the El out to a part of the city that's more suburb than urb for fingerprinting, and used a half personal day to get a physical and TB test, in addition to attending all of the interviews and training sessions.
What I didn't realize then, and am so eternally grateful for now, was that the actual "prize" wasn't becoming a teacher at all - it was becoming a mentor. Even before I found out that I had not been accepted into the teaching program, I knew that mentoring was going to make a special impact on my life.
Today is my one year anniversary as a mentor with Friends First. I can hardly believe it has been 365 days since I met my marvelous mentee. Although I'm the mentor, we've both grown leaps and bounds just from spending time together. I credit mentoring for helping me become a better communicator, leader and friend. Being a mentor also serves as a reminder of the value I place on commitment and dedication in my life.
Mentoring has taught me a lot, but I'm not sure I would have learned as much as I have if my mentee wasn't such an outstanding individual. Her positive attitude, resiliency and eagerness to take in all the good the world has to offer is inspiring to me. She is sweet, smart, funny, outgoing, respectful, appreciative, helpful, determined and responsible. Although we've been together for a year, it took much less than a year for us to grow quite close. We've developed inside jokes (mostly about my horrible singing), learned each other's quirks, and are even able to read how each other feels just by a facial expression, which includes a "dance face."
Even when we aren't together, I'll think of something that happened during one of our outings and giggle. We're both clumsy, so that fact itself resulted in plenty of comic relief throughout our year. For instance, during our first outing after ringing in 2011, she was reenacting counting down to the new year (5! 4!...etc.) while we were crossing the street, until she tripped over the curb and completely wiped out on "1!" We consequently burst into giggles, and I'd catch myself giggling about it for weeks following. And another time, as she told me about a good grade she received in math, I gasped in excitement and then wiped out on some ice. "I guess I'm REALLY excited about your grades," I'd said. We didn't stop laughing until we got to the bus stop.
In addition to humor, we are both proud to be nerds. We love vocabulary words, and she'll never hesitate to stop me when I use a word she doesn't know to ask for its meaning. She then repeats the word a few times and makes it a goal to use it at school the next week. We also love to visit museums and learn about other cultures. We frequently discuss strong female characters in history, including Jane Addams, whose own museum we subsequently visited after seeing a display about her at the Chicago History Museum. Our love of learning, in fact, is going to be the theme for the Friends First newsletter that she and I will be on the cover of next quarter!
And speaking of learning, she has brought home all A's and B's since I became her mentor. She confessed that she hadn't had such good grades since 3rd grade. I intentionally put an emphasis on the importance of school and getting involved, and so we take time to celebrate her accomplishments in school and sports. In fact, during a meeting with my Match Support Rep, he relayed to me that she said I'm the first person she thinks of when she does something well in school, because she knows I'll be so proud of her. And being genuinely proud of her is what I most certainly am.
Additionally, to acknowledge that our year together has exceeded my expectations would be an understatement. Actually, it would be a lie. As I reflect on our year, I'm realizing that during the course of our time together, my expectations were virtually flipped into unexpected results. Here are some of my expectations going into the program compared with what actually happened:
Becoming a mentor with Friends First has been one of the best experiences of my life. While few and far between, there have been challenges (heading out in bad weather and feeling under the weather, for example) but there has not been one single outing when I wasn't happy to have spent time with her, regardless of the activity. The completion of 365 days just doesn't seem like the natural ending point for us, and so I can't wait to see what adventures lie before us in our 2nd year!
If it hadn't been for my motivation to get into the AUSL teaching program last year, I can't guarantee that I would have become a mentor with Mercy Home's Friends First program. Becoming a mentor had been in the back of my mind for years, but had I not been convinced that I needed experience working with children to gain acceptance into the teaching program, I may have been discouraged by all of the hoop jumping required to become a mentor. But because my eyes were focused on the "prize," I dutifully filled out enough paperwork to make trees cringe, took the El out to a part of the city that's more suburb than urb for fingerprinting, and used a half personal day to get a physical and TB test, in addition to attending all of the interviews and training sessions.
What I didn't realize then, and am so eternally grateful for now, was that the actual "prize" wasn't becoming a teacher at all - it was becoming a mentor. Even before I found out that I had not been accepted into the teaching program, I knew that mentoring was going to make a special impact on my life.
Today is my one year anniversary as a mentor with Friends First. I can hardly believe it has been 365 days since I met my marvelous mentee. Although I'm the mentor, we've both grown leaps and bounds just from spending time together. I credit mentoring for helping me become a better communicator, leader and friend. Being a mentor also serves as a reminder of the value I place on commitment and dedication in my life.
Mentoring has taught me a lot, but I'm not sure I would have learned as much as I have if my mentee wasn't such an outstanding individual. Her positive attitude, resiliency and eagerness to take in all the good the world has to offer is inspiring to me. She is sweet, smart, funny, outgoing, respectful, appreciative, helpful, determined and responsible. Although we've been together for a year, it took much less than a year for us to grow quite close. We've developed inside jokes (mostly about my horrible singing), learned each other's quirks, and are even able to read how each other feels just by a facial expression, which includes a "dance face."
Even when we aren't together, I'll think of something that happened during one of our outings and giggle. We're both clumsy, so that fact itself resulted in plenty of comic relief throughout our year. For instance, during our first outing after ringing in 2011, she was reenacting counting down to the new year (5! 4!...etc.) while we were crossing the street, until she tripped over the curb and completely wiped out on "1!" We consequently burst into giggles, and I'd catch myself giggling about it for weeks following. And another time, as she told me about a good grade she received in math, I gasped in excitement and then wiped out on some ice. "I guess I'm REALLY excited about your grades," I'd said. We didn't stop laughing until we got to the bus stop.
In addition to humor, we are both proud to be nerds. We love vocabulary words, and she'll never hesitate to stop me when I use a word she doesn't know to ask for its meaning. She then repeats the word a few times and makes it a goal to use it at school the next week. We also love to visit museums and learn about other cultures. We frequently discuss strong female characters in history, including Jane Addams, whose own museum we subsequently visited after seeing a display about her at the Chicago History Museum. Our love of learning, in fact, is going to be the theme for the Friends First newsletter that she and I will be on the cover of next quarter!
And speaking of learning, she has brought home all A's and B's since I became her mentor. She confessed that she hadn't had such good grades since 3rd grade. I intentionally put an emphasis on the importance of school and getting involved, and so we take time to celebrate her accomplishments in school and sports. In fact, during a meeting with my Match Support Rep, he relayed to me that she said I'm the first person she thinks of when she does something well in school, because she knows I'll be so proud of her. And being genuinely proud of her is what I most certainly am.
Additionally, to acknowledge that our year together has exceeded my expectations would be an understatement. Actually, it would be a lie. As I reflect on our year, I'm realizing that during the course of our time together, my expectations were virtually flipped into unexpected results. Here are some of my expectations going into the program compared with what actually happened:
- I expected to be matched with a pre-teen who was more "pre" than "teen."
- I didn't expect that she would morph from "pre" to "teen" right before my eyes.
- I expected that our activities would always be creative, imaginative and entertaining.
- I didn't expect that our trips on the El or random strolls through various neighborhoods would spur conversations that contributed to the most significant moments in our friendship.
- I expected to be her biggest cheerleader.
- I didn't expect that she would become mine. When we were rock climbing, for example, I cheered her on as she barely struggled to scale to the top. I had a more difficult time scaling up that wall, but hearing her cheer me on made me realize that there was no way I could quit, ultimately letting her see me fail, so I fought to conquer the wall as well. It was exhilarating for us to be proud of each other.
- I expected to take her out of her comfort zone and expose her to new things as often as possible.
- I didn't expect her to get (okay, drag) me out of mine. Hello!? Ice skating!
- I expected to develop a strong bond with her and be her biggest confidant.
- I never expected to sometimes feel as though I need her more than she needs me.
- Finally, I expected to commit myself to the mentoring program for one year.
- I didn't expect to be so eager to commit myself to a second year.
Becoming a mentor with Friends First has been one of the best experiences of my life. While few and far between, there have been challenges (heading out in bad weather and feeling under the weather, for example) but there has not been one single outing when I wasn't happy to have spent time with her, regardless of the activity. The completion of 365 days just doesn't seem like the natural ending point for us, and so I can't wait to see what adventures lie before us in our 2nd year!
 |
| Mentor & mentee mural painting for Artists of the Wall project on the lakefront in the Rogers Park neighborhood. We painted the yellow section, and ours are the red & green hand prints near the bottom left. |
Wednesday, August 17, 2011
Date'n Dash
I typically give guys 1 to 3 dates for me to decide whether or not I'm genuinely interested in them. Some guys make it very easy for me to decide I don't like them and some take a little more time to hand over their crazy on a plate. In any case, I have this terrible habit of pretending I don't exist once I decide I want nothing to do with someone. I'm well aware that the mature thing would be to utilize some form of modern communication explaining how I think they are a nice person, blah, blah, blah, but I just don't think we're a good fit, blah, blah, blah. Instead, when it's clear that romantic feelings are present for the guy while non-existent for me, I am filled with dread and anxiety over each subsequent attempt at communication from him. I adamantly ignore messages and avoid my phone, not unlike a scared child hiding under the covers to be safe from the monster in the closet. I then dramatically complain to my friends that "Mr. Wrong/Mr. Blah/Mr. Bad Kisser will not relent! He just keeps calling/texting/emailing/carrier pigeon-ing me messages!"
Despite my nonsensical behavior, I actually do realize that I can easily make those messages go buh-bye by simply being up front and honest. So why do I instead treat my message-infested phone like a hideous insect, yet refuse to blast it with a good dose of Raid?
Well, historically, the "up front and honest" method has backfired on me. No matter how honest I am, some guys just don't get the hint. I'll admit that I have a tendency to be slightly passive, but after some awkward bone throwing, I eventually make myself clear. The sad lads finally catch my long-winded drift, but as a consequence, I've been yelled at, I've been told (far too prematurely), "But, I love you!," and I've been accused of being too harsh. So either I'm instantly hated, or the desperate attempts ensue, only making the situation more uncomfortable than it has to be. No wonder I despise letting guys down.
Some dates, though, have been so mind-blowing bad that I'm simply left at a loss for words or am too traumatized to respond to any contact ever again - even when I could easily reply with a message of dump-age. For example, the intense German who put me in a headlock several times during our date in a "come here ol' buddy ol' pal" sort of way, then later picking me up and dropping me to the floor after misjudging the placement of the bar stool, did NOT deserve any communication post-date, in my opinion.
And the sportscaster who kissed me so hard that my lips were bruised the next day? He didn't deserve a polite "You are soooooo great but..." message either, but that's mostly because I was rendered speechless as well as fat-lipped. He was nice and all, but I just didn't have the motivation to teach a 30 year old a skill he should have mastered in high school.
Just a few months ago, on the third date with a pilot who invited me to a birthday party for a girl he met on Match.com (unknown to me beforehand, of course), Mr. Pilot tried to pick a fight with a dude who was hitting on one of his "girl" friends, and then he proceeded to get so insanely drunk that he couldn't sign his tab. This disappointing third date that followed two previous great dates left me so shocked that I couldn't even dream of what to say to him, so I chose to dive into a virtual bunker for protection from potential post-date communication attempts.
And most recently, after a date at a Cubs game, I couldn't bear to return the messages of a burly yet baby-faced dude with a thick Boston accent and a voice of a giant, mostly because every time his messages popped up on my phone, I instantly recalled him bragging about his "sex friendly" apartment, and this made me want to barf.
But then there were other guys who have committed no such offenses that I've still chosen to ignore rather than confront. For instance, no fault can be placed on the sweet guy with the exceptionally small frame that made me feel like I was more woman than he could handle, and whose tiny hand I nearly crushed during an awkward high five moment on our date. And the boring date with whom I had one drink in 1 hour and 38 minutes cannot be blamed for his bad personality, which I likened to that of a phone book.
Ignoring bad dates makes me feel bad. But confronting them also sucks the soul out of me. Dating is rough - I've always thought so! Are there rules set somewhere in stone saying that we have to consistently suffer until we meet the One and Only who will save us from the dating war zone? Perhaps it's evolutionary that bad dates are supposed to shuffle us along into monogamy, making us want to stay there. I can deal with the bad dates, as virtually every date be considered bad until you find the right mate. But couldn't we at least agree to lighten up on the rejection process a little? For the love of all that is holy, can't we soften the blow a bit?!?
By the time we hit our 30's, I feel there should be a dating code for rejection. The universal sign for "I'm just not that into you" should simply be ceased communication. I would actually prefer if a guy dumped me via ignoring me. The last thing I want to hear is an excuse, because whatever the excuse, women are smart enough by age 30 to know it's crap. (If you haven't learned this by your 30th birthday, then you should have been held back in grade twenty something until you did learn this!) If you really like someone, you're never "too busy" or things don't "just suddenly come up." Likewise, I don't need to hear the perfunctorily delivered speech that virtually always begins with, "I like you, BUT..." No, you don't like me. Otherwise you wouldn't be including a condition in your sentence. I don't like to hear excuses, and I equally despise giving them.
Although, while I totally "get it" and can very quickly move on when it's obvious a new guy isn't interested in me, I think some peopleprefer require harsher dumping methods. Perhaps some people are just hardwired to need clear, concise, blunt messages in their 20's, 30's and beyond. Maybe a line graph chart deliberately outlining exactly at which point things went wrong could be a useful method. I imagine myself setting up an easel and using one of those long pointing sticks to enhance my visual dumping aid. "Well, Mr. I'm-Just-Not-That-Into-You, our first date was marked at 85%, which is great for a first date! Good job! The line stays fairly steady for the second date, which is why the next point is hovering at about 87%. Congrats! But I'm sure you're questioning why your stock plummeted dramatically from the 2nd to the 3rd date? Well, remember when you got so drunk that you couldn't find your house? Yeah, that's why at 0.0002% I have decided not to move forward with our courtship. I'm sure you understand."
Of course, I don't think it would ever be socially acceptable to be this blunt, nor would I have the guts to pull it off considering my tendency to play hide-and-don't-seek, but if Ms. Patty Millionaire Matchmaker features my aforementioned graph idea on one of her TV episodes, I swear I'm suing the Louboutins off of her.
Despite my nonsensical behavior, I actually do realize that I can easily make those messages go buh-bye by simply being up front and honest. So why do I instead treat my message-infested phone like a hideous insect, yet refuse to blast it with a good dose of Raid?
Well, historically, the "up front and honest" method has backfired on me. No matter how honest I am, some guys just don't get the hint. I'll admit that I have a tendency to be slightly passive, but after some awkward bone throwing, I eventually make myself clear. The sad lads finally catch my long-winded drift, but as a consequence, I've been yelled at, I've been told (far too prematurely), "But, I love you!," and I've been accused of being too harsh. So either I'm instantly hated, or the desperate attempts ensue, only making the situation more uncomfortable than it has to be. No wonder I despise letting guys down.
Some dates, though, have been so mind-blowing bad that I'm simply left at a loss for words or am too traumatized to respond to any contact ever again - even when I could easily reply with a message of dump-age. For example, the intense German who put me in a headlock several times during our date in a "come here ol' buddy ol' pal" sort of way, then later picking me up and dropping me to the floor after misjudging the placement of the bar stool, did NOT deserve any communication post-date, in my opinion.
And the sportscaster who kissed me so hard that my lips were bruised the next day? He didn't deserve a polite "You are soooooo great but..." message either, but that's mostly because I was rendered speechless as well as fat-lipped. He was nice and all, but I just didn't have the motivation to teach a 30 year old a skill he should have mastered in high school.
Just a few months ago, on the third date with a pilot who invited me to a birthday party for a girl he met on Match.com (unknown to me beforehand, of course), Mr. Pilot tried to pick a fight with a dude who was hitting on one of his "girl" friends, and then he proceeded to get so insanely drunk that he couldn't sign his tab. This disappointing third date that followed two previous great dates left me so shocked that I couldn't even dream of what to say to him, so I chose to dive into a virtual bunker for protection from potential post-date communication attempts.
And most recently, after a date at a Cubs game, I couldn't bear to return the messages of a burly yet baby-faced dude with a thick Boston accent and a voice of a giant, mostly because every time his messages popped up on my phone, I instantly recalled him bragging about his "sex friendly" apartment, and this made me want to barf.
But then there were other guys who have committed no such offenses that I've still chosen to ignore rather than confront. For instance, no fault can be placed on the sweet guy with the exceptionally small frame that made me feel like I was more woman than he could handle, and whose tiny hand I nearly crushed during an awkward high five moment on our date. And the boring date with whom I had one drink in 1 hour and 38 minutes cannot be blamed for his bad personality, which I likened to that of a phone book.
Ignoring bad dates makes me feel bad. But confronting them also sucks the soul out of me. Dating is rough - I've always thought so! Are there rules set somewhere in stone saying that we have to consistently suffer until we meet the One and Only who will save us from the dating war zone? Perhaps it's evolutionary that bad dates are supposed to shuffle us along into monogamy, making us want to stay there. I can deal with the bad dates, as virtually every date be considered bad until you find the right mate. But couldn't we at least agree to lighten up on the rejection process a little? For the love of all that is holy, can't we soften the blow a bit?!?
By the time we hit our 30's, I feel there should be a dating code for rejection. The universal sign for "I'm just not that into you" should simply be ceased communication. I would actually prefer if a guy dumped me via ignoring me. The last thing I want to hear is an excuse, because whatever the excuse, women are smart enough by age 30 to know it's crap. (If you haven't learned this by your 30th birthday, then you should have been held back in grade twenty something until you did learn this!) If you really like someone, you're never "too busy" or things don't "just suddenly come up." Likewise, I don't need to hear the perfunctorily delivered speech that virtually always begins with, "I like you, BUT..." No, you don't like me. Otherwise you wouldn't be including a condition in your sentence. I don't like to hear excuses, and I equally despise giving them.
Although, while I totally "get it" and can very quickly move on when it's obvious a new guy isn't interested in me, I think some people
Of course, I don't think it would ever be socially acceptable to be this blunt, nor would I have the guts to pull it off considering my tendency to play hide-and-don't-seek, but if Ms. Patty Millionaire Matchmaker features my aforementioned graph idea on one of her TV episodes, I swear I'm suing the Louboutins off of her.
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