I I love the holidays and I hate the holidays. The holidays fill me with hope, and they also fill me with despair. The holidays remind me that I am surrounded by loved ones, and they also remind me that I am far more alone in this world than I'd like to be. The holidays are filled with family, friends, lots of pretty decorations, and baking -- lots and lots of baking. The holidays are also filled what what I like to call bullshit -- lots and lots of bullshit, at least for those of us who feel compelled to live up to some culturally (and religiously)-inspired standard of what American holidays are supposed to be about -- tables filled with happy people, feasts befitting the royal family, an abundance of presents under a $150 tree, and so on, and so on. Don't get me wrong, I can think of many wonderful holidays I've spent with good food, good people and good cheer, but I can also recall quite a few spent with a mirror held up to my face showing me just how much my life hadn't turned out the way I'd hoped. Lonely holidays where I anxiously wondered if someone would invite me to join their family for a holiday meal, and broke holidays where I knew I didn't have the funds to live up to my gift-giving responsibilities (and no one embraced my "let's knit something for each other" present-theme idea).
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I had my son during Christmas break in my second year of graduate school. I decided to go back to school on the heels of a very painful divorce, which involved years of infertility, two failed In Vitro fertilizations and just as many miscarriages. Starting graduate school represented a new direction in my life, one that did not involve any remnants of my old life. I was a bit of a hot mess during that first year of school, while at the same time enjoying my newfound freedom from a crumbling marriage that was unable to survive the rigors of daily hormone injections, weekly trips to the fertility specialist and heartache; so much heartache. When I realized I was pregnant from a brief rebound relationship, I was stunned by the news, as well as the irony. I quickly cleaned up my act though and powered through the rest of my graduate studies, because I was certain that in no time at all, I'd be back on track. A traditional family life was once again on the horizon (albeit with a different husband). While I waited for Mr. Right to come into our lives, I worked full-time and attended school at night, which almost killed me. I spent most of that time racing from task to task in a where-are-my-keys-my-car-my-baby sort of haze. Every morning, seemingly without fail, I pulled out of the driveway (late, of course) baby-in-tow, with my head leaning out the car window (for the blow drying effect) and my coffee cup precariously perched on the roof of my car. So while I remained optimistic about finding Mr. Right, dating was honestly the furthest thing from my mind. 10/22/2014 1 Comment When Dating Makes Us Feel UndesireableI've noticed that a side effect of dating in midlife, particularly post-kids, far too often involves shining a flashlight on all of my perceived personality deficits and physical flaws. When I'm not dating or in a relationship I tend to be just fine with the fact that I'm not a big party person, that I have no legitimate hobbies, that I'm not very outdoorsy (my favorite outdoor activity is coming back inside), that I've never run a marathon, or that my chin is too small. Yet get me out on a first or second date, and suddenly I find myself fretting about every little shortcoming. I really should socialize more, read more, paint more, hike more, ski more, run more, bungee jump more, and really, how much could a chin implant cost? I'm not sure why, but for some reason dating seems to evoke feelings I thought I'd parted ways with in middle school; that in some indiscernible way, I just don't measure up, I'm less than, I'm "other than." Last year when I first started online dating with the serious intention of snagging a boyfriend, I had a series of really great first dates, but no second ones. I found this rather unsettling and wondered whether there was something perhaps undesirable about me that was causing this trend. This was before I developed my "online dating/car shopping" comparison theory, where online dating can create a disincentive to settling down with one person, since there's always a newer, shinier model rolling onto the lot. So I called a good friend, whom I've known since high school, and who knows me better than almost anyone else in the world, and asked for her opinion. "Tell me the truth, it is me? Maybe it's me. What's wrong with me? I think it must be me. Is it me?" She assured me that it was most certainly not me, and that she'd had similar experiences with online dating. Why does dating seem to elicit these middle-school-spawned feelings of being different, less than, or "other than," where unreasonable self-scrutiny so quickly evolves into the slippery slope of thinking if I just had, were, could, was, wasn't...then life would be just grand? A few years ago, when I first poked my head into the world of online dating, I was perplexed by the seemingly global "no drama!" admonition I was seeing on most men's profiles. As someone with a rather animated personality, I was certain that the no-drama-dating-deal-breaker and its no-emotional-baggage cousin were signs of most men's self-centered, commitment-phobic nature. In fact, I was certain of it. "Why do virtually all men's online dating profiles emphatically disavow drama?" I asked my date one evening. He responded that not all drama was good, and that there were some women out there who were carrying around excess emotional baggage, and what was worse, they were often indiscriminate in their projection of said baggage. "Well, maybe the cumulative effect of years of men's emotional unavailability coupled with their unceremonious departures results in said emotional baggage, which then causes some women to become drama queens. Did you ever think of that?" I responded to this man on our first (and last) date. Most of the women I know have spent the bulk of their lives in search of some magical relationship formula that promises a lifetime of lasting love. The formula that most women seem to have settled on, and that's supported by about 500 of our favorite romantic comedies, involves the rather traditional notion that men are by nature, hunters, and the nicer a woman is, and the more available, the more bored a man gets in a he's-just-not-that-into-you sort of way. 9/29/2014 0 Comments I Love Yoga (Pants)I love yoga. Actually, I don't just love yoga, I love, love, love yoga. I love yoga culture. I love yoga inspirational sayings. I love yoga clothing. I love the concept of mindfulness living that often accompanies the yoga practice, with its emphasis on connecting mind, body and soul. We live in a world that encourages compartmentalization, so I appreciate pondering the concept of greater interconnectedness. I love waking up in the morning and going online and reading all of the yoga-inspired quotes posted on my Facebook timeline from yogis around the world -- each sharing ways that I can unblock my Chakras and live a more balanced life. I love my beautiful mint green Lululemon yoga mat. Sure, I had to choose between paying my son's college tuition and buying this mat, but when I see it all rolled up and majestically leaning into the corner of my bedroom, gently reflecting the soft light streaming in from my window, I know I made the right choice. I love the yoga body. Strong, long, lean and healthy. I love the yoga diet. Clean and organic, with no gimmicks. 9/17/2014 0 Comments Finding Love Online After 50About 18 years ago when my son was just two years old I went out for a wonderful dinner with my father. That may not seem like something worth writing about, but it was my first dinner out without my son since he was born, and so for that reason alone, it was a really big deal. I had spent the last two years covered in baby food, baby spit, baby vomit, baby excrement, and well, just about every kind of goo associated with babyhood. And despite loving being a mom, I spent most of my time feeling tired, dirty, fat(ish), slug(ish), and was just plain wiped out. Mostly, I didn't feel like myself, and I was yearning to feel whole again, to feel attractive, to feel like me. Since I was a single mom I had no one to remind me that I was still a human being under all those layers of goo. So my father, no doubt having pity on me, offered to take me out to dinner, without my son in tow, and I joyously and graciously accepted. He even offered to watch my son while I showered! I couldn't remember the last time I'd showered alone, and actually could take the time to blow dry my hair (the back as well as the front), and put on makeup. I then did the unimaginable and dressed in real grown-up clothes - not one stitch of Spandex adorned by body. I have always been a city girl. I was born in the big city of Los Angeles, and I've stuck close to big cities ever since, because, well, I have always been a city girl. Despite never having fulfilled my dream of living on the bustling island of Manhattan, so far in addition to Los Angeles, I've lived in San Diego, Denver, Seattle, and now Chicago. I have always loved the energy of big cities -- the lights, the diverse people, the sounds, and the non-stop activity. And while I know that being a city girl doesn't necessarily need to be juxtaposed to being a nature girl, for me it always has been -- I've loved big cities, and I'm not a necessarily a fan of nature. Don't get me wrong, I love the outdoors, as long as excessive heat and insects aren't involved. In fact, my favorite way to enjoy the outdoors is with a giant piece of glass between me, and "the elements." Truth be told, the outdoors (i.e. nature) scares me. Open spaces scare me. Dark skies scare me. Nature-dwelling critters scare me. An open road with large creatures with springs for legs jumping into my car's path scare me. I probably wouldn't have been so anti-nature if every time I ventured into it, something didn't try to hurt (aka kill) me. Ever since the Internet was created, I've been using it to dig up all sorts of information on everyone I know. I can't help it; it's in my nature. Well, let's admit it, we've all Googled our friends and neighbors, and creeped on others' Facebook pages. But in my case, it's worse, and at times I have worried that perhaps I've crossed the line and might be in serious need of an intervention. In my defense, I have used my cybersleuthing powers for good plenty of times. For instance, I have diagnosed numerous friends and family with all sorts of psychological and physical disorders (for their own good). And once I tracked down the email address of a Vietnamese gang member who stole my debit card and used it to set up a music download site (thank you Register.com and WHOIS.com), and then signed him up for every "verse of the day" website I could find (figured he could use some spiritual guidance). I found cybersleuthing to be very handy when I started online dating. We all know the dangers of meeting someone on the Internet. We've heard story after story of people falling in love with a virtual mirage -- a handsome young man turns out to be a fat old guy living in his mother's basement, sitting in front of a computer with his shorts around his ankles. Or a beautiful young woman turns out to be a fat old guy living in in his mother's basement, sitting in front of a computer with his shorts around his ankles. 7/17/2014 0 Comments Dear Mr. Online DaterSince venturing into the world of online dating, I’ve perused hundreds (okay, maybe thousands) of online profiles.I find myself consistently baffled by what I find in many men’s online profiles. (Picture me scratching my head while cocking my head slightly to the side as I squint at my laptop screen). So, I’ve taken the liberty of writing a generic letter to all men who are searching for quality women online with the hope that they will clean up their collective acts, and then we can all get on with the business of finding our one true love. Dear Mr. Online Dater, Since you are trying to attract women, not men, I am baffled by the number of fish photos I see on your profile. I do not care, (nor do I believe most women care), that you caught a 16 inch smallmouth bass. Delete these photos, now. A brief mention of your love of sports is fine, but again, you are attempting to appeal to women, not your buddies, thus boasting that you spend every single weekend watching sports, and selecting the username “Iluvdabears13,” “#1Hawksfan,” or “Cubbies4life,” sends the wrong message, plain and simple. Also, posting 13 photos of the last White Sox game you attended without you in any of them doesn’t appeal to me, or most women I’d guess. Number one rule of online dating: know your audience.I can’t say it any clearer than this: Do not post any selfies looking into your bathroom mirror, period. Seeing a man standing next to an open toilet, or even a toilet paper dispenser is an immediate turn off. Take a selfie the way that everyone else in the world does, by selecting the reverse camera view on your smartphone, extending your arm, pointing and clicking. I recently decided to join the ranks of millions of midlife online daters and joined the world of Match.com.I was more than a little excited (as well as somewhat nervous) about the prospect of finding someone to date (after more than a decade of self-imposed “I’m-busy-raising-my-son” dating hiatus). Before I could find my one true love though, I had to create my personal online profile. And because it’s been years since I really thought of myself in any objective way, describing myself in a manner that would 1) accurately represent who I really am, and 2) attract suitors, was no easy task. On most online dating websites the profile consists of a series of practical questions, such as basic demographic information like age, marital status, education level, cultural background, religion and several questions that allow a narrative response where members get to expound on what their friends have told them about themselves. So I poured myself a glass of wine, and settled in for what I thought was going to be about 5 or 10 minutes of tedium before I got to the juicy part—picking the man of my dreams. Read the rest on Elephantjournal.com When my son left for college this fall, I decided it was time to consider the possibility of dating again.I made this decision because I’m lonely (I know it’s very unfashionable to admit this); whenever I see cute couples walking down the street holding hands I find myself tempted to run them off the road with my car; and my most compelling reason, I don’t want to die alone. I’d been so busy working full-time, raising my son as a single parent, and going to school that I just didn’t have time to give dating much serious consideration, but when I found myself alone after so many years of controlled chaos I realized that I had a choice—I could passively allow life to happen to me (i.e., gain 50 lbs. while laying on the couch watching BravoTV), or I could take proactive control of my life by grabbing the proverbial bull by the horns, and carefully and considerately, craft the life I want to live. And since I am petrified that the inevitability posed by Nora Ephron’s character Harry to his new friend Sally, (When Harry Met Sally) may actually be my reality: “Suppose nothing happens to you. Suppose you lived out your whole life and nothing happens, you never meet anybody, you never become anything, and finally you die in one of those New York [aka Chicago] deaths which nobody notices for two weeks until the smell drifts into the hallway,” I decided to take the plunge that millions of other adults in midlife are taking, and I joined Match.com. Read the rest here on Elephantjournal.com |
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