Tag: love

Greetings

On By KathleenIn insights/observations, relationshipsLeave a comment

I’m an awkward hugger.

There, I’ve said it. The truth is out there. That cheerful, wide-arm approach when I see you is really brimming with fear at the thought of how we’re about to say hello. There’s a hug on the horizon and I’m going to try not to headbutt you in the process.

I didn’t realize how hug-challenged I was until college. All of a sudden the universal greeting among new-found friends was some sort of exuberant embrace. The hug would actually begin several feet away — the person walking my way would throw their arms wide, warning me  that they expected contact. I’d try to respond with equal enthusiasm, only to fumble with arm position and head placement once inside the “hug zone.” One arm up, one arm down? Both arms up? Both arms down? Full wrap around? One arm only? Pat on the back? Head to the right? Head to the left? Let them break first? Or make a quick exit?

If positioning and timing aren’t cause enough for concern, there’s a handful of other things I’m self-conscious about when heading into a hug. There’s often a purse or a bag that has to be repositioned and then there’s always the fear that, if I’ve been walking around a lot, that my anti-persperiant has failed me. I have a lot of hair, it’s thick and some what curly, I rarely try to reign it in — anyone who gets near enough to hug me is guaranteed to get a face full of it.

And then what about the added cheek kiss? I’ve never fully understood how to engage with this. I’ve accidentally landed “mwahs” on the ears of guy friends who were taken aback by the out of character greeting. “no that wasn’t a nibble. That was bad distance management.”

Surely, “Hellos” shouldn’t cause this much anxiety.

I thought maybe the French-style kiss on each cheek would be great replacement for the hello hug, but then I realized there are just as many variables to consider when engaging (and when the opposite sex is concerned, far many more opportunities to send “mixed” messages).

So, after hundreds of hugs that lead to near concussions and jammed fingers, I’ve settled on a universal approach: my head to the right, the left arm up, the right arm down.

I warn you now, so the next time we say hello, you’ll aim left.

“All truly great thoughts are conceived by walking”

On By KathleenIn Dating, insights/observations, romanceLeave a comment

I believe in walking.  I walk with purpose, even when I’m walking simply for walking sake. I walk briskly, even when I have no where in particular to go. And I walk daily, whether around the town or up and down my backyard. It’s about the fresh air, it’s about the calorie burn, it’s about “setting up house in the heart of the multitude, amid the ebb and flow” of the city, it’s mostly about the escape.

One of the things I like about traveling abroad is that I get to see the world by foot. A plane and a car may get me to a city, but once I’m there, it’s my feet that take me for a wander down streets, through museums, and across parks. A few weeks ago I was in Germany during the worst part of the year, the most “off” of the tourist off-season. Despite the cold and the snow, feet were still the most efficient mode of transportation. Heading out at dusk to grab dinner, I was rather taken with what seemed to be a widespread evening ritual. Husbands and wives, bundled up and out on the street, walking arm in arm. The couples were mostly “older” (>40) and never seemed like they had any particular place to be. I was in one town for 3 dinners, and each night the same husband and wife would tip their hats to me as I headed out for some Saxon potato soup.

Maybe this isn’t a German phenomenon, but if couples head out arm in arm daily at dusk in New York City, it certainly never stood out to me before. Holding hands? Yes, I’ve seen that a lot. But hand-holding is ephemeral. Arm in arm is a more committed and sturdy physical union, and it’s a NYC rarity. But maybe that’s because  people in the Big Apple seem to move too fast to walk arm in arm with anyone else.

So by the 4th German city and the 8th German dusk, I had got to thinking…

Carrie Bradshaw wanted someone to stand still with (skip to 7:39), but I think it’s nicer to have someone to walk with. Someone who doesn’t mind ambling 7 blocks with you to get a latte, even when the best cup of joe on the Upper West Side can be easily found at the cafe not 15 meters from your front door. Yes, it’s a lovely idea to have someone to walk with. Not next to, but with — arm in arm, heading down the same road together, both leading and supporting one another as you travel through the day and into the night.

Board Games & The Brothers Grimm, or, When I believed Happily-Ever-After Meant Tiffany’s and Vera Wang

On By KathleenIn Dating, romance1 Comment

In 1993, I was 8 and Cadco had just released “The Perfect Wedding” — a simple game where 2-4 giggly girls roll dice to move florescent engagement rings around a heart-shaped board. Each roll brings the future blushing bride to a square labeled “ring,” “dress,” “cake,” “music,” “reception,” “flowers,” “honeymoon,” or “tuxedo” where she then use her allotted budget to assemble the wedding of her prepubescent dreams. I played “The Perfect Wedding” with the same vigor and competitive edge that I approached more weighty games like Clue and Monopoly — I had a clear idea of what I wanted for “the most important day of my life.” I was going to have my red rose bouquet, string quartet, cushion-cut diamond, and sweetheart crinoline-confection of a dress, and I was not willing to compromise.

I had totally forgotten about this game and completely blocked out that phase of my childhood when I used to have “practice” weddings and design my future bridesmaids’ dresses. Today, an unwelcomed flashback through my younger years reminded me that once upon a time, I was a true-blue, diehard, unshakable romantic.

the dress an 8-year old me wanted to get married in

Oh! To go back to the days when I could draw my “soulmate” for you on a piece of paper! To go back to the days when a daydream wrapped in white lace and set to the tune of “Here Comes the Bride” was fantasy enough! How simple young girls are, how pure our vision of love and how ready we are to believe that happily-ever-afters means eternal perfection!

For 17 years “The Perfect Wedding” has been gathering dust in my toy-box (ironically, a 19th century dowry chest), and with it, so has my eight-year-old’s vision of romance ever lasting. I shelved daydreaming about engagement rings and white dresses a long time ago. Don’t get me wrong, send me into Tiffany’s and I’ll beeline right to that legacy band, but today I’m what I would call a Pragmatic Romantic.

I don’t envision being swept off my feet anymore by a prince charming type, though, I do believe that a significant other should feel like an escape from the ho-hum of la vie quotidienne. I’d rather have a Prince Albert than a Prince Charming anyway. I can’t draw you a picture of Mr. Right anymore, but I can describe, pretty well, what values/likes/dislikes I’d prefer him to have.  I don’t have delusions of finding my one true soulmate and living out the remainder of my days in trouble-free, blissful peace. I could keep going, but it’s not important. The punchline is that at 24, I’m already more of a Alex Goran than a Natalie Keener.*

the grown-up me prefers an understated Valentino (perhaps in a tea-rose pink?)

Don’t worry, I’m not jaded yet — I’ve got at least another 5 years before I hit jaded. There’s still a romantic in me. I still cry every time Big and Carrie stand on that bridge in Paris and he tells her, “Carrie, you’re the one.”  And I will have red roses at my wedding — I can promise you that much. Whether or not my dress is white, well, the dice have yet to be rolled on that one.

——-

Not All Broken Hearts Are Created Equal

On By KathleenIn Breakups, DatingLeave a comment

Last night, my dearest male friend phoned me for a long overdue catchup. Once we moved through the requisite “the way we live now” summaries, the conversation turned to diamonds. Yes, those kinds of diamonds. Earlier in the week, one of his coworkers had “popped the question” and suddenly found himself a fiance to a fiancee. His coworker’s news set off an alarm — now firmly settled in Los Angeles, with his own longtime squeeze readying herself to join him and armed with a bonus to be put towards a mortgage on their first home, my Main Mellow Man’s own engagement had become eminent. Understandably, the boy had bling on the brain.

His phone call and the excessive number of bridal magazines accosting me at the Whole Food checkout counter this morning were glaring reminders that February is a month for declarations of love and promises of everlasting devotion.

Well…maybe not for everyone.

those out of the blue ex emails are just another stab to the heart

Only a few days earlier, another dear friend called with some relationship news of her own. She had received an email from her ex-boyfriend. They hadn’t spoken since he had abruptly and badly broken up with her. It wasn’t a post-it note break up, but in many ways it was far worse. 5 months had passed and she was finally settling into the freedom of her new singleton status. The attempt to reestablish contact stormed her inbox without warning. It was a “mustard gas” email and she was ill-equipped for the attack.

The email sought absolution for his sins —  he felt guilty for being so selfish. The email was apologetic — he was sorry, so sorry, for ending their 5-year romance without having voiced his concerns about their “problems.” The email sought her sympathy — the silence eradicated their entire relationship, and he didn’t want to do that, after all, some of those years had been good years. The email, with its saccharin  sting, was the meanest thing he could have possibly done.

When she showed me the email, in an understandable fit of panic, I had this awful sense of deja vu. The story was all too familiar: terrible break-ups initiated by the guy. Several months of silence — usually demanded by the “injured” female. Then the email from the ex-boyfriend attempting to reestablish contact. The language is the same — from the apology to the request for some sort of response, even if negative. I’d seen it all before — in my own inbox and in the inboxes of too many of my girlfriends. Don’t these guys understand that no apology is going to let them off the hook? They don’t get to stop being the bad guy in the story of “us.” They gave up their right to absolution when they told us they didn’t love us anymore.

When a relationship ends, the power dynamic changes. In theory, while a couple is together there is no dominate “leader” — both parties exercise equal responsibilities. Of course, we know this isn’t true. There’s usually one person who makes more demands on the relationship than the other; one person who needs to have his/her way, who needs more support, etc. And more often than naught, it’s this lack of symbiosis that is the root cause of a breakup. So half of couple decides they want out. At the moment of the breakup, the initiator of the end is fully in control — after all, they got to close the book on the preceding months or years. Once things are over, however, the one left with the broken heart takes the reins. The person who ended the relationship has to respect that they no longer have a say the course of the relationship.

“As the initiator of my breakup, I certainly feel like that position comes with certain responsibilities,” a trusted, and shall I say enlightened, male friend told me. “Mainly, these are straightforward– following the principle of, if you’re gonna break someone’s heart, don’t do things to make your ex’s life even worse…There are things that only my ex really knows about me, or understands, but that doesn’t mean it’s ok for me to call and lean on her, no matter what kind of a spot I’m in… ‘please talk to me, I think about you all the time’ just isn’t allowed.”

Get that fellas?

It’s doesn’t matter if it’s a quarter after one, or if you’re a little drunk, if you walked out that door you just don’t get to say you need us now.

woops! I’m behind schedule… way

On By KathleenIn Dating, New York City2 Comments

When I was 13,  I had my palm read. “You will have many boyfriends,” the psychic told me, “but there will always be one great love, one soulmate for you.” That started the wheels turning. By the time I got home, I had my life-plan all mapped out.  I was going to be married at 25 to that soulmate — ideally, someone I had met at college, hopefully an ivy league college — and towing behind me as I walked down the aisle would be a slew of broken-hearted former lovers.

I hit the 24-mile mark about a month ago and while I was blowing out candles, someone I knew in high school announced her engagement to a guy she met in college. So what about me? What about my schedule… was I engaged at 24, as my life-plan implied? Was there a trail of broken hearts behind me?

Yea…no. Life-plan major Fail.

Why is it that psychics are always so vague? “Boyfriend” and “boy friend”  are homonyms with very different meanings. “Boyfriend” is a term that implies dates, physical and emotional intimacy, lingerie, red roses and the glint of diamonds. “Boy friend” connotes sports bars, sports bras, ball busting, ballgames and platonic nights out. If she had been clearer with her meaning, I would have been better equipped to deal with the next ten years…

I went through college with a 3:1 ratio of male friends to female friends. I spent more time at neighborhood sports bars than I did at Manhattan’s trendy night clubs. By my senior year,  Friday night outings and  foggy Sunday brunches were passed with a group of about 5-7 guys. Girls’ Night Out didn’t exist on my social calendar. The reasons for this were manifold — most of my female friends had boyfriends and were too busy being girlfriends to be friends; it was more fun hanging out with guys because my guy friends and I talked about everything and anything except “boys.”  We’d talk about relationships, if there were ones to talk about, but never was there the ridiculous sharing and analysis of the minute details of a brief conversation with a crush. Guy friends felt safe — they weren’t going to steal my boyfriend.

Yet, while I had a slew of men around me, I managed to make my way through college and most of grad school never having a serious boyfriend. No broken-hearted exes to carry on the train of a white gown. And so, I had to shelf the plan an over-ambitious 13 year old me conjured. The psychic may have been onto something, but I sure would have appreciated it if she had given me a better idea of when this soulmate fella was going to show up.