Identity Solutions

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Writing has been hard for me lately.  Sitting in front of my computer on Monday nights has turned in to pulling teeth.  I essentially have to isolate myself, and limit distractions in order to get anything out.  Even then, it's difficult to focus.  About every 1.5 sentences I stop to check my phone, pick at my split ends, or play with my cat. It's become a slow going, painstaking, process, and I've been quite distressed about it.

See, I conceptualize myself as a writer.  Clicking keys to make meaningful materials has nearly always come easily to me.  Writer's block freaks me out.  It screws with my identity, and makes me question my understanding of myself and who I am.  Writing is how I process my world.  Without writing, I feel confused and unfocused.  So, naturally I've been concerned about my most recent bout of writer's block.

Last week I began to ponder my three month long impediment.  Rather than fixate on my overwhelming sense of curiosity about why I wasn't writing, I started to think about my most prolific periods, and I discovered something peculiar.  My best writing is often regarding a topic that has given me a degree of mental anguish.  Bursts of frequent essays on a variety of topics often spring up during periods of my life characterized by transition, identity crisis, and general lifetime turmoil.  I knitted my eyebrows as I processed this information; not quite sure what to do with it.  Until it occurred to me that maybe I'm not writing because I'm happy.

Conciliation

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It's astounding how difficult it is to get heads and hearts on the same page. Encapsulated in the same body, our two most vital organs are not far from one another. They're practically neighbors situated on the same northern end of our anatomy. Yet, the two regularly seem at odds with one another.

So often, we find ourselves mediating arguments between our brains and chests. We express confusion at the recognition that what we know differs greatly from how we feel. We startle or act impulsively when we want what we know we should not, and our beliefs frequently stop us from pursuing what seems right.

We tell each other how to cope with this disconnect all the time. Slow down. Listen to your heart. Think it through, we say. It's all very wise and thoughtful advice. If only our souls could hear it.

Reconciling minds and hearts is not easily done. It's a fool's errand in which what you want and what you need are rarely running in the same direction. Yet we keep trying. We strive each day for that perfect world scenario when our heads and our hearts finally agree and we can live in peace. If there is such a thing.

Focal Points

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One of the first things they teach in dance classes is how to spot your turns. "Find a speck on the wall, and stare at it," said every dance instructor ever. "When you're ready," they explained. "Let your head go first. Find the spot with your eyes, and your body will follow."

I remember, as a little girl, spending hours identifying a single fixed point on an adjacent wall. Staring at that spot, I would rise to my tippy-toes, lift one leg, and whip my head around as fast as I could. Each time I hoped that my eyes would remain fixed on that preselected speck, but frequently they wouldn't. I failed often as I attempted to learn this skill. I would lose my balance, teeter, and tip over. Understandably, I found this frustrating.

Eventually, I figured out that focusing on one spot in a semi-distant space was actually serving a purpose. Steadying my gaze seemed to give me balance. That provided the stability required for movements. However, having that down isn't enough. Whipping my head around with no continued focus, left me without direction. My brain lacked proper input to tell my body where to go. I could balance, but I would veer off randomly. I had to know where I was going before making the shift.

Later in life I learned to drive, and dealt with a similar issue. Petrified over the responsibility of operating heavy machinery, I focused my attention on the front of the car. Hoping never to strike anything, I sputtered through this learning process. I zigged through parking lots, and zagged down neighborhood streets. Slowly careening around isolated areas, I thought I'd never make it to a real road.

My steadfast parents however, knew otherwise. They ignored my teenage melodrama, and repeatedly reminded me to shift my gaze further down the road. This made no sense to me at the time. I often wondered how I was to get anywhere without knowing what was directly in front of me. So, imagine my delight when I discovered that they actually did know what they were talking about. Watching the road ahead informed my driving. It allowed me to see where I was going, and told me what was headed my way.

As I have illustrated, this bit of advice is reiterated frequently:

Head up. Keep a weather eye the horizon. Look ahead.

It's all very useful advice. The body follows the eyes. Looking down the road prepares you for what is to come. Although, it is pretty easy to forget this. The present is more immediate. It is, after all, happening now and it seems as though you must deal with it as it comes to you, but having a goal is important.

You must identify where you are going in order to get there. You have got to look ahead, and prepare before you take your steps. Focusing on the distant future gives you the guidance required to maneuver this world. It's a practice that affords you the balance to deal with what's in front of you while also helping steer your life in the right direction.

Big Girls Don't Cry

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This past weekend I went out to a karaoke bar with friends. I had some delicious beverages, and observed complete strangers make a mockery of themselves. After a couple brief hours, I called it a night in favor of my bed and a good night's rest before an early morning. While waiting in line to close out my tab, a rather inebriated young gentlemen wandered aimlessly in my direction. He stopped in front of me, and gaped.

"Are you even old enough to be here?" he inquired with genuine concern in his voice.

Though I assured him that I had been "old enough" to be there for the better part of a decade, the man remained suspicious.

"You look like you're 12!" he argued with me.
"I'm not," I responded abruptly, but he persisted. He went on and on about his misperception of my age. I simply stood there speechless, staring daggers at him, until a nearby friend came over.
"You are not making friends right now," she said. "You need to say something nice, and leave."
"It's just that you look..."
"Think about it," I urged him.
"...like you have a wonderful smile."
"Nice job turning it around," I affirmed. "You should probably go now."

With that he was gone, but his words still linger in my brain.

For the most part, I have pretty thick skin. However, those who know me well, know that being older than I look is one of my truly sensitive areas. And it gets picked on quite frequently. In the past year, I have been called pet names, offered children's menus, had solicitors ask if my mom is home, and had the validity of my ID questioned on numerous occasions. People hear me talk about school and want to know what grade I'm in or what college I'll be attending. In the past, my adolescent clients have asked if I was a teacher or a student, and my child clients have told me I look more like a kid than an adult. The general population seems to struggle with categorizing my appearance, and they all feel the need to share that difficulty with me.

I wish I were tougher. I wish these observations didn't get to me as much as they do. I want to be able to confidently stand up to the world and say, "so I'm short and I've got a mad case of the baby face. No need to make a formal report. It's not like this is news to me. I do own a mirror." Sometimes I even try this, but I lack the most key component: confidence.

I act all resilient and talk a big game about it not bothering me, but the truth is that this infuriates me. See, I believe that life is a long journey of self discovery and growth. I write about growing up so often, because I think that's what we're all trying to do. Myself included.

I'm trying so hard to grow up, to become the mature, poised, and competent woman I know I can be. I'm desperately seeking opportunities to prove professionally, socially, and personally that I am an adult. I constantly feel like I'm ready to start my life. I want a career. I want love. I want a family. I want to move on from adolescent angst and finally feel comfortable in my own skin.

Though well-intended, all of the jokes, comments, and assurances that "one day I'll like it," seem to be forming a barricade in my own development process. When others see me as juvenile, it stunts my personal growth. Even if only for a moment, I loose any progress I've made in life in a regression back to my early insecurities.

I mean, I get it. I look young. But, I can't do anything about my appearance. My hands are tied behind my back on that. All I can do is recite my birth date repeatedly, and hope that one day someone will believe me.

I Must Not Tell Lies

I don't believe in good and bad.

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There is goodness and badness, but I don't believe the two qualities exist in vacuums independent from one another. I think that is too black and white for this confusing world of grey. It seems fairly obvious to me that the two are interconnected. So many of the bad behaviors in this world are informed by good things.

Traits like conviction, passion, strength, and love are widely believed to be positive attributes. However these qualities, and others like them, can takeover a person's whole world. They can become powerful enough to influence terrible actions.

Many people find it easy to holistically declare a person malevolent based on what they have done, but for me it's not so simple. I see people for their morals, values, and conduct. I'm hesitant to speak to the motives of another when they have not been explicitly shared with me, and I'm skeptical about the existence of pure evil in this world.

Broken Moments

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Like most girls, I experimented with "dating" during my early adolescence. I called boys on the phone, sat next to them in the cafeteria, visited them at their houses, and even let a few lucky ones kiss me on my front porch. Together we ignorantly applied boyfriend/girlfriend labels to explain our hallway hand-holding, and we escorted one another to coed spirit dances.

In my mind, this was all very serious. I believed I cared deeply for each of these boys. I was sure every one of them was The One. When these infantile romances fizzled out I was convinced it was a travesty.

Looking back, this reaction amuses me. My responses seem so silly and forced now. I was merely acting something I had expected. I had formed an archetype for romantic relationships and shoved whatever cutie I could into the heartthrob role. Together we'd put on a play about union and happily ever after. Then we would call it quits when we tired of that particular script. I'd end the whole show like a proper tragedy; acting distraught over love lost. I'd belly ache about my broken heart (even penning a few stanzas).

On the surface I'd seem melancholy, but deep inside I knew I was fine. I was aware that nothing had really changed. I was who I always had been. It was safe to behave this way because I hadn't truly lost anything.

Then, during my later teens, I stopped playing at relationships, and started actually having them. At 15, my first real boyfriend came along. My first real break-up followed a year later. I remember it distinctly because the sensation was more vivid than any other split I'd experienced.

The weather was moderate that winter afternoon. So, he had invited me for a walk. We strolled in silence for some time. As the tension built, I became aware that something had shifted. When he began "the talk," my nerves danced and my stomach dropped.

I can't remember if he initiated the final blow, or if I identified it as the thus unstated option. Regardless of the build up, I was startled when the words were finally released. In that brief moment, with that small and quickly stated sentence, something changed between us. In one single instance, my perception was completely altered. Though still side-by side and rubbing shoulders as we walked, we were no longer an us. It was over. He knew it, and I knew it. Our bond had broken, and the air we now breathed seemed somehow different.

All of my break-ups since have had a similar moment in which, no matter who instigated it, the end instantly fell upon us like that. Each time I'm amazed by the power of these moments. It still baffles me how just a few puffs of air can alter your whole world view. One look, a tilt of the head, or even a slight tone can put something out there that instantly forces a new reality without physically changing anything.

Asocial Networks

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Today, while riding the train home, I watched a teenage couple flirt with one another. Without touching, they sat next to each other red-faced and enthusiastic about their conversation. A distinct inch of space was visible at all times between their oddly stationary bodies as they giggled about the latest gossip. Their innocence was refreshing amidst a crowded car full of an exhausted workforce, and listening to their conversations made me smile with reminiscence.

However, when I turned to observe what they were discussing, I realized neither one was making eye contact with the other. Their bodies were hunched and kyphotic while their blank gazes stared at screens in their palms.

Upon further investigation, I realized that their conversation was entirely centered around a cyber world. The duo discussed dynamics between virtual friends and situations that had taken place online without any physical interface. As they began to narrow the conversation to their own lives, the discussion revolved around what kinds of things were "too stupid to post" and who each should "follow" or "retweet."

From my vantage point, any relating here was minimal. Neither could see the mutual attraction that was evident in their blushing cheek, and any awareness of the tension that pulsated in that one inch electric field between them went unacknowledged. They were missing the whole experience.

The whole thing reminded me of a similar duo I had observed just days before. I had gone to the theater with my mother and sister, and was fortunate enough to watch a powerfully evocative piece of musical theater. The first act moved me to tears, and the break left the three of us craving more. However, not everyone felt the need to share their thoughts and reactions during the intermission.

The older couple seated directly in front of us, spent the entirety of the intermission on their phones, both logged into the same social networking site. Any sharing they did do, went in the form of leaning over and pointing at their own device. Like the first duo, this couple exhibited a complete lack of eye-contact and minimal physical acknowledgment of the other.

I'm seeing this more and more. Morning and evening commuters blankly stare at their phones each day as they wait for the train to hit their stop. Café patrons pull up screens as they drink, dividing their tables into private cubicles for social networking. Even red lights induce text-writing and tweet checking. This technologically advancing world is quickly pulling us away from one another.

Frankly, I find it depressing. I miss the days when families sat around the dinner table discussing their days without plugging into a device. I miss those awkward moments that cause us such stress when we accidentally make eye-contact with a stranger on the train. Mostly, I miss being truly bored.

We're forgetting what it's like to just sit without feeling the need to check in with our entire social circle. We're losing the ability to gain information from another person without immediately searching for the source. We are missing the real world as it passes us by.

I'm What?

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Recently one of my married friends told me she had forgotten what it was like to be single. Then, she asked me to fill her in on the lifestyle. Instinctively, I replied "how should I know?"

The answer should seem obvious, but I was genuinely perplexed by the question. I honestly don't think of myself as a single lady. This is bizarre, because I am one. I have to remind myself of this on a pretty regular basis. Otherwise, I forget to make an effort. I don't forget about dating, or interacting with attractive men. This is not the issue. What I seem to loose track of is the idea that I have to put myself out there (wherever that is).

Most of this comes back to my comfort level. I am comfortable in my social bubble. It's nice and reassuring in here. My friends are cool, and everyone likes me well enough. I know how to be myself in this space. And, more importantly, I like myself in this space. Despite my extreme difficulty with decision making of all kind (seriously, ask my sister what I'm like at meal times), I do pretty well on my own. Sure, I call my parents a lot, but I know how to find my own solutions and I can tackle problems in my social bubble. I can even appreciate my appearance and take myself out on a date (I love a solo dinner and a movie!).

Aside from the satisfaction of essentially being in a relationship with myself, I also forget about trying to date because I've never really had to. I've never needed to advertise my availability. Every relationship that I have been in has sort of just developed, and I honestly think that's how it should be. What little attempt I have made to put myself out there has resulted in an incredible amount of anxiety. There's too much concern about how I should dress, what I should and shouldn't say, when to contact who, and don't even get me started on the paying etiquette!

It's too much effort, and I don't appreciate the neuroticism that develops from presenting myself for judgment by a virtual stranger. I'm not perfect, but who is? I'm comfortable with who I am. Why should I care what some random dude thinks? I'm not a salesperson, and I don't care to pitch my positive traits while hiding my flaws. In fact, I'm equally embarrassed by and proud of my imperfections. They are the amusing ingredients to the recipe that is me. That's why, I'll openly share them with anyone who cares to hear (and some who don't).

However, I realize the paradox in my situation. Finding an eventual partner seems nearly impossible when I consider that all of the above results in my forgetting that I'm single.

Listening to the Music

Sometimes I joke that my iPod is prophetic. It seems to just get me. This is remarkable because I generally leave it on the main library and have it shuffle through songs. I don't interact with it much more than to press play and pause, but for whatever reason, it seems to go through themes that resonate with my mood. Say what you will about projection. I'm going to stick with my theory. It's more fun.

With my main iPod out of commission I've had to listen to the radio more. This process involves scanning between certain stations. I listen to the music regardless of what it is. When I hear talking I move on. I generally don't select out for songs I find distasteful. Despite this mostly random procedure, I'm beginning to notice that my radio also seems to be picking up on my mood and reflecting it back. (Yes I know what projecting is. Now stop harping on it, and use your imagination with me).

I'm starting to feel that, on some cosmic level, a message is being communicated to me through random music sources. For instance last Thursday, on my drive home from class, the first station played Somebody That I Used To Know. I rocked out in my proper style. When it was over a commercial forced me to change stations. I was pleasantly surprised to hear I Got You Babe playing on the next one. It was an unexpected experience amplified by the sense of calm that came over me. My message was immediately clear:

You're on the right track.

For obvious reasons, both songs made me think of my love life. Specifically, I thought of my recent decision to take a dating hiatus. This may seem like peculiar timing given the upcoming romantic holiday. Who knows? Maybe I'll give up. I do waver occasionally, but mostly I'm pretty good with it. After all, I just don't have the energy to put into it right now

So much of my world is caught up in self-awareness and analysis, and now more so than ever. School has me focusing on my social interactions, refining my methods of communicating, and developing my professional persona. In the meantime it's all I can do to hang on to myself. Don't worry, I'm okay with it. It's a necessary step, and I acknowledge that. However, it means that I have countless roles and versions of myself to maintain. This just seems like too many Mindys. Plus they all require upkeep or personal growth. It's a lot of work, and it's a lot of feeling discouraged by my incremental improvements. It's overwhelming, and coping with it is difficult. All I can think to do is put one of me on the back burner for a while. Dating Mindy made the most sense.

I'm not really getting anywhere in the dating realm anyhow. This lack of progress can be rather defeating. It's difficult to focus my energy on putting the most attractive version of myself out there only to have it fall flat. It's so easy to interpret that as feeling like I'm not worthy or appealing, and I know this isn't true. That's why I've decided to stop doing it for now. If someone comes along to pursue me that's fine. I'll be receptive to it. However, I'm not going to try anymore. Right now I'm going to work on me.

After all, the radio has a point: For the time being, that guy I had been searching for is a thing of the past. He's somebody I used to know. What matters now is that I've got me, babe.

Young "Love"

I met him at school. In the fifth grade. He sat on the other side of the room, but his piercingly bright eyes caught mine. He had freckles like me, and there was something about his quiet demeanor that drew me in. Only...I kept my distance.

In my mind, we were together all the time. We were closer than anyone has possibly ever been with another human being. In reality, I had no idea who he was. I'd never even heard his voice.

How does a 10 year old girl deal with this kind of fantasy? It's so logical. Obviously, she writes a note to the girl who sits in front of her, folds it up in an intricate pattern, hides it in the pencil sharpener that they share, and passes it forward.

My memory isn't strong enough to recall what the note said, but it must have been something like:

"♥ I think Brandon is the cutest boy in the whole world!!! Please don't tell anyone!!! If you do I'll just die!!!!♥" 

Roughly translated, according to the social structure of preadolescence girls, this meant: "please make sure everyone knows this so I don't actually have to do any of the work myself."

It worked like a charm. By the end of the day, my cheeks had taken on a deep shade of red that was beginning to seem permanent, but he knew about my feelings. I sat forward in my desk, back straight. I knew I was being watched, but I refused to give in. I had to pretend I was clueless. After school, my sharpener-sharing friend let me know she had also given him my phone number. I reacted as though I was mortified, but inside I was exhilarated.

Sometime later, I received a phone call. A mile between us, we sat together in silence. We held the phones to our ears, and relished in the perpetual quiet. Every few minutes one of us would briefly describe something that had just happened, but no actual conversation occurred. The call ended when one of our families explained it was meal time.

Just before hanging up he asked, "will you be my girlfriend?"
My response was a deeply profound, "I guess so."

You'd think this experience would have changed our relationship, but you'd be wrong. The rest of the school year went on like this. The two of us avoiding one another like the plague, pretending we were unaware that anything had happened. Our classmates teased us for being "boyfriend and girlfriend." Then we would go home, call one another on the phone, and sit together in awkward silence for hours. Occasional, innocent gifts and self-made cards on notebook paper were exchanged with flushed faces and a deliberate absence of eye contact. Mostly, nothing happened.

Then, one day, between long periods of quiet, he asked me to go to the movies with him. My mom drove me there with a friend. We sat next to one another in uncomfortable and forced poses attempting to convey nonchalance.  After the credits rolled, we said goodbye and ran towards our family cars.

Summer came and went, and we were 6th graders before we knew it. Our classes were on opposite ends of the new school. We never saw one another, but still the title remained. Our phone calls continued, though with decreasing frequency. It was becoming increasingly clear that I didn't know who this boy was. Like, at all. Never did.

All the same, he was my "boyfriend." We had decreed it, and so it must be.

Finally, one day I received a phone call. I sat on the floor in the dining room, doing my homework, listening to this complete stranger breathe. In the background, I heard one of his parents call him to dinner. He explained that he needed to go, but first he wanted to tell me something. My heart inexplicably skipped a beat.

"Okay?" I encouraged.
"Um..." he stalled. Then he took a big breath and quickly sputtered out, "I don't like you no more."
"Oh," I responded, somewhat bewildered. "Okay."

Then we hung up. I stared at the phone for a few minutes, confused. This was it. My first break-up, and I had been dumped. I should be sad, I thought to myself. Except, I wasn't. I was a little disappointed that I hadn't thought of it first, but mostly I was amused.

Slowly, I got to my feet, and walked into the kitchen where my mom was preparing dinner. I must have looked dazed, because she asked "what's up?"

"Brandon just broke up with me," I explained, trying to force tears, but failing.

My mom put down what was in her hands to ask how I felt about it.

I shook my head and told her, "he said: 'I don't like you no more!'"  I stopped to let out a quiet chuckle. Then I continued, "What a moron! He can't even string together a decent sentence!"

"THAT'S MY GIRL!" I hear my dad call from a nearby room.

Romantic Blindness

I assume that there is a man flirting with me somewhere in this vision test, but I just can't see it.

Apparently I don't know how to tell if someone is interested in me.  It's like a kind of blindness.  I just don't see it.

For years, I thought that no one had ever hit on me. Then I started thinking about this, and at the risk of sounding conceited (which I definitely am not), this seems improbable. I mean, it's a numbers game.  I don't exactly know the formula, but it must be something like (disclaimer the following formula is entirely made up and does not reflect any actual scientific laws of dating. I mean let's face it, I'm not exactly an expert here):

(my age + the amount of men living in my area ÷ by the number of times I go outside of my house) ± some quantitative value for social expectations with a margin of error of some extraneous variable.

With this in mind, I started looking for it more.  Which led me to the conclusion that I only attract weirdos. This could be flattering... except there was a brief period of time when I couldn't weed them out. This combination posed a serious dilemma for me.  I was out in the world, unable to detect attractiveness, and super susceptible to compliments. Looking back, I was probably an easy target.

Luckily, I prevailed with only minor tales of awkward encounters.  However, I hadn't really learned anything from any of these experiences.  I still felt as though there were no viable dating options for me out in the world.  I began to attribute this to a lack of interest on the part of most nice, attractive, age-appropriate men.  As you can imagine, this has been a blow to my self-esteem (which I have precariously placed on a shelf midway up my psyche).

What usually happens when I get like this, is the logical side of my brain has a little pep talk with the histrionic side. It explains that there's no need to feel how I do.  "I'm perfectly desirable," it says. Emotional Mindy doesn't care about this pep-talk. So they brawl, while I watch romantic comedies in my pajamas.

After the most recent brawl, I realized what's going on here.  I have a social blindness with regards to flirting.  I just don't know it's happening. So, it seems like I'm ignoring it, which sends all the wrong signals.

I'm still not entirely convinced that I get much attention from guys (or maybe just those that I find worthy) in the first place, but I'm willing to admit it probably happens more than I think it does. It just never goes anywhere because I don't acknowledge it.

People aren't much help either.  No one is going to do what I need, which is for someone to explicitly tell me "I'm interested in you."

Come on people!  I need some help here.  I'm not likely to send the right signals, because I'll probably be assuming there's no need. I mean, I've been known to interpret prolonged eye contact as a sign that my makeup is smudged, and I get nervous at the end of things. This means I usually bail on a date before any socially typical closure has occurred, and I miss the signs that it's not necessary.

What's a maladroit to do? How do I over come this?

Am I the only  person afflicted with this particular social blindness? Has anyone else had similar experiences? 




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Expose Yourself

There's a beautiful magic in being vulnerable. It's possibly the hardest thing to do, but when you allow yourself to be exposed that's when you get the most out of life.

It's from this openness, this bare and defenseless state, that the greatest things are going to happen. These events will be truly awesome, and if you place yourself in this position, the world will come to you.  You will experience it all.

People don't do this very often. It's hard to tear down the walls we've built for ourselves. It took years to erect them, but it's more than just that.

To think you can truly experience everything seems wonderful, but if you really give it some thought, you'll find it's rather frightening.

Everything is all encompassing. Good and bad. Magnificent and grotesque.

Those second options are daunting. They seem overpowering, and have the potential to be terrifying. One horrible experience can erase all the others. Suddenly you're living your life in fear. Waiting for the next bad thing, and missing all the good.

Head down, and eyes on the ground, you miss the miracles around you. Nervous for the future, you build a fortress around you. In doing so you deprive yourself of the connection with the world that you crave. It's a self-propelling cycle. You stick to your defenses. Call in the reinforcements, hug your core, withdraw from the nightmare you're worried about.

No doubt that's easier to do. Being vulnerable requires bravery. You have to look up from the ground. Make eye contact with the world. Spread your arms open wide, and bare everything. All the while, not knowing what will come at you.

It's scary because you can't take anything to protect yourself. If you do, it will indiscriminately defend you against whatever comes your way.

The bad, and the good. The grotesque, and the magnificent.




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Filling the Void With Fiction

I currently have this overwhelming, and masochistic, urge to chain watch romantic movies. You see, my life has been entirely devoid of romance for awhile now. Though I'm mostly okay with this, I am suffering a little from the lack of attention. As shallow as it makes me sound, going unacknowledged is messing with my self esteem a little. Also, I've noticed an increase in my need to fill this void. Often, that means taking myself to see some romantic-comedy where the awkward girl gets the charming guy.

That's not obvious or anything. Thanks Subconscious.

The problem is, I don't really know where to meet new people. I mean, there's the ever cliché "at a bar" answer, but I'm not entirely sure that I want to meet someone at a bar. I know that I don't want to have to go to a bar all the time, especially if it's just to meet people. I also know that the type of people that I'm going to meet in a bar are probably not going to be relationship material. So, where do I meet people?

I understand that I'm pathologically shy around new people, and I often require a transitional friend to try new things. I'm aware that this impedes my success rate in any setting. It pretty much erases the opportunity for a meet-cute at the supermarket. I'm also not likely to approach someone reading my favorite book at a coffee shop, or a guy with a cute dog at the park. However, this doesn't stop me from going to those places in hopes that someone will approach me. This technique is not proving to be very effective.

Thus, I'm stockpiling links to romantic movies, and Hollywood depictions of relationships that defied the odds. Hopefully inundating my brain with fairy tales will trick it into thinking that it's experiencing one of it's own, and I can go on accomplishing the more serious goals in my life (re: grad school & genuine adulthood).

Meaningful Moments

In life, there are moments that are so incredibly meaningful, that they stand out forever. Moments, that alter everything.

Whether awful or awesome, when these moments happen you experience a fundamental changing of who you are, what you stand for, your circumstances, or your surroundings.

As much as I want to, I can't prepare you for the experience. I cannot tell you what these moments are like.  They won't fit into a category.  However, I can promise that they will happen, and you will recognize them when they do. It's impossible to go through life without witnessing at least one.

Sometimes these moments are personal and independent of world events. Other times they are public, and unify entire communities. They will impact you and your world in a way that is incredibly difficult to put into words.

When these moments come, there is a deep-seated emotional reaction. You will feel small in comparison to it. From somewhere within, you will experience a creepy kind of calm. There will be a moment of clarity as you become aware that something greater than you is occurring, and, at least for a moment, you will be dumbstruck. You'll pause. Maybe just for a minute, maybe for days, but you will stop everything while you take it in.

It may not seem real. You might think you're dreaming. Or, it may seem too real, and you might wish you were dreaming.

Slowly, you will begin to process. You will start to understand your emotions. You'll relate to the experience on a new level, and begin to heal from the life-altering change that has taken place. Eventually, life will resume a normal routine. You'll go through the motions, as you acclimate to the new circumstances of the world. All the while, you'll remember what happened as you negotiate who you were before with how things are now.

Then, one day, you'll notice that you haven't thought about it in a while. You'll wonder how long it's been, and whatever the time-frame, it won't seem accurate. You will wonder if you have moved on, and be upset that you haven't devoted as much to the magnitude of the memory.

My Pubescent book of Poems pt. 2

*For an explanation of the origin of this gem check out:  Solitary

The Song of Life
I was sitting here wondering
What the world looked like
Before you came along,
When my life walked up to me
And began to sing a song.
It said:
"Dear sweetie,
please don't cry,
If this guy meant that much to you
He'd make you sigh."
It twirled around making up more chants.
"This guy would make you smile."
It said, "you wouldn't have to worry.
He'd take you in his arms and make it better.
He'd never leave in a hurry."
I thought and wondered for awhile,
Taking it all in.
"Was he really the one? It said,
"Did he make you smile?
It was beginning to annoy me.
My life had made me think.
Made me wonder: "did he really enjoy me?"
I was sitting here wondering
What the world looked like
Before you came along,
When my life walked up to me
And began to sing a song.
It said:
"Dear sweetie,
please don't cry,
You see, it's common sense:
If this guy means that much to,
He wouldn't have said 'Goodbye.'"

My Anonymous Childhood Boyfriend

I used to believe that there was one person for everyone. This was not so much a hopeless romantic thought as it is an innocent yet irrational child pondering.

When I was little, I honestly believed that people were somehow assigned to one another by a higher power (FYI: I'm not religious at all). I used to think that there was a boy out there that was literally my counterpart. To me, this meant that a young man existed, somewhere in the world, who was exactly like me. Not only did this boy think like me, act like me, and want the same things as I did, but we had simultaneous actions.

I gave this a great deal of thought. From early on, I have memories of exploring parks while my parents participated in a bike race. As I climbed trees, spun on the merry-go-round, and pumped my legs in the swings I envisioned that somewhere, someone special was doing the same thing. Sometimes I'd argue with my brother, and then run to my room. Once there, I'd console myself with the idea that someone knew how I felt because he had just fought with his brother (or would it be sister?). Also, I would harbor immature amusement, and then subsequent bewilderment at the idea that he used the restroom at the same time as I did.

I no longer think this particular man exists. He's not out there writing a blog contemplating my existence. Nor, do I believe that people are arbitrarily assigned to one another by some magical power. However, I do think some people are meant to be together. Those connections present themselves differently, and at different times, but they are always clear.

Bookmarked and Waiting for the Next Chapter

Location: Bedroom
Mood: Benign

I think a lot about relationships in all their various forms. This often starts with me pondering the various intricacies that make up a particular connection in my life, be it a bond between myself and a family member, an interaction with an acquaintance, or the dynamic I have developed with a client. Recently, these pondering have routinely turned to one of two subjects:

My romantic relationships, or my relationship with myself.

Lately, I find that one begets another. It seems that I've reached some kind of interpersonal stalemate.  I have been single for the last two years, and this time has been incredibly valuable to me. It seems weird to say so, but I had no idea how much I didn't know about myself. Don't get me wrong, I'm in no way saying that any of my previous relationships have kept me from learning about myself. However, they've definitely served as a distraction from me and my own world.

I think that everything about me is somewhat contradictory. For example, I'm pretty neurotic, and relatively insecure. In contrast, I'm comfortable in my insecurity, and I find most of my neurosis empowering. I'm able to laugh about myself, and accept teasing or criticism in most instances. In fact, I often invite it as an opportunity to connect with others.

In the past, I allowed myself to become distracted by romantic relationships. This effectively kept me from embracing who I am, and it was easier that way.  I couldn't describe why I was the way I was, because the opposing aspects of my personality were confusing and stressful. Instead, I unknowingly ignored it. Thinking I knew who I was, I forged on with external relationships, before cultivating the one that is the most important and will stay with me for my entire life. I don't think this was unhealthy, but I do think it set me back in creating a future for myself.

In the last two years, I've had the time to get to know myself in a way I never really did. I've acknowledged the enigmatic aspects of my personality. I've embraced the parts of me about which I am unsure.  I have developed a trust in who I am, and what I am capable of. I find solace in my introspection, and enjoy the idiosyncrasies that make me who I am. I'm sassy and sweet. I'm wrecklessly cautious. I'm silly, but serious. I'm gracefully clumsy, and accommodatingly ironic. I'm insightful and entertaining, and I'd have it no other way.

 There are roads I plan to travel, and places I intend to take myself in this journey. I'm prepared to grow, and learn, and laugh, and love. Despite my fears, I'm ready for this life. But, like I said, I've come to a stalemate. I've reached a page break in the story of my life.

I've cultivated my relationship with myself; it is strong and reliable. Which means it's time for me to look outward, and develop other meaningful relationships. One begets another.

Creep Magnet

Location: Lola's Room
Mood: Bemused

Have I ever talked about the type of men I attract?  I don't think I have.
It's bad.

I tend to attract the creeps. The weirdos. The (for lack of a better descriptor) losers. And, despite my best efforts, I either warrant no attention from the decent guys, or I somehow wind up in an awkward scenario which effectively repels them.

For example, tonight I went dancing with a friend. I wound up dancing with a guy who wasn't going to steal my heart, but he was cute enough, plus he didn't mind making a fool of himself (my biggest turn on). We're having a good time flirting, and comparing dance moves. I'm thinking, "this is alright!"

Meanwhile, there's this creepy middle-aged man with floppy blond hair in a Ryder Strong cut. We have not even had an interaction, but he is circling us, and throwing me awkward compliments like "I love your pants!" or "that shirt is great!" and "oh my god, those shoes!" He's doing this, repeatedly.  In three minutes, he must have complimented my outfit at least four times. I thanked him at first, but then it was uncomfortable. Also, throughout the night, anytime he looked over and saw me there he'd say "Oh hey!" or "it's you!" like we were buddies. So, I used my most powerful tool: I was ignoring it.

I was having a good time dancing with the decently attractive fun guy.

Then, the music gets quieter for a minute and Creepo yells, "hey, hot pants? Where's your husband?!"

Fun Dancer freezes, yells, "you better go find him!"   and runs off, never to be seen again (along with all the other viable options on the dance floor). I'm left, alone with the uncomfortable complimenting man in a crowd of 80s garb.

Seriously?! Is this my life?

Eligible and Entertaining

At some point in the recent past, I have become a romantic-comedy-inspired stereotype.

Somehow, I have turned into the haplessly single young woman that everyone is concerned about. (This is especially ironic since, from the point I began dating until recently, I have pretty much always been involved in some kind of relationship. I'm attempting to negotiate these very conflicting pieces of my identity.) Unbeknownst to me, I have dispensed this aspect of my life into the universe, and people all around me have begun to reference it in one way or another. 

About a year ago, I began to field variations of the question "So, Mindy do you have a boyfriend?" at an alarmingly high rate. People in all parts of my life have suddenly taken a huge interest in my love life (or lack thereof). I guess it's confusing to others that I'm alone.

I'm most confused by how obvious it is to others. How do they know?! Do I have "desperately unattached" written on my forehead in last night's lipstick? Who chiefed me?!-That's embarrassing.

Any time the above question is asked, it's clear that the interviewer already knows the answer. Any glimmer of positive affect that may be detected is obviously them hoping to be wrong about their assumption. No one is ever surprised by my answer. They feign surprise, and then act all sympathetic like it's genuinely depressing that I'm an independent woman in this day and age. Those closer to me, have begun to offer up their other single friends in an attempt to save us from ourselves.

In the past, I've laughed this off. See, I was raised by someone who made me memorize and recite: "A woman without a man is like a fish without a bicycle." As much as I rejected it, the quote stuck in the corner of my psyche, and has shaped my responses to this dating inquisition. I'm sure my father would be proud to know my feelings on the issue are: Haha! I don't care. I am Mindy the Maladroit. I'm endearingly neurotic. I love myself, and that's all that matters...right?

Right?!?

Then, a few months ago, one of my clients noticed it:

     While drawing a picture for me he looked up with his doe-eyes and said "you have a dog at your home Muwinda?"
    "Nope, no dog," I replied.
    He stopped drawing, and scrunched up his five year old face trying to determine exactly what that means. Picture him thinking, how could Teacher Melinda not have a dog? That just doesn't make any sense. Then, his eyes widened, and his mouth relaxed in what was clearly an "a-ha!" moment. "You have a cat," he said matter-of-factly as he returned crayon to paper.
    "No. It's just me at home."
    The kid might as well have said, "aww you poor thing" with the look he gave me. Instead, he responded with a condescending "you need a cat Muwinda." He then proceeded to draw a picture of the two of us playing together in a house with a cat.

"That's me and you at your house, with a cat. You need a cat Muwinda."

As adorable as this story may be, I'm disturbed. What am I doing that a preschooler is sensing my singleness, and attempting to resolve it? Where is this coming from?! How can I fix it?

I'm fine being single. I'm as independent as I need to be. Hell, I'm a fish, and having a bicycle would just be absurd! 

Well, wait a second. How cool would it be to see a fish riding a bicycle? 

 Right?! Not necessary, but totally awesome. Maybe I've been interpreting this quote wrong my whole life.

At this point in my blog writing process, my prophetic iTunes shuffle just started playing Love Train. Dear God! There's theme music now! The universe is obviously trying to communicate something to me.

I had big plans for the end of this entry, but I can't do any better than that. Fine! I give in! I'm comically single, and clearly have the personality of a rom-com heroine! Do what you want with that.

Commence happy ending sequence.

Empathic Me

Location: Home
Mood: Reflective

For much of my life I have described myself as "an emotional sponge." When you put me in a room with other people, I absorb the atmosphere. Their feelings become my feelings.

There was a time when this was detrimental to my own mental well being. Imagine being 16 years old and highly susceptible to the mood fluctuations of your incredibly hormonal dance team. Then go off to college, and join a sorority.

I felt all kinds of things, and had no idea what or why for. Add to that my own internally developed feelings. It's really no wonder I experienced the physiological traumas that I did. How does someone so unaware of who she is cope with the constant inundation of inexplicable stressors?

As I grow, and become more self aware, I am noticing this ability, and pulling from it. However, it's a slippery slope. I find that often, I notice a change in the air during an important exchange, or my heart begins to race when I'm discussing issues at a meeting. While (mentally) I feel fine about the topic of conversation, I still can't shake my level of discomfort or unease. Often, I walk away conflicted; thinking to myself "well, that sounded really helpful. I liked those ideas, and this could work," but I can't shake the overwhelming sense of doom and desire to stay home hiding under my covers.

What I've noticed, is that my reaction is a direct result of an emotional observation that I have yet to label:

• You're confused, and I don't know why. That makes me uncomfortable. 
• I haven't noticed the monster in the closet, but he's scared so my heart is racing. 
• On the surface she seems fine. But there's bottled rage, and I know something's not right.

It seems like it could be an incredibly useful skill, if I could just build up my vocabulary. However, right now, it's awfully confusing to absorb everyone's emotions. Since there are no words for me to describe it, I wind up wringing myself-out and going to bed early. This leaves my brain surrounded by a murky solution of sentiments.