Singles Awareness Day

One of the worst days of the year has arrived. Along with my birthday, it's one of the days that I dread the most. It's one where, once it starts, I can't wait for it to end. It's Singles Awareness Day and it sure as hell aint pleasant-- even for those lucky enough to be attached.

Today's a day that, no matter how happy we are in our lives, always reminds us of our less than happy February 14ths of years past. Maybe it was last year that we were alone on the couch, shoving our faces with chocolate. Or perhaps we think back to that time five years ago, when we were newly single and spending the holiday vegging in bed, instead of out for a romantic dinner with the one who supposedly loved us. No matter what, I think it's likely that some of us have had a less than ideal Valentine's Day at some point or another. Since whenever we're miserable or even just unhappy it seems like the rest of the world is joyfully in love, we sometimes remember those bad days instead of focusing on what we have now.

Let me get something straight: there's nothing wrong with being single. In fact, if you're single you can potentially make Valentine's Day a really special, enjoyable holiday. (For anyone interested, I hear there's an anti-Valentine's Day party going on at my house tonight, complete with cupcakes...) If you've ever read my postings before, you know that I'm actually a big advocate for living the single life and enjoying all that it has to offer. In fact, there are many perks to being unattached that seem to slip away once we're committed. But, on a day like today, it often feels like everyone who is in a relationship is flaunting it in all our faces. Maybe it's that girl who got the box of chocolates delivered to her desk at work, or the guy who professes his love to his lady friend via a Facebook status. (Not acceptable, by the way. It's tacky beyond belief.) But, moreso today than on every other day, people throw their apparent happiness in our way. It often makes it seem like they're trying to trump our own happiness, as if theirs is better or more valuable than ours.

I think that part of me hates this holiday because it's fake. Fake because it's a Hallmark holiday (does anyone even really celebrate the saint who it's supposed to be about anyway?) and fake because people are over the top in their emotions and in their declarations of love. Am I wrong to think that we shouldn't NEED a holiday that encourages us to let others know how we feel about them? It's my own personal opinion that we should be making this sentiment clear each and every day of the year, not just on the 14th day of February. And, well, if you're only for some reason able to express this emotion on that day, then you better re-evaluate the situation you're in and recognize that you've got a problem.

Now, if you are attached, it really can be a nice thing to take a night to go out for a nice dinner or to just be in each others' company. I guess that the holiday gives us some incentive to be proactive and do just that; however, shouldn't we use this as a reminder that we should be doing that all the time if we're with someone we really care about?

On the flip side, maybe we should milk this day for all it's worth and extend it to ALL of the people we love and care about. I'm not just talking about all the people we're sleeping with (kidding) but to all of our friends and family members who mean so much to us. We should remember that even if this year we're happily committed to someone else, plenty of our friends and neighbors aren't this time. To all the happy people out there, I hate to say it but next year it might be YOU that's alone. So take a second and send some love, either via the phone, a visit, a card or a dancing and singing stuffed mouse, to someone who might be feeling down in the dumps today. Even if you're so fortunate as to be able to share the day with a romantic partner of some sort, taking the time to reach out to someone who doesn't have that luxury today might make your day the happiest.

WHY I DON'T WANT TO RELY ON A MAN TO SUPPORT ME.

I’ve got a problem. I’ve become a feminist. I’ve never been a feminist before and, quite honestly, I’m not really sure what to make of it or how to deal with it. Before you go off thinking that I’m about to be burning my bra and protesting the male race, hear me out.

It recently occurred to me that I value my education, acquired skills and the mere fact that I have a job and an income. At this point in life there are very few things that are worth more to me than being able to support myself financially, pay my own bills and, as a result, not have to answer to anyone or anything besides myself. Maybe that’s being selfish, not feminist, but I personally still think it’s a little bit more feministy than I’ve ever been in the past.

I have to take a step back and wonder why this whole overarching “job” and “career” and “financial stability” concept is so important to me right now. Why this second? Why do I care?

First off, I realize that at some points during my educational career I worked hard for my grades. Sure, in college I slacked off plenty, but just being in college (physically) was work on its own-- both emotionally and academically. But moreso emotionally. (Hey, it’s tough to learn how to share a living space with conniving girls or to deal with that best friend whose idea of a good time is to get wasted and then destroy property!) Second, I realize that I’m goddamned lucky to have a job during these years that are so difficult financially for most Americans.

After considering these two things, I then think about so many girls my age whose only wish (whether or not they have yet fulfilled it) is to get married and have babies. Now, I’m not about to argue that either of those are bad things in themselves, but I will defend my opinion to the death that there is a proper time and place for these things to happen in our lives. Just as much as it wouldn’t have been appropriate to pop out a few kids in high school, it wouldn’t be the ideal time in my life now, either. I’m 23 and baby, I’ve got this decade to live without the hassel of raising my own family. I need to raise MYSELF before I can be responsible for anyone else. I just envision myself encouraging a child to make their bed or maintain a healthy diet when I don’t yet do it myself. Those alone provide an instant reminder that I’m not ready.

I also have decided that if I were, in theory, to just quit my job to get married and have kids, it would demonstrate a complete lack of ambition. Don’t get me wrong, I understand how challenging it is to raise a kid and maintain a household even without a job. As Oprah says, being a mom is the hardest job in the world. But if I were to marry someone in order to have kids right now for any other purpose other than for love, it would not only be not only unfair to the guy, but really unfair to myself. Why shouldn’t I be in a position to strive to improve upon or advance in my career? Do I really want to have to trust one person’s dealings at work to ensure my own monetary stability? Why should he have to do all of the work outside the house to support me when I have a perfectly worthy college degree?

All in all, it comes down to one thing: I don’t want to be lazy. I’d like to think that I have more personality, education and intelligence than to just give up my outside world to rely on some husband’s paychecks so I can clean toilets and do laundry all day. There is absolutely no reason for me to resign myself to a life at home watching soaps while the baby sleeps. It’s early enough in time that I can still prove myself as my own person out there in the working world while saving time in the future to both have a family and a career.

Besides, the workplace is often the best place for me to get story ideas. And we all know I wouldn’t get to maintain this blog, one of my favorite things to write, if I didn’t have interesting stories. I’d rather be writing from my Cloroxed cubicle than from a rocking chair as a baby spits up on me, thank you very much.

Love vs. In Love

I know that I haven't been writing multiple posts per week like I was this summer, but that's just because life has picked up and become busier. While it's definitely a good thing that I run myself ragged until I come home and crash at night, it means less energy to write for my readers. But don't think I haven't been thinking about you. The list of potential blog topics that I've generated has been growing steadily. Just today, while I was on a particularly head-clearing run, I came up with a few fresh ones. But even though that list has stretched in length, I think it's time that I tackle a big, important topic that countless people have encouraged me to think about: LOVE.

Over the past couple of months, I've found myself in conversation with friends about what it means to be "in love" with someone, versus to just "love" someone. Some people habitually use those phrases interchangably, but I really don't think that's always appropriate. I sure hope that we love the people that we're in love with, but do we have to be in love with those we love?

Absolutely not.

On the most fundamental of levels, think of it this way. Are you in love with your mother? If you are, stop reading. Stop reading immediately. Get yourself into the next available shrink. I'm serious. In all honesty, though, do you love your mother? (Or, if not your mother, then your father, your brother, your aunt, whatever other family members?) Most of us can probably say that yes, we love at least one of our family members. But does that mean that we're in love with them? I sure hope to God not!

What's the difference here? Well, it's romance of course. We love our family members, meaning that we care about them in an extremely deep sense. Perhaps it means that we'd do anything for them to ensure their happiness and/or wellbeing, or maybe it means that if something were to happen to them, we'd be forever changed and devastated. We love them in the sense that they mean a heck of a lot to us, but we don't love them in the way that makes us want to crawl into bed naked with them. Right there, that's the basic explanation of loving someone versus being in love with them. (I'm sick and twisted, I know, but just hang out and see where I'm going.)

Now, movies and romantic pieces of literature often consider that silly old notion of love at first sight. Do I believe in it? No, I definitely don't. I'm completely sure that it takes a long time to get to know someone well enough to love them, that love isn't based off of looks or initial interactions. Yes, both of those things can start us on a journey to ultimately finding love, but can you really say that you know your life would be ruined if that guy you saw across the bar tragically died tomorrow? Love is deeper than appearances, more serious than a crush. More serious than even the biggest of crushes. Really.

That said, just because you love someone doesn't mean you're in love with them. Maybe you care about them deeply and know that they hold a special place in your heart. But would your heart be broken if they were to disappear tomorrow? Would you forever compare every other person of romantic interest to that one person, always holding them in higher regard than the rest?

A friend and I were talking about this and we came to one conclusion, a partial answer to a question that really has no answers. We decided it's easier to tell if you were actually in love with someone in retrospect than it is in the present. When we're dating someone, we might THINK we're in love. We decide that we really rely on our partner for at least some of our happiness, that our life would be changed without them. We think about this even if, in the back of our mind, we know that they're maybe not "the one," or that they have some qualities about them that drive us so insane that we can't really overlook them and focus on the good.

Looking back on past relationships, though, is what often allows us to determine if we were really in love, or rather just having a good time with a person that maybe we even, to some degree, loved at the time. If you look back on that first relationship that you felt "in love," how does it make you feel now? If that person were to contact you right now, would you get butterflies in your stomach? Or do they really not mean a whole heck of a lot to you anymore? Do you remember what it felt like to kiss them, or is that a memory so distant that your mind has sort of just forgotten it?

Although I'm stating the obvious, I think that looking back on situations is what really allows us to evaluate them. Maybe we can't verify that we were really in love until it's too late, until our object of affection has married and had kids. Or, conversely, what I consider a good situation is looking back and not feeling anything about that man who broke our heart or that girl who crushed us. Maybe, just maybe, that means that we really weren't all that in love, even though we thought we were at the time and in the moment.

I've come to two conclusions while having written this post. One is that it's true, it really takes time to both fall in love with someone and to love them deeply. I don't care what Hollywood says, but you can't love someone when you first meet them, as you simply just don't know enough about them to love their entire being. Two is that time really does make a huge difference. When we break up with someone, we can often feel this awful pain that seems as if it will never go away. But, when we let the time pass and we look back on our relationship with that other person, sometimes time has allowed us to realize that they didn't mean as much to us as we thought. (Of course, the opposite can also be true.) Point is, I don't think we always can accurately assess what we have when we have it. But, if feelings of love and being "in love" continue over time without any doubt, then maybe, just maybe, we've found something worthwhile and what we can actually call "true love."

His Mommy Wrote His Personal Ad... And Now We're Dating.

When I was a senior in high school and had just been accepted to college, my grandmother’s cousin happened to be speaking at an event hosted by my soon-to-be school.

“It’s a great honor to be speaking here today,” he started, “and extremely special to me personally. My cousin’s granddaughter just got into B* University this past week, so being here speaking and supporting this school means a great deal to me.”

Innocent statement enough, right?

Wrong.

Immediately after his speech to alumni, friends and family of the university, an elderly lady approached him. She wasn’t about to compliment his articulate speaking or explain how proud she was that he supported the same cause she did. She introduced herself so she could set me up with her grandson-- a boy who apparently was also accepted at my school.

Yes, she wanted to set him up with me. Me being the girl who was in Connecticut at the time, the event being in Florida, she of course hadn’t ever seen me. For all she knew I had tons of moles and two lazy eyes. Maybe she decided that I was of comparable intelligence to her grandson because we were to attend the same school, or maybe my cousin made an impression good enough to pique her interest in his family members.

So even though this lady immediately whipped out her grandson’s phone number and photo, I never actually met him. Or maybe I did and didn’t know it. To this day I have no idea who the boy was, although I do know he entered my school the year I did, was tall, dark and handsome (of course) and that he was from New York. My cousin fortunately lost this boy’s contact information, something that he and I are probably both grateful for.

So why, now, many years later, am I reflecting on an event where I wasn’t present, one that never really impacted my life in any way whatsoever?

Well, to be quite honest, that was the fist thing that popped into my head when I read Moms Post on “Date My Single Kid,” a CNN article about a new website where mothers can post personal ads on behalf of their children. (See http://www.cnn.com/2010/LIVING/07/19/matchmaker.parent.date.my.kid/index.html.)

The article profiles some sad soul named Colby Brin, age 31, who routinely allows his mother to set him up on dates. In fact, he estimates that his mother has set him up on over thirty dates. And he wonders why none of them have amounted to anything. Every girl dreams of her matchmaker being her future mother-in-law! Nothing like her meddling in your relationship from the very beginning.

Towards the end of the article, the author states that Brin insists that “if a relationship becomes serious...‘his girlfriend won't have to fret.’ He says his mother tends to be more hands-off with his love life once he is in a committed relationship.”

And he expects us readers to believe that? That his mother is coordinating his dating life, but-- don’t worry-- once he becomes a thing with some naive lady mom will step out of the picture? And what about later, when there are kids? Not to worry, she certainly won’t attempt to control the way her grandchildren are raised. It’s not like she cared at all who their mother was. And, after all, she knows her son better than he knows himself, and she certainly know's who the best choice for a girlfriend (read: ultimately his wife) is.

Honestly, I don’t know about you, but I wouldn’t want to ever consider going on a date with a man whose mommy put him on the site. Besides the whole control issue at hand, why would I want to date someone who doesn’t have the guts to self-promote on his own behalf?

Now, don’t get me wrong, I love moms and on occasion love their sons. But really, I don’t want to love those moms until I'm deeply involved with their sons. One lady calling and nagging me to pick up the phone and call my relatives is enough, thank you. I already have one mom and I certainly don’t need another.

XOXO,
R.

A Commentary on Our Generation

It's true: my job isn't very intellectually stimulating. Sure, I have days where I'm crazed, days where I don't know which task to tackle first. All in all, though, as my friends so lovingly joke, I'm someone's "bitch." (Sorry to all you feminists out there, but it's true.) I support someone else, an MD who runs research labs that have discovered countless genes-- discoveries that have already saved some labs and will hopefully save many more in the future. Did I go to a highly-recognized school to support another person? No. Did my family have to shell out well over $200,000 just so that I could earn my meager salary that pays the rent but doesn't allow for a ton of disposable income? Nope, definitely not.

That said, I'm happy. Really, I am. OK, I know that doesn't sound convincing, but you just have to take my word for it. On a miserably humid day like today, I'm thankful that I don't believe in that I'm not drenched in sweat chasing four year olds through a sprinkler at camp like I used to back in the day. (I'm more grateful that I'm not cleaning up after their accidents post-sprinkler on any day.) In fact, I'm sitting here with a smile on my face (on the inside at least) because I'm covered in goosebumps from the chill of my office's air conditioning. And on days like this, believe me, it feels amazing to be inside a freezing high-rise in my jail-like cubicle; my small salary feels worthwhile. Plus, I work for a great company and with and for great people, so really, who am I to complain?

Overall, though, I am grateful. My job can feel "below me" at times and it for sure isn't comfortable getting myself out of bed and into the unpleasant weather, only to sit at my desk to schedule someone else's appointments and apply for his multi-million dollar grants. But each and every time that I feel like this flat out sucks (aint no classier way to say it, honestly) I remind myself-- thankfully I'm not at home. I also try to remind myself that maybe in some indirect way I'm helping others-- if I schedule my boss's time to take a breath or eat a bite of sandwich, I'm helping to manage his time so he can save lives.

Now, please understand, I'm not knocking any of my friends who are at home and living with their parents. I understand that people have loans to pay and that many people can't get jobs during these unfortunate times. I mean, according to the most recent estimates, almost 10% of the American population can't get a job. That's nothing to laugh at. As they say, tough times call for tough measures, and those measures might include moving back into a childhood home with a mom and dad who insist on attaching a GPS armband to their kid to monitor their whereabouts at all times.

What I don't respect, though, are the people who could find themselves financially capable of moving out and being on their own, but are unwilling to take any job that they consider to be in that "below them" range. I have plenty of friends like that-- friends who won't take a job that pays a decent salary because they don't immediately sense any upward mobility coming from that position.

As I rode the subway this morning-- my ultimate destination after Starbucks being this cubicle, of course-- I skimmed The New York Times as I always do. Now I wasn't actively thinking about this whole having a job vs. not having a job concept, but I think it's always in the back of my mind during my commutes. Anyway, one of the top ten articles, American Dream Is Elusive for New Generation: http://www.nytimes.com/2010/07/07/business/economy/07generation.html?_r=1&hp. The article essentially profiles a guy who's a couple of years older than me who sits home unemployed day after day. He turned down a job that offered him a $40,000 salary, feeling it would fail to lead him in a worthwhile direction and that the pay was too low. Meanwhile, his parents support him: they pay his rent, his cellphone bills and allow him send out only four or five resumes per week. (They're, of course, not enablers or anything.)

Let me tell you that when I was looking for work, I sent in close to fifty resumes per day. I did anything that I could to land a job. When I was looking to switch from one job that was too unbearable to the next, I was even willing to take a pay cut. A pay cut! Anything to maintain my independence. I would have rather sat and answered phones all day (with memories of my undergraduate career lurking in the background) just to be able to pay my own way. No job, I realized, is below me, and it shames me to think that so many of my peers are willing to mooch off their parents-- the same parents who have already supported them for well over twenty years-- just because they don't want to do something that, to them, feels degrading.

I don't know much about the business world, but I do know this: it looks much better to be doing a job like mine than to be sitting home and watching TV all day. No employer wants to know that a candidate spent the past sixteen months watching Hoarders and The Bachelor on DVR and Seinfeld on syndication. Getting up and going to work every day-- whether it's working construction or as an investment banker or scrubbing filthy toilets-- is a much more valuable use of your time.

So, to the people of my generation, I have to say that I almost plead with you: get up and do something. Prove your intelligence and your good work ethic, and that The New York Times has been portraying us incorrectly. And for the love of God, drop that Chipotle burrito, get off your parents' couch, erase that higher-than-though attitude from your mind, and work hard like the rest of us. Our grandparents, great-grandparents, even our parents did it, and there's no reason we shouldn't.


XOXO,
R.

PS: For more on how others perceive members of our generation, please see this article from a May edition of the New York Times Magazine: http://www.nytimes.com/2010/05/30/magazine/30fob-wwln-t.html. Again, another reason to prove everyone wrong.