The human heart is a magnificent thing.
One minute you can feel absolutely lost, breathless, and feeling like your heart is about so split in two over heartbreak. You don’t know how you’re going to move on, or even make it through the day.
But somehow, someway, you make it through the day. Soon enough, a week has passed. Then the next minute you don’t even know how you fit them in your heart.
When I look back over the past year, I’ve had enough changes to give me whiplash. I can give the cliché advice and agree that yes, everything that I have done or the paths I have chosen have led me to where I am right now.
People make a big fuss about your “firsts” when growing up: your first walk, your first word, your first loss tooth.
When we reach puberty and start to realize the opposite sex exists, our life is all about a set of new firsts: first kiss, first dance, first time you held hands, and your “first time”.
One of the most beautiful and tragic experiences that defines your life is your first love. It’s beautiful because it’s a set of everything new. You’re experiencing a new kind of love, a new set of emotions, and trust in someone not in your family. First love is great.
But first love also leads to that cry your heart out until you can’t breathe/eat a gallon of ice cream/aching breakup and loss that you’ve also never experienced. No, a breakup is never a party. However, the first breakup to your first love, might be one of the most painful experiences that any human has to go through. Some of us don’t ever get over it. Our lives are filled with watching movies and tv that show “idealic love”, but never show the real thing. With our rose-colored glasses on, we believe our first love is the “end all, be all”. When it ends, it’s absolutely gut wrenching.
We carry that baggage from one relationship to the next in hopes of someone “curing us” from our pass ailments.
Don’t get me wrong, sometimes that first love does work out. These rare exceptions to this rule is a beautiful thing. However, you can argue that you fall in and out of love with this person. By the time you grow from adolescent to adult…twenty years old to thiry…you are not the same person. If you still love your first love, you know it required work and communication…not unlike anything that those that serial date also face.
By the second and third person that you date, you may or may not love them, but they will be someone you let into your life. They will teach you things about yourself and about dating that you didn’t know with the other person. They will make you smile, make you laugh again, and will dull the baggage of the once requited love. Your insecurities that were turned on after your first love slowly start to diminish, and you start to feel like yourself again.
Everything happens for a reason. Every person that you encounter, every person you date, you were meant to learn a lesson. Your first love is called just that because it is your series of “firsts”. I have cooked many dishes in my life, and the first time wasn’t always pretty. It was an experience, but I’m not going to stop eating steak because the first time I cooked it too well done. When your first love doesn’t work, it’s because it’s generally your first, and not your last.
Your last love is someone who you should truly cherish. Everyone always talks about the “one that got away” or the “first love”. I say that’s bullshit.
I was so romanced by the idea of a first love, that I started dating my first love 10 years later. I fell in love with the story of “us”, and believed that he was my “end all be all”. Yet after a year and a half of trying to make it work, we both realized we didn’t love each other, we weren’t who we wanted to be with, and we had very different goals. He had tried to change me to make me more of the “Mad Men-esque 60s Housewife”, and I was too busy reminding him that women were allowed “crazy things” like goals and opportunities.
So yeah, I’m not all about idea of the “first love”.
It was only until my second love came along that I started to realize how much better love is when you truly know yourself. Everyone has their own baggage. In fact, I believe our baggage makes us interesting. When my second love came around, I had given up on relationships. I had decided that I would be faithful to my dreams and careers, and that I would be too busy to find a guy. In fact, to prove that I was too busy, I got a dog.
So when this one came around, I wasn’t expecting it. But, it’s not to say I wasn’t prepared. Your first love gives you insight into relationships. It provides you caution and stablity to not be knocked off kilter.
The second time around, you know what to expect. You know what to look for in someone you want to be with. You have the confidence to know what you want, and know what you deserve. It also proves to yourself that you can open up again, and you can find something truly amazing. It won’t exhaust you, be filled with drama, and unsettle you. Because you’ve already been through the ringer, you know the warning signs.
And soon your heart will slowly heal from the baggage and the bruising of your first love. It’ll be bursting with happiness, and all your past caution will flee.
And like with any recipe that you try, practice only leads to perfection. My old well done steak will never happen again, and now I can enjoy my medium rare perfection.
Forget about firsts. Learn from them, don’t let them engulf your future decisions.
The human heart is a magnificent thing.
Ever since a little girl, my mother has always told me that when I argue, I go for the “goiter”. In other words, if someone hurts me, I find their most obvious flaw or weakness, and shove it right back in their face. It’s the winning kill; the icing on a cake. It’s the ultimate defense mechanism, and truthfully my own very weakness. As I grew, I was able to put a wall around my emotions by pushing away others with insulting comments. Those that stuck around understood that I may have said something spiteful, but it was because I didn’t know how to explain my emotions without looking vulnerable.
Unfortunately, there becomes a time in your twenties when you can’t just “give the blunt truth” to others without thinking of the possible repercussions. In high school, we’re taught that every action has an equal or opposite reaction. This law of science doesn’t just relate to physics, but to relationships as well. I like to think of tolerance and age symbolized as a rubber band. The older you get, the colder that rubber band is, and you have less flexibility. The older you get and the more spiteful of a comment, the less likely people tolerate what you say.
In my early twenties, I was cautious of what I said or whom I said it too. After a tumultuous highschool career, I appreciated each friend I had, no matter how much they walked on me. When my tolerance “rubber band” finally snapped one day in New York City, I was able to trim the fat of those that didn’t value my friendship, and keep those that mattered most close to me. I was able to keep my caustic tongue quiet, with only a few more friendship casualties down the way.
The funny thing about letting your guard down, is sometimes your own self defenses fall down too. By early May, I was falling in a way that left me off kilter and unpredictable. They always show the girls and guys in romantic comedies becoming dreamy or turning into a total klutz…because those are cute things to do. What they forget to show you is that when you start to fall, because you put someone high on a pedestal, they become your own personal kryptonite.
By letting someone in, you fall prey to not only their charms, but also to your weaknesses. Things they say that wouldn’t usually bother you do, because you care about their opinion.
So on one early May, when a conversation topic took a hard turn down south, the normal mid twenties me would have bit the bullet, smiled, and called them out on being rude. However, because I had let my guard down, those comments took an extra hard hit, and the tomboy 8th grader tongue slipped out a caustic curve ball.
I knew it was bad, but I was more concerned of making the inning even.
And when the phone went dead, I knew I had swung it out of the park.
Although this time, the victory didn’t taste sweet.
“My Stupid Mouth, has got me in trouble. I’ve said too much again.”-John Mayer
I had a recent conversation with someone about the differences between calling yourself a “man” or “woman”. In his perspective, even at 25, he considered himself a kid. He referred to his friends as “kids”, and when talking about a female interest, he called her his “girl”. At first, I was a little offended. After moving multiple times, changing careers, and having my own professional life together, I was no where near still being a “kid”.
However, a simple slip of the tongue can ruin your credibility and everything you built up. Words can have a powerful reaction. I’m not young enough to get away with saying anything, and I’m not old enough to have learned this lesson. If I did, I wouldn’t be thinking about eating crow at 4am.
With my little “victory”, I stripped myself of being more than just a “kid”.
Sticks and stones can break your bones, but words can also hurt. They tend to hurt more, since there aren’t any bruises or scratch marks. So next time you feel like taking your own victory lap, think really if it’s that important. I’m all for standing up for yourself, but it has to be said with poise and grace. You can’t fight fire with fire.
Otherwise, you’ll be left on the receiving end of a static phone.
Some victories aren’t as sweet.
As I’ve often said before, our generation focuses more on being happy with our current life. Our parents and grandparents believed in the “American dream”, the 401k package, and the belief to travel after you retire and the kids are grown.
Our generation chooses simplicity.
We want to live out our dreams without regret.
We make millions of mistakes in our twenties, and promise to have our shit together in our thirties. Let’s be honest…I bet our parents did the same, but they had the society based plan and the picket fence to guard their insecurities. Our generation says “screw it, I’m scared and proud”.
My goal for 2014 has been simple: be happy. In March when I found myself in a mentally abusive job, I quit it. When I found myself wanting more out of life, I started a company with a best friend. I found myself frustrated that the career aspect of my life was taking off, but the romance aspect was a dead lull. My usual hopeless romantic self had lost the “hope”, and I had enough of empty promises. So, like any sane person, I swore off dating, dropped my hopeless romanticism attitude, and got myself a puppy.
Again, like any sane person.
So after all of these series of changes in a week time frame, I needed a little family time. I hadn’t spent a lot of time since moving from New York, and decided to spend the beginning of April with family and friends. Within 24 hours in late March I had quit my job, sworn off dating for 6 months, we landed our companies’ first client, and Andrea & I partied like rock stars with a day drinking celebration because of all of the above.
10 Hours later with baby ZuZu in tow and a massive hangover to boot (god bless Gatorade), we headed up north for a little R&R. I spent the next few days eating local comfort foods and spending time with my family and one of my favorite gal pals.
I expected a quiet weekend retreat with family.
I expected a quiet catch up with one of my favorite gal pals on a Sunday night, at a new trendy restaurant in my hometown enjoying draft beers and barbecue with Lana.
I expected to be home by 10pm, resting for a camping trip with my family the next night.
I expected to go home to North Carolina rested with a business mindset, and my heart in lockdown.
But why would the universe ever give me something vanilla when I planned to settle for it?
What I didn’t expect was a hand on my shoulder to say hello, and a catch up with my brother’s friend.
I didn’t expect that one bar would lead to two, a fireball shot, and a dancing on a bar.
I didn’t expect waking up to a brown eyed boy, taking him on my family’s camping trip, and waking up to him the next morning.
And I sure as hell didn’t expect to leave my heart back in my hometown.
The universe doesn’t like when you plan things. I should have learned by now that no matter how many times I decide to take control, there’s always a greater plan. You just have to buckle up and enjoy the ride. Our generation was right to enjoy simplicity.
I’m just going to continue the one resolution I’ve kept in 2014: Be Happy.
One of my favorite Parks and Recreation Episodes is where Ann Perkins goes on a date with Chris because Leslie asks her to. She ends up having a great time with Chris, but Leslie foils the date by giving away the initial ulterior motive. In a way to get back Chris, and apologize for her mistake, she mans up and apologizes by saying “I’m here to eat crow”. Since then, that statement has stuck in my back pocket, with the wisdom and lesson that sometimes even “the beautiful musk ox” character of Ann Perkins has to man up when she’s wrong. The only way to grow is to recognize your faults. The only way to learn is to face your faults and try to resolve them.
Like every February, the Winter cold had beaten down my family and I, and we decided to take a vacation together. After the “Hell Year” (as I so aptly call it) of 2013, my moving (twice), and my brother starting his upcoming Police Academy training, we decided to spend a little R&R together to recollect. The plan was simple: My family would fly down to Charlotte, we would drive the next day to Charleston and board the ship. On the way back, reverse the order and repeat. Being the travel expert, I have been the one in more recent years to plan the trip from the airlines for my family to the cruise itself. My obsessive compulsion of “To Do” lists also included calling my family the day before, ensuring they carried all of their essential items…like passports.
Being the one in charge and the “go to” for Travel Advice, I felt frustrated when people asked me questions. Instead of seeing it from their perspective as I was someone they wanted to learn from, I became resentful and saw it as being “used and abused”. I didn’t understand why people couldn’t follow the same methods I did, became short and irritable towards those that asked repeated questions, and felt impatient. Being the responsible one, I arrived at the airport to pick up my family 40 minutes early, and realized the flight would be delayed another hour on top of that. I was tired of being the reliable one, the responsible one, and the one who had all the answers. I was letting the “woe is me” attitude suck the positivity of going on a vacation out, and was focusing more on wondering why my family couldn’t just take care of themselves, or me even.
I was wound like a freaking top.
So as the universe would have it, my lesson came a mere 12 hours later as we entered the Carnival ship parking gates…when I realized after 3 hours of driving that I had left my passport in my kitchen. It was made known through the guards at the gate, that without a passport I was S.O.L.
For the next 2 hours, panic ensued. I had both gut wrenching and calm feelings that I was not going to make it on the cruise ship. I went from crying one moment, to thinking hard at my options. From doctor’s offices, to old high school guidance counselors, to even Ancestry.com, I searched high and low to find a copy of my birth certificate.
..Speaking of, do you know how HARD it is to get a copy of your own birth certificate?
Finally, 40+ phone calls, multiple faxes, and a very close family friend driving all around my hometown just because they’re an amazing person, my family was the last four people to get on the cruise. We had used every any any angle we could use to get that birth certificate-from family friends to calling the New York State DMV. Our resources had been tapped, and it wasn’t until the last 5 minutes did we know I was able to make the trip. Our nerves were raw, my mother and my faces were puffy, and yet we made it.
I am a huge believer that we are given obstacles to face our fears and strengthen our weaknesses. I believe that we entered the beginning of the trip arguing, resenting, and not appreciating the time we had with each other.
We left that experience and boarded the cruise ship a united family. Like Ann Perkins, I realized it was my time to accept I had royally learned my lesson. I had learned that although a world traveler, I was going to make mistakes. Although I had been the one in charge the past few trips, my family were fully grown and capable adults. I learned that if somehow they could raise me, then they must be able to help me out every once in a while. Don’t let pride come in your way.
And when you make a mistake, own up to it, man up, and be sure to buy your family a few rounds of Bahama Mama drinks to take the edge off.
My name is Ashley Massis, and I ate crow.
A dear friend of mine is considering leaving the “city that never sleeps” and moving to the unknown. As she played with her lists of postives and negatives, she sent me a link to Gothamist’s “Ask A Native New Yorker: How Long Must I Stay Before I Can Quit NYC With Dignity?”. After having this constant struggle in my mind about this very subject, I found the article to be refreshing but also sad. After three years of living in NYC, “Country Mouse Ass” asks Gothamist Mag, the very question that I myself have been craving to ask. They ask “how long must they stay in NYC before leaving with dignity”?
Like Country Mouse Ass, I faced the very same question last year, and continually face it today. The rose colored glasses are on, and the grass looks greener back in Manhattan. When you move to New York, everything sparkles. It’s amazing and wonderful to taste, try, and walk everywhere. As someone that moved to NYC right before the summer started, I was enchanted by rooftop bars, city lights, and the allure of getting anything you wanted at the drop of the hat. The first summer I moved to NYC was terrifying, but also limitless.
The Gothamist “New Yorker” responds that not only the fellow “Country Mouse Ass” should leave, but they should embrace their lessons with strength, and wisdom. “…Your short sojourn in New York has already equipped you with the necessary reflexes and cognitive tools to outwit and outperform your former-neighbors in New England. Like Superman under Earth’s yellow sun, to them you will seem to have great powers.”
By the second and third summer, I had met a core group of friends. Brunches, late nights on Spring Street, and retreats to Long Beach, were all apart of the essential getaways for New Yorkers. I found it funny that after spending so long to live there and make it happen, we were all enjoying when we could run full speed ahead, not looking back, for a few days.
By the fourth summer, I was tired. I was tired of New York and its transportation, tourists, and tight spaces. I craved freedom, a car, and somewhere where requesting a 1 bedroom wasn’t worth giving up my kidney.
In response to Gothamist’s article, I have to disagree about the “native New Yorker” beliefs to the “temporary New Yorker”. I am a New Yorker through and through. When I visit those busy, taxi cab streets, I feel 21 and enchanted all over again. I miss the days of happy hours and when bar hopping meant walking down a block. I hold close to me the early mornings I stretched and went for a run through Central Park to watch the sunrise. I fell in love with Manhattan, and don’t think I’ll ever get my heart back. But, like a bad boyfriend, I needed to breakup with something that wasn’t making me healthy and happy anymore.
You won’t lose your dignity if you leave the city. What you put into Manhattan, Manhattan will put into you. Cherish your time, and if you are temporary, know that you moved not because you failed, but because you wanted something else. Don’t be afraid to move back to your small town and try something new. At one point, New York City was scary and big. It intiminated you and brought you to your knees. At one point, it also made you grin like no tomorrow at unlimited possibilities.
Frank Sinatra said “if you can make it here, you can make it anywhere”. Cherish those words, and know that they hold value. You had a lifetime experience under your belt that not many people will ever be able to understand or know. Hold that close, and embrace change. A tough New Yorker, no matter the location, does not fear change, and they sure as hell don’t regret.
You can always move back. You came, you saw, and conquered. It takes a truly strong person to say “hey this isn’t working for me anymore”. You have only one life to live, and why spend it unhappy because society thinks you should live one way?
Do what makes you happy and don’t care.
That’s the New York Attitude.
“Not all who wander are lost”
When a New York gal moves from her city atmosphere, everything seems to go from 180mph to 30mph. Not including traffic. Used to the hustle and bustle of the city, I started to get a little homesick in early December. I missed the twinkling lights, the fast paced New Yorkers angry at the tourists clogging up our walkways, the sparkle of the department store windows all decorated for the holidays…and especially the people. My friends were apart of my heart, and being so far away while life continued was starting to wear on me.
When one lives in a city like New York, you develop a bond that is stronger than some of the family you have. The things you go through (terrorist threats, Hurricanes) and the things you see (bodily fluids, sardine tight subway cars, vomit on the subway cars), bring you together to cherish the positives. This can be said for any interaction between friends, but there’s something about seeing a homeless man urinating on the subway car you’re commuting on, that really brings you together. Trust me.
For the past year, I had been traveling nonstop. Whether for weddings, freelance work, or just because, my busy schedule had taken me away from my New York Minute. While living in New York City, I had continued my reckless schedule of working full time in fashion and full time as a blogger. Countless times I ran from work in one outfit, called the closest Banana Republic that I had on speed dial, bought an outfit, jumped in a cab, and ran to my next event. It was all about the hustle, and not about the moment. I had begun to crave fresh air, the freedom of driving a car, and people who actually smiled back when you did in passing. I needed a change. The universe had heard my plea, and opportunity was put into motion.
So I packed up everything, sold the things I couldn’t take with me in my new tiny car, and moved to Charlotte, North Carolina.
When you move to a new location, two things always happen.
1. You’re shell-shocked with new surroundings. You’re excited about the potential, but scared to meet new people, try new things, and do things that you’re not used to. It’s scary to be the new kid in class.
2. You have a little bit of longing for what once was. Forget about the bad, and the reasons you wanted to leave in the first place. Your rose colored glasses give everything a bit of shimmer and sparkle, and you start to regret your decisions. Maybe, Woulda, Coulda, are starting to ferment in your brain, and you’re starting to second guess a gut instinct.
Is it our human behavior that we are designed to never fully be happy with our current predicament? Or, did my years of living and breathing the fast paced New York lifestyle turn off my mechanism to literally stop and smell the roses?
By the end of November, I was beginning to second guess my decision. The joys of being a freelancer is never knowing where your pay check will come from. You have to be your own marketer, PR, publisher, image consultant, blogger, and CFO in one perfect package. So I did what any Darwinist would do until something more secure came along-I found a way to survive.
Like any other bohemian in this age with a creative bone in their body and a want of not being “conformed to corporate idealisms”, I freelanced by night and waitressed by day at one of the newest “trendy” restaurants in South End, Charlotte. For those of you who don’t know the area, South End is North Carolina’s own little version of Brooklyn. Old Warehouses, Factories, and Historic buildings have been turned into restaurants and businesses. Trendy young professionals and families live in luxury apartments. Upon visiting the area, I knew it matched my Upper East Side/Williamsbury (yes that’s a real combination) mindset. Add to the fact that the restaurant made me wear a Canadian Tuxedo day in and day out (denim on denim), and my hipster heart sang.
The funny thing about human behavior, is that most people don’t realize how strong they are. They don’t know if they will bounce back, but they do. They don’t know if they will suceed, but somehow they come back stronger and more prepared than ever.
The funny thing about human behavior, is that most people are creatures of habit. I may have moved to a different location, not knowing anyone, nor being the perfect “Southern Belle” idealisms, but I found an area similar to one I lived in 10 hours away. It was a matter of time before I researched and found the art, charity, and fashion scene, and it was a minute later that I became heavily involved in them.
I was able to construct a lifestyle that not only I was used to, but I liked.
Don’t be afraid to take the jump. Don’t be afraid to change careers. I moved from high fashion to serving drinks in a hot minute…just because I wanted to. Life is not about what people think, or the constant ladder of employment we climb. Sometime its about the experience, and how it impacts us. If I didn’t take “fun” waitressing job in historic South End, I wouldn’t have ever met a recent New York City transplant, an Upper East Side boy, who got seated at one of my tables, and caught my eye.
But that’s another story for later.
3 years have gone by since this blog first started, and WHAT a ride!
Thank you to all those that have read/shared my blog posts and supported my words!
Thank you to all the men who have inspired my words!
I can’t believe it’s been 3 years since I started writing. I thought that if I started writing my thoughts, reviews, and advice, the passion would slowly fade. Whether in New York City, Charlotte, or having a gypsy moment and traveling the world, the passion is still there. So much has happened, and the dream is still the same.
Bring it on 2014.
Every year, I have waited paitently for my birthday. Like every other girl, I celebrate it for a week. As a big lover of themes and parties, my birthday is always something I get excited about. The holiday season always starts at my favorite holiday, Halloween, and ends exactly two weeks after New Year’s, so aptly to celebrate my special day. My parents can be blamed for this obsession. One of my favorite childhood memories is of my parents and sleepy eyed brother singing to me as they opened the door of my bedroom. Always with a single candle and a chocolate frosted TastyKake, I knew that special moment would be the right start to my birthday. (And don’t even start with me that you don’t know what they are. Every food snob, or product of the 90s knows damn well what a TastyKake is.)
After the jumble of 2013, this year’s birthday didn’t seem quite up to par. I wasn’t into celebrating it, or acknowledging my age. I was missing New York City, as it’s my first birthday in years without my “second family” celebrating it. AND…I felt officially old.
I am officially the age that my parents got married after dating for 5 years.
In one year, I will officially be the age that my parents were married, bought a house, and had the most adorable pink bundle of joy (ahem me).
Instead, I am a born green eyed gypsy. Like the quintessential Brooklyn Hipster, I have traveled the world and freelance write with aspiring dreams to someday land a book deal or become the next “Samantha Brown”. I’ve waited tables, handed out gay pride parade flyers, and freelanced to ensure the rent is paid, walked barefoot in the streets of Manhattan (I don’t recommend), and moved 10 hours away from everything I knew with only what was in my car due to a gut feeling and prospects. I haven’t been ready yet to set roots down, and I’m not sure if I will in the next few years. Our generation seems to be struggling with the “white picket fence” concept, and I embrace waiting. How can I be committed to someone if I can’t commit to a yoga class?
So this year, I grew another year older. I could lie and told you I felt it. I could say my biological clock is ticking and I’m starting to get the cold sweats of accepting that I might be alone. However in all honesty, that wouldn’t be the truth. The truth is, after working 2 hours on freelance projects, I looked at the clock and realized it was 11:59. I sat on the floor of my one bedroom apartment, unwrapped my own TastyKate and lit the apple scented candle next to me. When the clock struck 12, I blew out the candle, made a wish, and inhaled the TastyKate. Some traditions don’t die.
With each year, you grow wiser not necessarily older. Age may be a physical state, but your mindset is what keeps you alive. My voice of wisdom, my grandmother, told me on my phone call with her that I “have lots of time” and that “I’m not missing much” (When it comes to marriage). I don’t take her wisdom lightly. She’s 90, and was married for over 45 years successfully. For now, I will plan my next trips exploring the world, I will drink red wine even though it gives me a headache, and I will make dumb decisions when need be. If you don’t, then what lessons are you actually learning?
Like Grandma says…I have alot of time.
Fate loves the fearless.
-James Russell Lowe
The creative type has different ways with how they work. Some people prefer to write a night some people prefer to write in a café. We don’t have a set schedule and create when the mood strikes us. I had so many ideas building up in my head it was starting to create insomnia. I would wake up in the middle the night trying to write these ideas down on a notepad, and then having a further panic attack that I didn’t have time to write all of these ideas down. Work was piling up and I had no idea where I was going to find My muse.
So on a rainy Sunday, I sat in my car as the fog rolled over the city of Charlotte in a crowded Target parking lot and I started to write.
The comfort of being in a smaller space and somewhere where I had inhibits so much emotion freely let me just continue on and on. Your car can be your transportation, your makeshift bed, and your sanctuary. After spending countless hours in road trips, my car had become a safe haven.
I was disappointed.
I had been on a few dates and was hanging out with a boy who also moved from NYC. We met in the quintessential “universal way”-I had been waiting tables and he was a customer. Soon while serving, we realized we had lived across the street from each other in New York and had never met. The universal irony of the situation created a friendship and start to feel like I was getting out of my funk.
However, after seeing an ex from afar in unexpected places, seeing this blast from the past made me stop dead in my tracks. Which is ironic, since I was standing next to train tracks.
I Realized right then and there doesn’t matter how long you date someone but it matters what experiences you share with them. I had fallen hopelessly in love with someone because our experiences of bonded us so fast. When someone meets you and you’re already a hot mess with a runny nose and sobbing, it can only go up from there. He wasn’t ready to commit and I don’t think I was ready to start a new relationship at that time. I was more so in the idea of love than falling in love. However, I can’t ignore that seeing him from afar flooded back everything and I felt like I lost them all over again.
I have this belief that life puts you in situations so that you can learn and grow and about these lessons for greater wisdom. It’s honestly the only thing that gets me through those nights when you’re painstakingly heartbroken and wanting to inhale a gallon of Ben & Jerry’s.
If I hadn’t met my ex, I wouldn’t have moved to Charlotte because I never would’ve fallen for Charlotte. Charlotte wasn’t in my vision, but once I was there, I felt at home. And if I hadn’t dated him I don’t know how I would’ve survived the summer of 2013. And if I hadn’t dated my ex before him, I wouldn’t have bought my car, been on these road trips and experience new cities.
One of my dearest friends, my southern belle from Louisiana and I have been having this constant debate about the idea of the “love of your life”. I’m not even sure that I believe that I could love someone for my entire life. People change, they grow and they want different things. How does one person fall into that category and fulfill your every need? Or, is it because they are the quintessential “one” that they will grow and adapt with you.
Don’t get me wrong…I’m a hopeless romantic. I want to believe that there someone out there that will be the yang to my yang and will be happily ever after. After evaluating my feelings for someone I dated compared to someone who I didn’t date, I realized a number of things. In Summer of 2013, I was hopelessly in love with that boy. Since then, I’ve changed so much. Looking onto now,I don’t know if I could be that girl that he left and loved, or love him equally back.
Life isn’t about finding your happily ever after with someone else, it’s about finding your happily ever after. You love and you’ll lose and relationships are gamble but it’s in the day you have to be true to yourself. If you can look back and say you can say that you gave it your all, then that’s all you can do.
You can’t control people, their emotions, or what they want. You may be somebody’s love to that moment in their life but don’t hold on to the belief that they are the “end all be all”. You will have a million love stories and romantic moments. Appreciate them. Appreciate your heartbreak, and the fact that you can feel. Appreciate your strength. Be fearless.