When Tinder Makes You Question Everything You've Ever Wanted

When I was 10 years old I met Benny Disco.  We had a mutual family friend and were invited to swim over at their family's pool.  It was love at first sight.  Benny was 12 (swoon).  He had rosie cheeks and a chubby body and I was smitten.  It was destiny.  That is until he and the older kids went to play basketball in the driveway and I went home with my mom because I wasn't about to be the chubbiest, shortest girl on pavement.

Years passed and Benny floated in and out of my life (I'm totally lying he had no idea who I was). Benny went to a private high school and then some college, I assume.  I drunkenly friended him on Facebook one night in college on a dare from my BFF. She did it, too, in solidarity, of course.  The funny thing about my schoolgirl crush on Benny is that I rarely remember his name (which obviously isn't actually Benny), so I always need confirmation from my friend when we potentially see him out at a bar, or someone mentions a group of his friends.  "Jane, it's Benny and it's so weird that you always say that you love him!"  Whatever.

A few months ago I was doing my classic nighttime ritual - wash face, brush teeth, put on pj's, swipe through Tinder - when the most amazing, serendipitous match flashed before my eyes. There he was, Ben, 23, first pictured walking in some tropical location. Next, holding a fish or a dog or something (I actually can't remember, but everyone on Tinder fishes or has a dog, I think).

This. Was. Fate. 

I swiped right. He swiped right. It's a match, we were meant to be! I imagined he would message me eventually. Noticing our mutual Facebook friends, connecting the dots, realizing he has always (randomly, without reason) had a schoolboy crush on me, too.  We would meet, hit our stride, and be together forever ....or for a beer..... but that was not the case.

Benny and I have been matched for 5 months now, and you know what?  I totally forgot about it until the other day when Benny did the unthinkable! He posted a Tinder moment - for those of you who don't know, a Tinder moment is a photograph that can be seen by all of your Tinder matches for 24 hours.  I, myself, have posted a moment or two (or 15... 3 of which have been liked by Super Bowl Champion, Legarrette Blount, thank you very much!), but Benny's was nothing like my basic "hotdogs or legs" photo on the beach.  Benny's photo was much, much more than that.

I sat there, in my driver's seat horrified, staring at Benny's, what I'm going to call, Little Benny ready for the Disco.... right there on TINDER for all to see with the caption "someone come help me with this?"  BENNY, ARE YOU KIDDING ME?! My cheeks flushed.  Benny was supposed to be sweet and innocent and not putting his package on the internet! My hopes, my dreams, my everything came crashing down.  How could I have been so wrong?!

And that was when I got to thinking, I'm probably wrong about a lot of things. We make these snap judgments and let our first impressions of people stick - good or bad - and then sometimes we are unwavering in our convictions and opinions.  While I'm obviously exaggerating my Benny epiphany, I am sort of serious.  I think it's healthy to reevaluate our goals, our dreams, and truly take a look at what we want and why we want it.  It's like when you see a blue dress on JCrew.com and you are so obsessed with it until you walk into the store and try it on and you look like Violet from Willy Wonka (no? just me?). We are terrible at predicting what we will want or feel in the future, so be ready to change your mind, have a change of heart, and swipe left on what you thought you couldn't live without.

There Is Nothing Cute About Raccoons

The following is a list of 10 of the most important lessons I have learned so far as a single twenty-something in the infamous proverbial "real world."  Just here to share some wisdom, take it or leave it - but seriously take it because even though I don't have my life together, some of these gems are really legit. 

1.  Beer does not put out the buffalo chicken flame.

This may sound like common sense to some of you; however, you can't imagine how many times I've been at dinner with someone who orders buffalo wings or a buffalo chicken sandwich with just a beer and no water!  They take a bite, swig the beer to null the fire and inevitably have to flag down the waitress for a glass of agua.  Do yourself and the waitstaff a favor and request a water ahead of time. 

2.  Fool me once, shame on you.

Fool me twice, still shame on you. 

If there is anything I have learned from being duped by guys, listening to my friends that have been duped by guys, and watching tons of RomComs where the girl is duped by the guy, it's this: blaming yourself is the absolute worst.  Does it totally suck that you gave someone a second chance and it doesn't work out? Yeah totally, but whatever.  If it had worked out differently you would've been psyched! So, give as many chances as you want and don't blame yourself for being optimistic, but when the hurting starts to outweigh the happiness, quit that shit cold turkey. Speaking of which...

3.  Quitters actually sometimes win. 

I quit everything that doesn't make me happy because I've come to find that quitting is not synonymous with failure.  From where I stand, everything in life falls somewhere on the spectrum between makes you unbelievably happy or makes you feel totally distressed, disheartened, and disappointed.  So, once something has crossed over the center line, tips-the-scales or whatever in the wrong direction, I'm out. I'm 22. I have a lifetime ahead of me to be happy, I don't need to spend any more time, energy, or money doing something that causes me more stress than good.  The happier, the better. 

4.  Most things in life are not permanent

(except like, tattoos and final sale items). 

Whenever you make a decision, no matter how big or small, you gotta remind yourself that it is not set in stone.  I mean obviously if you make the decision to quit your job and call your boss an "effin' bitch" or something, that's probably permanent, but most things that you do are not.  If you move to a new city and it doesn't work out, you're not stuck there.  If you go out with a guy and meet his family too soon, you don't need to marry him.  You, my single 20-something sista, are beholden to you right now, make decisions accordingly. 

5.  Fergie was onto something when she was up in the gym
working on her fitness with a witness. 

I know I just told you that you're beholden to yourself, but from what I've found it helps to have someone else keeping tabs.  If you set a goal, like fitness or finding a job or not wearing sweats every day of the weekend (some of my own goals obviously) then it's good to share that goal with someone else.  Not so that person can shame you when you're not doing it, but so that there's someone else who knows what you're working on and can support you or tell you to get your ass in gear.  I'd pick a friend that shares the same goal, that can be honest with you without being insulting. 

6.  No one can see the size on your tag. 

Please read that carefully again.  NO ONE CAN SEE THE SIZE ON YOUR TAG! There are only two times you really wonder what size someones clothes are.  1.) when it's your friend and she looks bangin' and you find yourself reenacting that creepy "lemme borrow that top" YouTube video; or 2.) whatever that girl is wearing looks way too big or way too small.  The second instance is what you want to avoid.  Here's the thing, you look better when your clothes fit. People can't see for sure that you're wearing an XS, but they can see what you look like in that size. Be confident in yourself, wear the clothes that fit your body, and forget about the stupid XS-XL labels tacked to the back of your neck, it's on the inside of your shirt, not plastered on your forehead. 

7.  The only investment you can make with certainty is in

a timeless wardrobe. 

With every investment - time, money, emotion - you run the risk of the unexpected.  Someone falls out of love, something falls from the sky, somewhere falls on hard times; you cannot predict what will happen in the future.  You can (and should) make a plan, set a goal, work toward something, but don't beat yourself up if there's an unexpected trauma, tragedy, or change of heart.  I've learned the best investments are made in your passions at that moment and in the little black dress, nude heels, and wool socks. 

8. There is nothing cute about raccoons.

Women should be able to bronze without restraint or fear of judgement.  There is no worse make up fopaux than the rancid act of raccooning yourself.  There is noting cute about raccoons, dark eye make up, white everything else.  Bronze like nobody is watching, because honestly, no one is watching.  When you stumble into the bathroom after 4 vodka crans you don't want to find yourself looking like a trashed woodland creature.  Bronze, baby, bronze! Just find the shade that's right for your skin. Orange raccoons aren't majestic, they're creepy. (Recommendations include BareMinerals Warmth, Clinique True Bronzed Pressed Powder, Urban Decay Naked Flushed, etc). 

9. Online dating is hilarious, awkward, and a two-way street. 

I've referenced my online dating excursions enough for you guys to know that I'm obviously taking it sort of seriously.  In the time that I've been on OkCupid, Tinder, and POF (the former lasting about 5 hours), I've learned that it is what you make it.  I live in a small suburban town where I can't throw a dead cat 10 feet without hitting someone I knew in high school (that's like a wicked gross thing to say, but I heard that phrase once and have never used it before in context).  My point is that I don't live in some cool downtown apartment surrounded by yo-pros ready to sweep me off into the sunset and studies have shown that you're just as likely to meet your spouse at bar as you are to meet them online. So, even if I'm not doing myself any good, there's no harm in trying.  Plus, some of the post-date stories are party pleasers.  Shout out to the 6'8" leprechaun whose "guilty pleasure" was going to Miley Cyrus concerts, I hope you find what you're looking for. 

10. Secure your own oxygen mask before assisting others.

Ya know when you're on an airplane and the flight attendant tells you that in the case of an emergency an oxygen mask will fall from the ceiling in front of you (and not fully inflate, which gives me such anxiety)? Anyway, you're supposed to put it on yourself first before helping kids or old people or people who just cant figure out how the elastic pulley things on the sides work. The airline isn't telling you this because they're assholes, they're actually teaching a super important lesson about self-preservation.  You are no use to anyone if you're not breathing.  It's natural in your 20's to want to have it all together and be there for the people you care about (at least it seems natural to me) because inevitably your friend will fall flat on her face (literally if her heels are too tall, figuratively if she is also a typical twenty-something), and you're going to want to help her get back up, which will be IMPOSSIBLE if you are not breathing.  Take time for yourself.  Make sure you're shit is in order before taking on someone else's shit.  Secure your mask or whatever.  It doesn't mean you don't love the others around you, it means you want to be ready for when they need you most. 

Puppies, Pinot, and President Fitzgerald Grant

Learned helplessness is a concept that was developed by Martin Seligman through an experiment he conducted based on the behaviors of man's best friend.  Seligman sent electric currents through the bottoms of dogs' cages so their little piggy-toes were shocked.  These cages had no apparent escape route, so the dogs were forced to stay put and endure the pain.  At first the dogs squirmed and jumped and looked for ways out of their chambers.  Next, Seligman put these dogs in cages that actually had a way out and shocked them again. The dogs, though, didn't even try to escape.  They stayed put assuming that nothing had changed.  That they were stuck.  They were helpless.

Now, I know Seligman sounds like a douche, torturing those poor puppies and shocking their little paws. I'm not even an animal person and I know that sending electric currents through the cages of theses pooches is a bad move, but what Seligman discovered through this experiment is so unbelievably pertinent to our lives, he should at least get a fist bump for his findings.

I'm not about to tell you that breaking up with my ex-boyfriend was akin to having shocks sent through my toes and that I was in an inescapable cage of emotion. That would be a metaphor even I am not dramatic enough to extend, but I am going to proclaim that I have 100% learned to be helpless.

Tomorrow night I am going on my 5th date with President Fitzgerald Grant... a little pseudonym for the guy I've been seeing that watches Scandal.  Fitz and I have been seeing each other for about a month now and things have actually been going great! We drink coffee, go for walks, talk about our classes (he's a med student...swoon) and I'm totally comfortable.  The thing is that whenever my sisters or my friends ask me what he's like or how things are going, my answer is always the same:

...fine...

Not like an angry-been-in-a-bad-mood-all-week 'fine!' or an upbeat-better-than-good-but-I-don't-want-to-sound-too-eager 'fine...!'  It's more of a got-an-87-on-this-exam-which-is-4-points-above-average-but-I-am-not-over-the-moon-about-it-I-did 'fine.' Ya know what I mean? Which is so annoying because I actually think I really like Fitz.  He's smart and good looking and doesn't own more shoes than I do - talk about a catch!  He's awesome and I think we could be moving in the right direction, but I don't want to get my hopes up. 

And there it is, Ladies and Gents.  I am Seligman's puppy.  For the last two years I have been trying to make it work with my ex-boyfriend. Over and over again I have been in this relationship where I have been excited by the prospect of being together... and then I'm left totally and utterly disappointed when things don't work out.  I give my time, effort, emotions, tacos (one of only dishes I am willing to make on the reg), and I'm still eating the tacos alone.  Now I am helplessly and hopelessly on the verge of not trying anymore.  My sisters are all, "invite him to family game night!" and "let's get dim sum!" and I'm over here like, "should I even shave my legs for our date tonight?"

So, I no longer think that Seligman was trying to be a jerk; I think he was trying to figure out why we're so willing to give up when things aren't easy.  Because when we try and try to no avail, it seems like we should give up.  But I don't want to feel that way.  I don't want to be the kind of person that looks at the glass as half-empty or whatever. Who cares if it's half-full?  What's the worst that happens when it's empty?  I want to look at it and think that at least there is room for more Pinot! (My proverbial glass is a long-stem wine glass, which makes sense because there not supposed to be full. Think about it.)

Seligman and I on the same page about this whole learned helplessness concept.  It's totally learned, but I have good news!  Another forward-thinking-asshole of his time, John Watson, proved something else with a incredibly unethical experiment (another lesson for another day). Behaviors can be learned and UNLEARNED! We don't have to feel helpless forever! So, tomorrow night I'm going to be excited to see Fitz. I'm going to hope that things go well. I'm going to look forward to the future. 

And if things don't work out, I'm going to be fine. I'm going to look at the glass ready to be refilled. Plus, I'm lucky enough to know that some wine glasses are bigger than others anyway. 

Fake Hair. Fake Nails. Can't Lose.

Flashback to my first day of senior year of high school.  I am wearing a white student council t-shirt that matches the DUKE label brazen on the upper left thigh of my unrolled navy blue athletic shorts.  I have on my cleanest and most comfortable silver and green Reebok running sneakers and I have my dull brown curly hair braided back into a skillfully created messy bun.  I am rocking only mascara that I'm not confident I applied that morning or the night before.  I look incredible and the best part about this outfit is that it wasn't an accident.  I really chose to wear athletic clothes to my last first day of high school.

"Why?" you may ask... well, simply because I didn't give a shit what I looked like.  

See, in high school, I was better than everybody else.  I was a three-sport athlete, two-season varsity captain, student council president, mathlete, NHS member, top 5% of my class... I even started a club that focused on teaching practical applications of biotechnology out of the classroom.  I was a jack of all trades and a master of sticking my nose in the air at anyone who cared more about their appearance than about things that really mattered: like books, and grades, and service, and making the most of the academic and extracurricular opportunities we are given in high school. 

Don't I sound like I was wicked fun? Guys were lining up at the door to take me out!

Wait... No they weren't. 

I did have a boyfriend for two years in high school.  Equally as athletic and interested in Nike's.  He was quiet, smart, and joined student council because I asked him to.  We broke up two weeks into senior year.  I don't think it's because he wanted me to wear more make up, but like, maybe it was. 

Flash forward to now: at this very minute I am wearing dark-wash designer jeans (gracias to my bff working at 7FAM), knee high heather gray socks peeking perfectly out of my brown leather riding boots, a gray over-sized J.Crew sweater, and blonde sixteen inch hair extensions (courtesy of Sally's Beauty Supply).  My fingers run across the keyboard with perfectly french manicured acrylic nails and my face - oh, my face looks smooth and bronzed.  Let me tell you, you can't go wrong with Benefit Cosmetics. 

I am, what many men and women across the nation would call: BASIC, and honestly, I like that about myself.  I am put together - at least, I look put together - and I still value all of the same things I valued before. I still read books more than magazines.  I am still a leader.  I am still passionate about education, about service, about athletics.  I am still me.  I just think I'm prettier.  

My sister used to always tell me growing up...

 "It's not how you play the game, it's how you look in the uniform."

 I'm not going to sit here and say that I totally agree, but what I will say that it's feels a hell of a lot better being bad at something when you at least look pretty! Added bonus when you end up being great at something and you look good. And honestly, guys are more attracted to me now.

I'm sure you all have heard a guy say that all they really want is a girl that's 'real,' and they're so over these 'fake bitches' because they're so spoiled, blah blah blah.  To quote another fake blonde after my own heart, Gwen Stefani, that shit drives me BANANAS.  The person that we are should not be judged based on how we look.  Old me, wearing athletic shorts, with God-given curls, and no make-up, was just as smart, kind, driven, and genuine as new me with acrylics, extensions, and Bella Bamba blush. Girls with contacts are just as smart as girls with glasses.  Girls in denim floor length skirts can be just as bitchy as girls in mini skirts. What you're wearing is no real reflection of who you are as a person.  I'm not fake just because my hair and nails are.  My smile is just as genuine whether it's coated in lipgloss or not.

Let me be clear: this is not me giving everyone a free pass to stop brushing their hair and wear men's champion sweatshirts everywhere you go. I think it's important that you dress in a way that makes you feel beautiful.  When you feel good and confident about how you present yourself, others notice that confidence and you invite the type of people, situations, and opportunities that you're looking for into your life.  That being said, we all need to try to look past the clothing (not in a creepy way).  I guess I mean past the superficial mental snapshot we take when we meet someone for the first time.  Maybe, ladies, if we all stop judging each other, guys will stop thinking it's okay to judge us, too.

So, wear athletic shorts or don't, dye your hair or don't, read a book or don't.  Just do whatever it is that makes you feel happy, confident, and beautiful.  Those are the qualities that make a person real, and those who take the time to learn what's in your heart are the ones that really matter.

Affirmation

I believe in self-compassion.

I believe that there are all kinds of love, but never the same love twice.

I believe in wearing makeup if it makes you feel beautiful.

I believe in chocolate cake. Lots of chocolate cake. 

I believe that people are the prettiest when they talk about something that they love.

I believe in speaking your mind only if you are not offensive. 

I believe in wearing athletic clothes even when you're not exercising.

I believe in fear. 

I believe that we will not make strides without setbacks. 

I believe that God brings you to struggle to lead to you success. 

I believe in wedding rings.

I believe in long soccer-mom walks in lieu of running. 

I believe in God. 

I believe that you are the best friend you will ever have.

I believe that a kind word can save a life.

I believe in hair extensions.

I believe that a few minutes in the sun can heal the soul.

I believe that you can always love deeper.

I believe in trying harder. 

I believe in midnight snacks. 

I believe that you are a product of both nature and nurture. 

I believe in adoption.

I believe that who you love is not a choice. 

I believe in family.

I believe that high heels look better with dresses than flats. 

I believe in hometowns.
I believe that there are warriors among us. 

I believe in angels. 

I believe that some fights worth it and some are worth letting your opponent win. 

I believe that Chinese food tastes better cold. 

I believe in silence. 

I believe in rolling the windows down, even in the winter. 

I believe in designer jeans. 

I believe that when you feel like life is over, it may only be the beginning.

I believe in going home. 

I believe that you can touch the lives of people you've never met. 

I believe that you are always in the right place at the right time. 

I believe in admitting defeat, but never accepting it. 

I believe in froyo for dinner.

I believe in seat belts.

I believe in self-forgiveness.
I believe in happiness.

I believe in living the life you have created, are creating, and have yet to create.
I believe in this moment you are a person that you will never be again. 

What Football and Scandal Have In Common

I don't watch football.

Oh, let me clarify: I do not watch televised NFL games on Sunday afternoons.  I do, however, frequent high school and mights football games starring my incredibly athletic and gifted nephews, but that's not that kind of football I mean.  I mean, when I'm on a date and a guy asks me if I like the Patriots, he's undoubtedly going to be disappointed by my non-commital, "Eh, yeah, sort of."

I don't want to say 'no' exactly, because I have watched football before hundreds of times, and I don't hate it; I just don't love it.  But they want me to love football.  (Yes, I did just group all men into one large all-encompassing 'they').  Because THEY really do want me to.  It's not their fault though, and it's not mine either.

Us females, we are born into a world of pink, sparkles, and frills.  We are wrapped in blankets adorned in flowers.  We're given gifts wrapped rose-toned paper tied with lace.  We are taught that we are girls and we should like "girl things."  Not to be confused with boy things.  Footballs, wrapped in football wrapping paper, to toss around with football buddies before Monday night football.

You know, guy stuff.

Okay, so I'm exaggerating, but you get where I'm going with this.  People teach us what to like when we're younger, but then we grow up.

Little boys who like football grow up to be grown men who like football and everyone is totally fine with it.  Little girls who like ballet grow up to be grown women who love ballet but are watching football with their husbands on Sunday afternoons because they're cool wives.

We get older and men want the best of both worlds.  They want us to wear dresses and cook because that's what girls do, but they also want us to watch football and drink beer because that's what makes us cool.  How confusing is that? The things we we're taught are strictly for boys when we're little are now the things we're being asked to like.  Wait a second... I have an idea!

Men should like shopping.  Men should like Grey's Anatomy.  Men should like flowers.  Men should like what we like.  I don't consider myself a feminist by any means, but I do think that we're living a double standard, and ya know what?  I find myself perpetuating that double standard.

Last week I went on a date with a new guy I met on OkCupid (I've upgraded from Tinder to OkCupid).  We met at a restaurant for drinks.  I wish I remember what he was drinking, but I remember thinking, 'okay, good choice,' when he ordered.  I like beer, so I get worked up when a guy orders a Coors Lite or something on a date.  Huge turn-off.  Anyway, I was sipping on a Shipyard Pumpkinhead, not wanting to come off too masculine by ordering a lager or something, when he asked my least favorite question...

So, do you like football?

At which point I stuttered through my explanation of how I could see myself watching football with someone who cares about it, but how I would never sit down to watch the Pats on my own. 

Oh, what do you like to watch? Grey's Anatomy? Scandal?

To which I answered honestly, "Both."

I'm kind of embarrassed to admit this because I know it's a girl show, but I watch Scandal, too. 

I had no idea what to say, but I didn't have to think of anything because the conversation moved quickly to red wine, our jobs, our families, etc.  But I kept thinking about Scandal.  Did I think it was weird that he liked it? Sort of.  I thought maybe he's gay.  Then I thought maybe he doesn't know he's gay, but then the more I thought about it, I realized: THIS ROCKS! IF THIS WORKS OUT WE COULD WATCH SCANDAL ON THURSDAYS!

That's the thing, we forget that guys can like "girl things," too.  It doesn't make them homosexuals, it makes them fun for girls to hang around with, the same way liking sports makes girls fun for guys to hang around with.

I feel like I'm rambling, but I'm gonna try to zero in on a point here: Gentlemen, it's okay for you to want a girl who likes sports, but it's also okay to like some of the girly things in life! And Ladies, it's okay for you to ask a guy to likes the things you like.  It doesn't make him less manly, if anything, I think it makes him more attractive.  Think of all of the potential shopping trips, paint nights, and Bachelor marathons in your future if you find the right man for the job.  

Flight or... Nope, That's It. Just Flight.

I always bring the most fun facts parties.  That's why I'm invited to so many hip-posh-cool dinner parties where people talk about cool things, like the latest fashion trends, who's dating who in the celebrity circles, and why they 'literally can't even' with girls who still wear Ugg boots (Can you tell I don't have that many girl friends?).  So, if you've ever been at one of those super cool-hip-posh parties with me, you'd know that my favorite and most fun fact is the following:

Contrary to popular belief, women are less likely than men to be victims of violent crime.

People love to hear that.  They're always like, "What? Really? Tell us more!" Which is, I'm sure, how you're feeling right now.  No worries, I'd never leave you hanging!

The reason that us girls are less likely to be victims of violent crimes is because we're scared.  You know when you're walking out to your car after a long day of outlet shopping and the parking lot is dark because you had to stay 'til close because you couldn't decide between the black blazer at J.Crew or the red blazer at BCBG?  You're leaving the store and you say to your friend, "Hey, hop in, I'll drive you to your car. Mine's closer."  You've actually just saved her life.  Now, maybe it's because your feet are tired from strutting around all day window shopping in your cute, yet impractical, Tori Burch flats so you assume her feet are tired to, but the reason you decide to stick together should ultimately be because it's safer.  Even if that's not what you're thinking, we, as women, engage in more preventative behaviors that make us less likely to be victims!

Let me break it down for you.

you're scared = you stick together = you're safer

So, why don't men engage in these same behaviors?  They make sense, right?  The buddy system, parking in well-lit areas, parking closer to buildings, etc. Well, let me tell you. It's society's fault. 

Men are, in my opinion, actually socialized NOT to engage in these safe, preventative behaviors.  For starters, boys are raised from a young age to assume that they are tougher than girls.  Scary movies, violent video games, rock 'em sock 'em robots: all male-oriented things.  Even bugs (which pose a serious threat if you ask me, especially spiders) are for boys because naturally boys are stronger, tougher, and less scared.  In essence, they are taught to FIGHT when a threatening situation arises.

Not us though, girls, we have been told the total opposite.  FLIGHT, ladies, the answer is always FLIGHT. We, unlike boys, are constantly reminded that we are in the midst of the dangers of the world and we are bombarded with messages about how to keep ourselves safe.  Our parents remind us to never leave a party alone, men offer to walk us to the car, and we are given pepper spray for our 16th birthdays... That last one might have just been me.

I say there's nothing wrong with flight.  When you're scared, that's good, BE SCARED and take the proper precautions.  And finally, tell you're boyfriend, brother, dad, cousin, best (boy) friend to cut the shit.  Make him let you drive him to his car.  Make sure he parks closer to the building.  Don't make him stand up for you at the bar when a creepy guy makes a comment about your ass.  Tell him you're not looking for superman, but that you want to live a life where no one needs to call superman! 

We, as twenty-somethings, live in a universal "it could never happen to me" mentality that literally sets us up for it to happen to us!  I'm not saying to live in fear, but what I am saying is that sometimes it's healthy to be a little scared: it could save your life...

Take a second to watch this snip-it from Oprah about the Gift of Fear. Kelly (the girl from the story) experienced something awful, but the gift of fear saved her life.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bBProrposzc&feature=youtu.be

(Insert Tinder Pun Here)

Anyone who knows me in any capacity knows that I've had the same dream since I was a teenager.  One goal that I've been working toward each and everyday; an aspiration that consistently presses in the back of my mind whether I'm studying for an exam, sipping pinot noir on a saturday night, or completing the lightest agility workout you can imagine... I cannot get this one idea out of my head. 

I want to be on The Bachelor. 

Before you begin passing judgment, let me stop you right there and redirect you to another thought: have you ever heard of Tinder?

If you haven't, you clearly haven't been a single twenty-something recently and neither have any of your friends.  Tinder is, in essence, the quintessential expression of how overtly shallow our generation's vision of beauty has become.  It's an iphone app that demonstrates how technology has enabled us to not only embrace a depthless idea of what is beautiful, but it also allows us to forfeit all human socialization and courting that once was "dating."

Don't get me wrong, I have a Tinder (yes, I am that desperate).  I went on my Facebook, picked out what I thought were the most flattering pictures of myself that also reflected who I am as a person - a photo of my sister and me at her wedding, a picture of my niece and me on Easter, one of my mom and me- and I created an account.  I even thought of a funny yet sweet bio for under my photos, you know, so that guys could really get to know me:

Lover of carbohydrates, sunshine, and ice cream for dinner. Currently studying to spend the rest of my life helping seventh graders get their shit together.

Perfect.  And ya know what, I think it's going great.  Look at this super sweet message I got today. 

Ahhh, romance! Like, is this guy serious?  Indeed he was.  So, here's my annoyance.  I have always made comments about wanting to find love on The Bachelor, half in a kidding way, half in a serious I've-already-filled-out-my-application way, and people are constantly telling me how stupid that is.  They meet me with unrequested and unwelcome opinions of how fake the show is, how dumb the girls are, and how I'm "so much better than that."  But I invite all of the people of that opinion think about this:  the men and women who meet on TV on any reality show, be it The Bachelor, Dating in the Dark, For Love or Money (I could go on forever), these people are ACTUALLY meeting.

So, yes, the bachelor himself has twenty-five girlfriends and narrows it down to one that he supposedly wants to marry after six weeks in romantic, idealistic beautiful locations; does that sound worse than checking out a thumbnail size photograph, maybe checking to see how many mutual Facebook friends, and then swiping right because "you're hot?" 

I don't know, something doesn't sit well with me.  And maybe I'm being dramatic.  Maybe reality TV, iphone apps, online dating websites... maybe they're all the worst possible ways to meet your other half.  They probably are, but we're living a world of inorganic interactions where texting is the primary form of communication, emojis are worth a thousand words, and read receipts are one of the easiest ways of letting someone know you're just not into them.

So forgive me for fantasizing about meeting the love of my life on television, it's pathetic and I should have more respect for myself.  Instead, I'll just Tinder message all of my matches the following emoji combination until one of them takes me up on it. 

Two Emotions

I recently started following an Instagram account of a boy that I go to school with.  While looking through his photographs I saw that eleven weeks ago he shared seven pictures of white lined paper on which he wrote his most personal fears.  I was awestruck.  He mentioned in the caption of the first picture that he was inspired by an artist that had done something similar and he felt like it was "something he had to do" - as if sharing his fears in a public way would help him feel less afraid.  I was beyond impressed by the honesty of his list, and have been inspired to create my own.  I'm not sure that writing down my fears will have the same as confronting them, but it is certainly worth a shot.

I am afraid.

I am afraid at all time that people do not like me.  I always assume that a person's first impression of me is negative and I am constantly worried that people speak negatively about me when I leave a room.

I am always fearful of entering social situations.  Before entering a social setting I spend about ten minutes mentally preparing for what we will be doing, who will be there, and how I anticipate acting.  My good friends know that I "rev myself up" before any event, even if it is just watching a movie with them.  I become flustered when plans change or if I am in contact with people I was not prepared for.  "Bumping into" someone I was not expecting is my worst nightmare.

I am afraid that my mother will never allow herself to be fully happy.  Ten years after my father passed away she began going on dates.  After about four dinners with the same man she stopped dating entirely claiming that she "felt like she was cheating on someone."  What an amazing tribute to my parents' love; however, it makes my heart sad that my mother thinks she cannot find love again.  I'm afraid that she is missing out on happiness because she is holding onto something that she will only have again after this life.

I am afraid that I will never find a love like my parents'.

I am afraid that I will always care more, love deeper, and give unconditionally.  I am afraid that no one will ever feel the same way for me, and that I will emotionally exhaust myself for others who will not or cannot reciprocate.

I am afraid I will lose myself.  Each time I hit a bump in the road, I am completely derailed.  I do not handle tragedy, separation, or major changes with poise, and my behavior and way of looking at the world is ultimately altered.  It takes months for me to recover, but I eventually find my way back to my faith, my family, and myself.  I am afraid that my mind is not strong enough. That someday something will happen - the final straw - and I will not bounce back.  God-willing, it will not be the loss of another family member…because I truly would not recover.

I am afraid of almost everything.

Being afraid is not always a bad thing.  Fear itself stops us from putting ourselves in harms way.  It is the reason that women are less likely to be victims of crime - we engage in more preventative behaviors because we are afraid.  Fear, however, is debilitating.  It stops us from taking the good risks, as well.  It is one of two emotions in this world that both protects us yet leads to our demise; the other is love.  The combination of the two can be deadly or exhilarating, but it is hard to tell where one stops and the other begins.  I fear falling in love again, but I'm also afraid of a life without it.  Unfortunately, until I can get over the former I will be living the latter.

Started From The Bottom Now We're Here

I've been calling this past weekend "rock bottom."  For three nights in a row I went to my closet,  selected a mostly see through top, applied a little too much eyeliner, and stepped into the tallest pair of wedges I could get my hands on... and then, I drank.  My typical five beers a night quickly escalated to seven or eight, my no-shot-taking policy flew out the window as I drank Captain straight from the bottle, and the box of wine my friends left in my room was considerably less heavy by the end of each night.  I kissed a guy I barely know, woke up in my bed with no idea how I got there, and spent two hours crying to a friend as he helped me out of my heels and into his roommate's slippers so I didn't break an ankle.  I offended a girl I'm barely acquainted with, fell down the hill outside of my apartment, and ate more drunk pizza than I even care to think about.

So, after all this, do I feel any better?  Surprisingly, yes I do.  I am embarrassed, ashamed, hungover, guilt ridden, and definitely in need of some exercise.  However, I've realized that acting out reminded me who I really am.  I am not the person I acted like this weekend; if I was, I wouldn't feel shame or embarrassment.  I let myself lose control of my emotions, of my values, and of my inhibitions.  I am definitely not proud of that, but I needed this weekend to remind myself that I am always in control and responsible for myself.

In relationships, from what I have learned, the power lies with the person who cares less.  At some point in my last relationship, I let the balance tip.  I loved deeper - cared more - and I gave him control.  I tried to want what he wanted, do what he wanted, and act in the way he wanted.  Every move I made was with him in mind.  I relinquished control.

Over the past five weeks, I have done little to regain control and responsibility.  I made excuses for my melodramatic responses to small infractions, my oversensitivity to the criticism of others, and my short temper in the face of controversy.  "I'm going through a tough breakup," I'd think, "it's not my fault."  And everyday, I wish things were different.  Sometimes I wish we were still together.  Sometimes I wish we had never met.  Sometimes I wish that he wasn't in the same state as me, at the same school as me, or at the same party as me.  I don't have control over any of those things, but what I can control are my actions and the way I treat others.  Over the past five weeks I lost sight of the fact that there is never an excuse to knowingly do the wrong thing.  My mother taught me to know right from wrong, to respect others, and to carry myself with dignity.  This weekend I exemplified zero of the things my mother taught me, and there is no excuse for that - not even a broken heart.

I genuinely believe that this past weekend was actually an experience I needed to have.  I am finding myself, rebuilding my life, recreating my outlook, and mending my heart, and sometimes the only way to do that is to start from rock bottom and work your way up.


**inspired by "Beauty in a Breakdown" firstworldthoughts.blogspot.com

There Is No Revenge Better Than Happiness

The best advice I have ever gotten after a breakup was from my aunt.  I was two weeks into my senior year of high school and my boyfriend of two years dumped me...hard.  "How would I know I want something, if I've never had anything else?" ...oh. So for weeks I over dramatized the situation.  I cried and cried about how he would rather meet other girls, how he thought there was something or someone better out there, and how I felt so betrayed.  My aunt finally said to me one day, "You know what, Sweetie? There is no revenge better than happiness."  Looking back, she was absolutely right.  Why live your like letting other people define your happiness?  At eighteen, I thought my heart was broken, and I wanted him to feel like losing me was a mistake.  Since then, my friends and I have been broken up with by a countless number of ultimately unworthy suitors.  Each time, I make it a point to remind myself and my friends of my aunt's advice. 

But this time feels different.  Revenge isn't what I'm looking for.  My boyfriend didn't walk away from our relationship, he was basically never in it.  And what makes this separation so difficult for me is that his contentedness with our break up validates my prior assumption that he didn't want to be in a relationship in the first place.  At least not a legitimate one.

I remember last New Years Eve when he refused my offer to spend the night with my friends, and waited until December 30th to counteroffer an invitation for me to spend the night with him and his friends.  I recall each time I asked him to meet me for dinner and before committing he first found out what his friends were doing - just in case they were going to have more fun without him.  I remember each time he ended a phone call with me regardless of what point of the conversation we were in because he had arrived home from work, and why keep talking to me when there was the prospect of talking to someone else?  And I recall each time I wished he would offer to come to Massachusetts, walk over to my dorm room instead of myself walking there, invite me to sleep over, wait for me to watch our favorite TV show instead of watching it with someone else, and so much more.  It's like dating me was an addition to his day that he didn't want to do.  Like a sixth class with too much homework, when he'd rather be watching Pokemon with his roommates or drinking on a Tuesday with his friends and their girlfriends.  So,  I walked away.  I gave him what he wanted, he has all the time in the world do the things that really matter to him.  He no longer has to think about what I might want, what I might feel, and what might be a compromise for the two of us.  He wanted to think only about himself, what makes him happy, and what takes little to no forethought about me.

What does this have to do with my aunt's advice? I should be happy... and sometimes I am.  But I don't feel like it's "the best revenge."  In a way, happiness validates that he was right.  That this is better for both of us.  That we both have what we wanted.  That cannot be any further than the truth.  Rather than him loving me enough to give more to our relationship, he wants to do way less, and I am supposed to be happy now?  Happy that I had to walk away from someone I loved because he did not want me anymore, but didn't have the decency to tell me that?  He let me decide... As if to say, "if this isn't enough for you that's your problem, I shouldn't have to WANT to spend time with you."  I feel like I was easily disposed of, and like he is relieved to be single, and it is entirely disheartning.

I know that my aunt's advice rings true here, but not in the way I had always thought it would.  I am not looking for revenge, rather I am looking for something I deserve.  I was a good girlfriend.  I was understanding of his values, of his wants and desires, of his flaws, his shortcomings and his worth... but I could not be understanding of his lack of commitment and respect for what me - for my wants, my values, my shortcomings, and my worth.  And that does not make me a bad person, it makes me deserving of happiness. 

So, I am not trying to be happy as a form of revenge in hopes of making him miss me or think that this was a mistake.  Honestly, if he wasn't willing to let me be happy with him, I sure as hell deserve happiness without him.