"I've never had a friend like you", he says.
"Well, dear, it's because we are in love."
"Yes, that's true."
"But you're getting married."
"That's true too."
So it goes between us two. Misfits until we found each other. and then you went off and I stayed and played and asked you what it all meant.
You reassured me that it meant that I hadn't found it yet.
But I had.
I was afraid of you.
You know my secrets. I've washed my wellies in your dishwasher and I've fed your shoes to your dog.
I've stolen your girlfriend with every intention of making her feel insecure, with hopes she'd give up the thrown, next to you.
I wanted to sit there.
I'd never have to fix your collar or tell you you drank too much.
I'd never have to guess what you meant or what you were thinking, because you tell me. You always have.
I don't regret a minute of knowing you, but I do regret all those times I thought I wasn't good enough for you.
You have horses in your backyard and a house in Morocco.
I have nothing.
You know how to give and receive and be present and loving.
I'm afraid of everyone.
You brought me flowers because I got my heart broken. You told me I was the one everyone waits for.
I didn't believe you.
You stopped waiting.
You're going to marry her.
I'm going to be there to celebrate.
It'll be the first wedding where I don't even see the bride.
There's been 2. 2 men in the many who've made me realize that they do exist.
That love isn't all movies and fairytales.
That I'm lovable.
I did this though. I pushed both of you away.
The first, I was young. I didn't know what love meant. I told myself he wasn't enough.
he wasn't.
but you are.
Maybe the 3rd time is the charm. Maybe the next one who comes back to me after I tell him to leave will work.
Maybe then I'll stop quizzing and judging and creating all the reasons why this is doomed and I prefer to sleep alone.
Maybe then I'll find the strength to ask him to stay.
I missed you when you left. Every thing I owned reminded me of you. Every man with a good suit and a smashingly kept hairdo. Every girl who looked happy made me imagine you. Every one. Every last one.
I didn't even realize I gave up then.
I did.
You are like light. You are like french macaroons with a cafe ole.
You are the love I never got to have.
And we would have been perfect.
It's time to move on. It's time to believe again. It's time to give up giving up.
You gave me that. I realize all this because of you.
I love you more today than ever,
because I'm letting you go.
Saturday, November 10, 2012
Sunday, November 4, 2012
Because I'm just fine
Everybody knows there was a hurricane in NYC this past week...especially those of us who live here. Everybody does not know that Audrey has been feeling a complete mess of late and, essentially incapable of a self-preserving thought, much less actually caring for and loving herself.
So it takes a natural disaster does it?
I suppose sometimes it does.
The fact is Audrey would love a break.
She's been creating all the things she can have in this world.
From nothing...not just Landmarked out "from nothing I am the possibility of..." crap, but actually from nothing.
This chick has made it.
So she's solo and struggling...there's no permanence in that.
She's fostering real bonds to take into the rest, the amazing future she's setting up.
She's growing to believe in her true beauty and her soul that tells it like it is.
So shut up if I hurt your feelings...you need a reality check.
It's amazing how people we care for, the ones that pushed us away, come out when the weather threatens us.
It's amazing how selfish people become.
It's amazing how much people want a pat on the back and a hug.
No it isn't...BECAUSE THEY DO, naturally.
I love New York. I really do.
But why does it take this sort of horrible shit to bring us together?
We do care.
We are allowed to be selfish.
We all need a pat on the back...and a hug.
I walked through a dark and and desolate downtown Manhattan to and from the hospital this week. On Friday morning, as I trudged over the Brooklyn Bridge into the newly rising sunlight warming up an otherwise tired, cold, and worn out southern point, a woman coming from the darkness caught my eye, smiled, and said, "Have a good day".
I will, thank you and I'll continue to pass this on and wish the same.
I've come to realize that, despite attempting to shed all remnant of my suburban skin, I've kept my most precious attribute.
I love people.
I trust them and I care for them and I see them in a way that suggests that there's good there.
There's always good.
In fact, it's the root of all of us, whether it's covered by cemented walls of bitterness and hostility, it's there, right at the center.
I make a lot of interesting choices about the people I try to get to.
like a friggin' Mother Theresa half the time.
I want people to let out there good and let my good in.
I know I have to protect myself and I have to try to stay away from the ones who don't seem to have that in them.
Oh well.
I find it so hard to believe that they can't get there, that it's that difficult to let me in.
So, it did take a hurricane.
It took a hurricane to realize that I can do that and I can be there for people and reach out and go for those connections and, they may just turn away and that's fine. It's no reason to stop, just a reason to say, "OK, that happened, looks like this one just needs me to be less aggressive and really probably needs a pat on the back and a hug even more than I do".
A heavy weight left me this week. I started realizing a rejection really doesn't have ANYTHING to do with me, nor does it make me any LESS lovable.
It just means that sometimes we open our arms and people are too stuck in it and miss the chance to feel loved.
So I hopped in to help at a relief collection today and just enjoyed giving. I'm going to keep this feeling. There's no attachment to the result, to the thank you...to the acknowledgment. It just feels good to give and to see a brick or two fall away from those New York accumulated walls we build.
God love you New York. You're the toughest and most rewarding love I've got.
We'll get through.
So it takes a natural disaster does it?
I suppose sometimes it does.
The fact is Audrey would love a break.
She's been creating all the things she can have in this world.
From nothing...not just Landmarked out "from nothing I am the possibility of..." crap, but actually from nothing.
This chick has made it.
So she's solo and struggling...there's no permanence in that.
She's fostering real bonds to take into the rest, the amazing future she's setting up.
She's growing to believe in her true beauty and her soul that tells it like it is.
So shut up if I hurt your feelings...you need a reality check.
Enough about me...because I'm fine.
It's amazing how people we care for, the ones that pushed us away, come out when the weather threatens us.
It's amazing how selfish people become.
It's amazing how much people want a pat on the back and a hug.
No it isn't...BECAUSE THEY DO, naturally.
I love New York. I really do.
But why does it take this sort of horrible shit to bring us together?
We do care.
We are allowed to be selfish.
We all need a pat on the back...and a hug.
I walked through a dark and and desolate downtown Manhattan to and from the hospital this week. On Friday morning, as I trudged over the Brooklyn Bridge into the newly rising sunlight warming up an otherwise tired, cold, and worn out southern point, a woman coming from the darkness caught my eye, smiled, and said, "Have a good day".
I will, thank you and I'll continue to pass this on and wish the same.
I've come to realize that, despite attempting to shed all remnant of my suburban skin, I've kept my most precious attribute.
I love people.
I trust them and I care for them and I see them in a way that suggests that there's good there.
There's always good.
In fact, it's the root of all of us, whether it's covered by cemented walls of bitterness and hostility, it's there, right at the center.
I make a lot of interesting choices about the people I try to get to.
like a friggin' Mother Theresa half the time.
I want people to let out there good and let my good in.
I know I have to protect myself and I have to try to stay away from the ones who don't seem to have that in them.
Oh well.
I find it so hard to believe that they can't get there, that it's that difficult to let me in.
So, it did take a hurricane.
It took a hurricane to realize that I can do that and I can be there for people and reach out and go for those connections and, they may just turn away and that's fine. It's no reason to stop, just a reason to say, "OK, that happened, looks like this one just needs me to be less aggressive and really probably needs a pat on the back and a hug even more than I do".
A heavy weight left me this week. I started realizing a rejection really doesn't have ANYTHING to do with me, nor does it make me any LESS lovable.
It just means that sometimes we open our arms and people are too stuck in it and miss the chance to feel loved.
So I hopped in to help at a relief collection today and just enjoyed giving. I'm going to keep this feeling. There's no attachment to the result, to the thank you...to the acknowledgment. It just feels good to give and to see a brick or two fall away from those New York accumulated walls we build.
God love you New York. You're the toughest and most rewarding love I've got.
We'll get through.
Saturday, September 29, 2012
AudreysThinking: Acknowledgement
AudreysThinking: Acknowledgement: It's time Audrey acknowledge herself. It's an interesting characteristic I see in a number of women I hold very dear. We're true and bold an...
Friday, September 28, 2012
Acknowledgement
It's time Audrey acknowledge herself. It's an interesting characteristic I see in a number of women I hold very dear. We're true and bold and exciting and successful, but we fail to acknowledge these things at the most pertinent of times.
It's interesting being a woman in Manhattan. There's a fine line that breaks a number of us and reduces us to the mere shells we inhabit.
When it comes to relationships, we're in a pool that exists nowhere else.
We wake up in the morning hopeful. We forgive and forget red flags that show us that we won't be able to be ourselves if we want to try and make love work. Then, we realize it doesn't work anyway.
That's not true.
It does.
It's a matter of owning who we are and being ourselves in the most trying of situations.
Professionally, we excel.
We hold our own in a way that astounds our suburban family and friends.
We work tirelessly to gain recognition in a man's world.
And we succeed.
Then we try for love.
We ignore that the men of Manhattan arrived here with the same goals and aspirations. They come here from places where school buses and soccer teams and family dinners are the norm. They come here from families who encourage, but haven't an inkling what it's like in a world where being good at something gets us nowhere.
We have to be great.
Women prove themselves and find solace in the accomplishment.
Men prove themselves and feel an emptiness.
It's a generalization. I know.
But I speak from the next decade. The 30 somethings.
I speak from the lot of us who get resigned to thinking that happiness is a myth.
A figment.
Something only reserved for a select, lucky few.
It isn't.
It's a matter of trust.
It's a matter of realizing that your perfect match is a perfect her. Or him.
It's a matter of understanding that, in the end, it's the person who sees you through the sadest and darkest of times and loves you for who you are.
Simply.
I've dreamt about a dreamy man who's the kind of handsome that Hollywood ignites. Who's the kind of success that Forbes 500 puts on the cover. Who's interests engulf mine. Who's story may be sad and difficult, but has produced an exceptional man.
I also recognize that I sleep 5-6 hours a night and the other 18-19 hours I spend in the world.
Where men are grown up but ever-living little boys. And I, in turn, am just as much a little girl.
He probably won't be able to match a suit.
He probably won't show up confident and sure.
He might have a preoccupation with star wars or batman or some other endearing and genuinely juvenile distraction.
He might pout or get quiet when he doesn't know how to respond.
He might be selfish and silly about things that he really has no control over.
But I'll love him.
For all of that.
And his success.
And his failure.
And his attempts. Just because he tries.
That's what we're missing here.
We miss accepting being human. The one true quality that makes us lovable.
The older we get, the deeper our past. But it's just a past.
It's over.
Again I land at vulnerability.
The key to ever present and powerful being.
And love.
It's what makes us available to connect. It's what makes us refreshing and new.
And the silliest part of it is that it's simply just us, as we are, as we're able to share.
Love.
I believe in love in Manhattan.
It's interesting being a woman in Manhattan. There's a fine line that breaks a number of us and reduces us to the mere shells we inhabit.
When it comes to relationships, we're in a pool that exists nowhere else.
We wake up in the morning hopeful. We forgive and forget red flags that show us that we won't be able to be ourselves if we want to try and make love work. Then, we realize it doesn't work anyway.
That's not true.
It does.
It's a matter of owning who we are and being ourselves in the most trying of situations.
Professionally, we excel.
We hold our own in a way that astounds our suburban family and friends.
We work tirelessly to gain recognition in a man's world.
And we succeed.
Then we try for love.
We ignore that the men of Manhattan arrived here with the same goals and aspirations. They come here from places where school buses and soccer teams and family dinners are the norm. They come here from families who encourage, but haven't an inkling what it's like in a world where being good at something gets us nowhere.
We have to be great.
Women prove themselves and find solace in the accomplishment.
Men prove themselves and feel an emptiness.
It's a generalization. I know.
But I speak from the next decade. The 30 somethings.
I speak from the lot of us who get resigned to thinking that happiness is a myth.
A figment.
Something only reserved for a select, lucky few.
It isn't.
It's a matter of trust.
It's a matter of realizing that your perfect match is a perfect her. Or him.
It's a matter of understanding that, in the end, it's the person who sees you through the sadest and darkest of times and loves you for who you are.
Simply.
I've dreamt about a dreamy man who's the kind of handsome that Hollywood ignites. Who's the kind of success that Forbes 500 puts on the cover. Who's interests engulf mine. Who's story may be sad and difficult, but has produced an exceptional man.
I also recognize that I sleep 5-6 hours a night and the other 18-19 hours I spend in the world.
Where men are grown up but ever-living little boys. And I, in turn, am just as much a little girl.
He probably won't be able to match a suit.
He probably won't show up confident and sure.
He might have a preoccupation with star wars or batman or some other endearing and genuinely juvenile distraction.
He might pout or get quiet when he doesn't know how to respond.
He might be selfish and silly about things that he really has no control over.
But I'll love him.
For all of that.
And his success.
And his failure.
And his attempts. Just because he tries.
That's what we're missing here.
We miss accepting being human. The one true quality that makes us lovable.
The older we get, the deeper our past. But it's just a past.
It's over.
Again I land at vulnerability.
The key to ever present and powerful being.
And love.
It's what makes us available to connect. It's what makes us refreshing and new.
And the silliest part of it is that it's simply just us, as we are, as we're able to share.
Love.
I believe in love in Manhattan.
Sunday, May 20, 2012
Admiration, the most sought after income in the universe
"I admire you."
Who doesn't want to hear that? Someone expressing that your way of being inspires and strikes them with a sense of awe and a desire to be...you.
Have you ever experienced someone's admiration when you were being inauthentic?
Notice how you felt anxious or uneasy, or maybe you felt relieved, if you're as inauthentic as that would suggest.
It's all because admiration is something we all want from life. We look at magazines, print and television ads. We read biographies. We teach children about the fantastic people in history that have changed the world and stood for something and created something truly beautiful in their time here.
Everyone wants to be admired for something. Some people want what the world defines as BIG dreams and BIG ideas. These ideas are only BIG in scale. That doesn't make them more admirable.
Let's say there's a little old man who lives alone in a tiny apartment. He pays all of his bills on time, he always keeps his space neat and clean. he has no family. He leaves his apartment every day to get his coffee and his paper, sits in the park or in a cafe on rainy days, reads the paper and then heads to the market to get the items he needs to make dinner. He spends 2 hours cooking every night, sets the table, puts on his favorite music, enjoys every bite, cleans up, writes in his journal and gets to sleep. On Tuesdays and Fridays he does his laundry at the laundromat and on Sundays, he goes to services at his church. He gives $10 every week to the church fund and in every place and thing he does, he makes sure to make eye contact and smile at every person he encounters.
He's someone who does what he does and is on time and pleasant and wanting to connect with others. He gives of himself because he wants to, not because he's bound to get something from it.
As humans, we forget that this is real and true and beautiful. We likely see this man as someone who is boring and lazy and introverted.
We would rather talk about people who have done amazing things. BIG scale things...
I have two perfect examples as to why this is completely and unfortunately despicable...
Audrey Hepburn.
My pseudonym's namesake. She was beautiful, charming, talented, strong, and generous with her time, giving to charity, working with children in Africa into her elder years, being a glorious mother.
Audrey Hepburn was hospitalized twice for trying to commit suicide. She was married twice to horribly abusive men. She was sick, anorexic and perfectionistic.
I still admire the prior list. The latter proves her to be a story. A story we only share the good parts of.
Steve Jobs.
He gave us Apple. He gave us amazing technology and devices that allow us to be more effective and connected and give us the time to truly live in the world.
Steve Jobs had a terrible relationship with his family. He was despondent, dominating, and rarely around. His work was his life. They were just fluff.
I still admire the prior list. The latter proves him to be a story. A story we only share the good parts of.
Admiration is the most sought after income in the universe.
Everyone who takes less is always second best.
In order to be admired, we must allow ourselves to be seen for who we are.
We must present our inauthenticities and admit that they have driven us to our need to be admired.
At the end of the day, false admiration won't make us happy. Simple self-love and contentment will give us the true self that we need to carry on living a life we love with hope and happiness.
Food for thought...
Your welcome.
XOXO, Audrey
Who doesn't want to hear that? Someone expressing that your way of being inspires and strikes them with a sense of awe and a desire to be...you.
Have you ever experienced someone's admiration when you were being inauthentic?
Notice how you felt anxious or uneasy, or maybe you felt relieved, if you're as inauthentic as that would suggest.
It's all because admiration is something we all want from life. We look at magazines, print and television ads. We read biographies. We teach children about the fantastic people in history that have changed the world and stood for something and created something truly beautiful in their time here.
Everyone wants to be admired for something. Some people want what the world defines as BIG dreams and BIG ideas. These ideas are only BIG in scale. That doesn't make them more admirable.
Let's say there's a little old man who lives alone in a tiny apartment. He pays all of his bills on time, he always keeps his space neat and clean. he has no family. He leaves his apartment every day to get his coffee and his paper, sits in the park or in a cafe on rainy days, reads the paper and then heads to the market to get the items he needs to make dinner. He spends 2 hours cooking every night, sets the table, puts on his favorite music, enjoys every bite, cleans up, writes in his journal and gets to sleep. On Tuesdays and Fridays he does his laundry at the laundromat and on Sundays, he goes to services at his church. He gives $10 every week to the church fund and in every place and thing he does, he makes sure to make eye contact and smile at every person he encounters.
He's someone who does what he does and is on time and pleasant and wanting to connect with others. He gives of himself because he wants to, not because he's bound to get something from it.
As humans, we forget that this is real and true and beautiful. We likely see this man as someone who is boring and lazy and introverted.
We would rather talk about people who have done amazing things. BIG scale things...
I have two perfect examples as to why this is completely and unfortunately despicable...
Audrey Hepburn.
My pseudonym's namesake. She was beautiful, charming, talented, strong, and generous with her time, giving to charity, working with children in Africa into her elder years, being a glorious mother.
Audrey Hepburn was hospitalized twice for trying to commit suicide. She was married twice to horribly abusive men. She was sick, anorexic and perfectionistic.
I still admire the prior list. The latter proves her to be a story. A story we only share the good parts of.
Steve Jobs.
He gave us Apple. He gave us amazing technology and devices that allow us to be more effective and connected and give us the time to truly live in the world.
Steve Jobs had a terrible relationship with his family. He was despondent, dominating, and rarely around. His work was his life. They were just fluff.
I still admire the prior list. The latter proves him to be a story. A story we only share the good parts of.
Admiration is the most sought after income in the universe.
Everyone who takes less is always second best.
In order to be admired, we must allow ourselves to be seen for who we are.
We must present our inauthenticities and admit that they have driven us to our need to be admired.
At the end of the day, false admiration won't make us happy. Simple self-love and contentment will give us the true self that we need to carry on living a life we love with hope and happiness.
Food for thought...
Your welcome.
XOXO, Audrey
Thursday, May 17, 2012
And...GO
It's been a while. I was busy. I was also confused. I'm neither right now.
I spent some time opening my mind further to new ideas and I am now ready to share them.
It doesn't matter how my day goes...or yours for that matter.
In actuality, it's just a day. It's just 24 hours, 1440 minutes.
It's just this happened, this didn't, he said, she said, blah blah blah.
My further idea says this:
So what?
Did you enjoy it?
Because, if the answer is no, you've failed at life.
OUCH, Aud! Did you get hurt or something? Did you get told your don't know it all.
Nah. I didn't. I already know I don't, but I do know something that I stand for, for the rest of my life. I've stood for it forever, but I've never had it defined. Now I have, and I'm proud of myself.
I live.
I don't get resigned to whatever it is that certain someones believe is "the way it goes" or that is "fine for now" or who "aren't getting any younger".
In my life I know I'll aspire professionally to all the possibilities I believe in. In love...I will too. I'm sure it will be unconventional the way it all goes down, but I will.
I tend to get stuck.
I tend to allow for it. All of it.
I tend to accept him for his shortcomings, while he derails me for my accomplishments.
I do.
It's terrible.
I know.
I'm not a masochist. I was just occurring like one. I'm actually a forthright, bra burning, simple person-hating, femi-nazi bitch.
Yep, I am.
I'm also a delicate, quiet, gentle, and passionate person.
Yep, I am.
I'm also a woman who doesn't need anyone to help her, but would love for an offer.
Yep, I am.
I'm also a girl who still likes printed tights and thick wool sweaters that drown my femininity and my "grown-up-ness"
Yep, I am.
I'm also a woman who will use my legs to drop jaws and shut simple people up so I will be heard. and I will WIN.
Yep, I am.
I'm RECENTLY a woman who loves herself. Who knows exactly what she wants and gets it. A woman who rolls out profanities ablaze when she doesn't get what she's asking for.
SERIOUSLY? Yep, you bet I am.
Because I've given.
I've always been the shoulder to cry on, or the friend to "have your back" or the one you can bounce your ideas off of.
That's a sound board.
I'm a human being.
I'm worth so much more than being some one's bobble head while they rant and rave about the travesty of their "Do not resuscitate" life.
Forget it.
They'll have to juice me to get me to leave.
I am taking a stand to ignore ignorance.
To ignore negative thoughts, feelings, expressions, and energy.
I am taking a stand to NOT foster the negativity.
So here's my advise if you'd like a friend like me:
1. You don't like your job? quit.
* If this isn't possible, you've created your hardship by not budgeting to have a cushion to get the
hell out. YOU DID THIS
2. You're not in love with your significant other any more. get out
* Marriage is a choice. Choose wisely. You'll be fine if you're alone. In fact, if he really does
drive you this crazy, you'll be better. If you just want to bitch and nothing is wrong SHUT UP.
3. 30 is not old.
* if you truly believe it is, you need to cheat on your spouse, do some LSD, and frigging live your life. Not that these things are necessary for living, but 30?!?!. I still get pimples. Old people do not get pimples. I also have 5 years until I reach my sexual peak. The only people who are old at 30 are men. they're 11 years past their peak and likely screwing a chick who's got at least 14 years to go. (they're so on the same level. I mean, it's scary how much they have in common).
4. Crying. Talking, Expression. Freaking out. and BREAKING DOWN. are a really real part of living.
* if you're not invested in your life enough to be hurt when things don't go your way, you might as well die and get dirt thrown in your face.
Seriously. We get this shot. Why not live every day like you could burst at the seems with presence and excitement and a drive towards your dreams?
Cynicism. It'll be my plea for not guilty when everyone drops like flies and I'm still chillin, being happy.
Get over yourself, your story, your baggage. Get over what keeps you where you are. and...
GO
I spent some time opening my mind further to new ideas and I am now ready to share them.
It doesn't matter how my day goes...or yours for that matter.
In actuality, it's just a day. It's just 24 hours, 1440 minutes.
It's just this happened, this didn't, he said, she said, blah blah blah.
My further idea says this:
So what?
Did you enjoy it?
Because, if the answer is no, you've failed at life.
OUCH, Aud! Did you get hurt or something? Did you get told your don't know it all.
Nah. I didn't. I already know I don't, but I do know something that I stand for, for the rest of my life. I've stood for it forever, but I've never had it defined. Now I have, and I'm proud of myself.
I live.
I don't get resigned to whatever it is that certain someones believe is "the way it goes" or that is "fine for now" or who "aren't getting any younger".
In my life I know I'll aspire professionally to all the possibilities I believe in. In love...I will too. I'm sure it will be unconventional the way it all goes down, but I will.
I tend to get stuck.
I tend to allow for it. All of it.
I tend to accept him for his shortcomings, while he derails me for my accomplishments.
I do.
It's terrible.
I know.
I'm not a masochist. I was just occurring like one. I'm actually a forthright, bra burning, simple person-hating, femi-nazi bitch.
Yep, I am.
I'm also a delicate, quiet, gentle, and passionate person.
Yep, I am.
I'm also a woman who doesn't need anyone to help her, but would love for an offer.
Yep, I am.
I'm also a girl who still likes printed tights and thick wool sweaters that drown my femininity and my "grown-up-ness"
Yep, I am.
I'm also a woman who will use my legs to drop jaws and shut simple people up so I will be heard. and I will WIN.
Yep, I am.
I'm RECENTLY a woman who loves herself. Who knows exactly what she wants and gets it. A woman who rolls out profanities ablaze when she doesn't get what she's asking for.
SERIOUSLY? Yep, you bet I am.
Because I've given.
I've always been the shoulder to cry on, or the friend to "have your back" or the one you can bounce your ideas off of.
That's a sound board.
I'm a human being.
I'm worth so much more than being some one's bobble head while they rant and rave about the travesty of their "Do not resuscitate" life.
Forget it.
They'll have to juice me to get me to leave.
I am taking a stand to ignore ignorance.
To ignore negative thoughts, feelings, expressions, and energy.
I am taking a stand to NOT foster the negativity.
So here's my advise if you'd like a friend like me:
1. You don't like your job? quit.
* If this isn't possible, you've created your hardship by not budgeting to have a cushion to get the
hell out. YOU DID THIS
2. You're not in love with your significant other any more. get out
* Marriage is a choice. Choose wisely. You'll be fine if you're alone. In fact, if he really does
drive you this crazy, you'll be better. If you just want to bitch and nothing is wrong SHUT UP.
3. 30 is not old.
* if you truly believe it is, you need to cheat on your spouse, do some LSD, and frigging live your life. Not that these things are necessary for living, but 30?!?!. I still get pimples. Old people do not get pimples. I also have 5 years until I reach my sexual peak. The only people who are old at 30 are men. they're 11 years past their peak and likely screwing a chick who's got at least 14 years to go. (they're so on the same level. I mean, it's scary how much they have in common).
4. Crying. Talking, Expression. Freaking out. and BREAKING DOWN. are a really real part of living.
* if you're not invested in your life enough to be hurt when things don't go your way, you might as well die and get dirt thrown in your face.
Seriously. We get this shot. Why not live every day like you could burst at the seems with presence and excitement and a drive towards your dreams?
Cynicism. It'll be my plea for not guilty when everyone drops like flies and I'm still chillin, being happy.
Get over yourself, your story, your baggage. Get over what keeps you where you are. and...
GO
Sunday, April 22, 2012
I will give you a reason and you will like it
So I go to a therapist. I'm not afraid to admit that. I am a New Yorker. We all go to therapy.
I started going because I had no idea who I was. I had lived the first 28 years of my life behind a tutu matched delightfully to a brazen, self-righteous, semi-sociopathic masochist.
How the hell does that work?
Well...
I thought being blunt and hurtful was a good tactic for letting people know they did me wrong. My MO was to take the punishment of being ignored and belittled for months, years, decades in a few cases, and then finally, out of nowhere, sweet, innocent, caring and loving Audrey went ape shit.
I got into an argument on the street with a guy who had treated me like I was a pet, one that he kicked when he got home from a bad day, for way too long.
We were standing on the corner of thompson and spring and i just snapped. the venom that started pouring out of my mouth was cold, ruthless, and violently heartless. Then, he shoved me, and walked away.
A 33 year old man shoved me.
This, I will sheepishly admit, was not the first time I had provoked and been man-handled, but it was certainly the last. The next morning I set up my appointment.
I had no idea what was wrong with me. Now I do.
Nothing.
I was giving the benefit of the doubt to people who take. Narcissism was a HUGE turn on. It still is. The idea that I could handle it. That I was so tough and emotionless and cool was like a drug.
I really did not care what his or her deal was because we would never have to be close.
I could "love" him and leave him or gossip, work on my snarky sarcasm with her and, at the end of our encounter, not give a shit which way they went.
But I was being false. I did want to be cared about. I did want someone who listened and told me stories, good, bad, and ugly stories, and just put themselves out on the table.
I wanted to be able to air out my dirty laundry too. That stuff has made me who I am. Who, I've realized in the past two years, is an amazing person.
The hard pill to take is that i am still drawn to people who are looking for motive.
They are not hard to find.
A person who trusts is 1 in a great many. A person who doesn't is a dime a dozen.
I like to listen. I like to be a soundboard and watch what people do and say. I can tell when they are coming from an honest place. I can tell when they are not. In some instances, even when they can not.
This gets me into trouble.
People do not like to share.
They create this storyline about the listener. Freud coined it transference.
Since I have this lovely tendency to listen and hear, this transference shows up in a lot of colorful ways.
I have been accused of thinking I am above the talker.
I have been accused of being codependent, a martyr to save them.
I have been accused of being a know-it-all.
I have been accused of pushing my agenda.
The reality is, I am just listening.
I used to give advice because I thought that was what the other party wanted from me, but I never thought my advice was any good. Another person's life is not my life and it is not mine to change or help them with.
I have no idea what kind of crazy trauma and drama and mishaps and beliefs she has running through her brain, making her need to own whatever she is saying or whatever reason she is giving for the words she uses.
All I have is a point of view. It is not my place to try and make that someone else's point of view. I do not intend for a word of mine to be heard. I am used to that anyway.
Shrinky says its my semi-sociopathy. I'm not mentally ill, but I sure as hell can detach like I am.
It is a real part of me that I am completely and blissfully content when I am completely by myself.
I can not say that I do not love company, but I do not need it. I much prefer living in my headphones and burying my nose in a book to talking to strangers. I want to get a dog, a snobby impersonal dog and walk him as far away from other dogs and people at the dog park because, well he doesn't want to talk to strangers either. That's my kind of dog.
But...
Here'a the rub: I have learned that I can not stop the conversation when it gets hard. I fight to the bitter end. The completion. The resolve. (I have suffered through 10-20 cold wars at this point).
I am trying out a new approach to that.
I am creating a possibility that I can have those conversations and sift through the resistance and the transference and just get to the nitty gritty of it all by just asking what they are gaining.
I will admit a selfish gain on my end from this: I like to watch people figure it out.
I do not want to figure it out for them, nor do I want to walk away.
I want to have relationships with people where they feel like they can trust me and see that I am not judging and that I actually do not see anything wrong with anything about them.
Even the stuff I ask them about.
It is just a question. Nothing more.
It is difficult to figure out how to do this at times. My current conundrum is someone who likes reasons, but does not want to discuss what those reasons do for him. He will likely bolt because he is mentally accusing me of one of those prior accusations I listed, or a new one...I just don't care. I'm still asking.
In a nutshell, those reasons HAVE to be doing something for him, otherwise, what is the point of having a reason?
If I say I can not go skiing because I'm afraid of hurting myself, I have a reason. That reason keeps me safe and my knees intact. Maybe I am missing out on a real high in "nature".
Eh, I hate being cold anyway.
I have a reason. It is a silly reason but I have it and my safety is the benefit there.
If I said I can not learn Italian, because I do not want to know what those sleazy guys who sit at my morning coffee shop are saying about me, I gain by not having to know and being able to pretend they are complimenting the intelligence I exude, despite their obvious gestures towards my ass.
Ridiculous. But I gain something from that reason.
If I said I will never date a blonde man because I'm not attracted to them, I gain nothing from my reasoning. I cut out a whole slew of men who are likely tall enough to compliment me in 4" heels and probably have a place to take me on Nantucket this summer.
No gain keeping this reason up.
These are silly examples but they are real, humorous reasons I actually operate under. I've kicked the last one out because I want my options wide open (though tall dark and handsome is surely going to be where it's at...I jest).
I'm on that trip this week. I am trying to examine my reasons, and see where they bring me and what it is I actually gain from them. If there is nothing of value, I am dropping them. At the end of the day, they are only holding me back.
Over n out!
XO Aud.
I started going because I had no idea who I was. I had lived the first 28 years of my life behind a tutu matched delightfully to a brazen, self-righteous, semi-sociopathic masochist.
How the hell does that work?
Well...
I thought being blunt and hurtful was a good tactic for letting people know they did me wrong. My MO was to take the punishment of being ignored and belittled for months, years, decades in a few cases, and then finally, out of nowhere, sweet, innocent, caring and loving Audrey went ape shit.
I got into an argument on the street with a guy who had treated me like I was a pet, one that he kicked when he got home from a bad day, for way too long.
We were standing on the corner of thompson and spring and i just snapped. the venom that started pouring out of my mouth was cold, ruthless, and violently heartless. Then, he shoved me, and walked away.
A 33 year old man shoved me.
This, I will sheepishly admit, was not the first time I had provoked and been man-handled, but it was certainly the last. The next morning I set up my appointment.
I had no idea what was wrong with me. Now I do.
Nothing.
I was giving the benefit of the doubt to people who take. Narcissism was a HUGE turn on. It still is. The idea that I could handle it. That I was so tough and emotionless and cool was like a drug.
I really did not care what his or her deal was because we would never have to be close.
I could "love" him and leave him or gossip, work on my snarky sarcasm with her and, at the end of our encounter, not give a shit which way they went.
But I was being false. I did want to be cared about. I did want someone who listened and told me stories, good, bad, and ugly stories, and just put themselves out on the table.
I wanted to be able to air out my dirty laundry too. That stuff has made me who I am. Who, I've realized in the past two years, is an amazing person.
The hard pill to take is that i am still drawn to people who are looking for motive.
They are not hard to find.
A person who trusts is 1 in a great many. A person who doesn't is a dime a dozen.
I like to listen. I like to be a soundboard and watch what people do and say. I can tell when they are coming from an honest place. I can tell when they are not. In some instances, even when they can not.
This gets me into trouble.
People do not like to share.
They create this storyline about the listener. Freud coined it transference.
Since I have this lovely tendency to listen and hear, this transference shows up in a lot of colorful ways.
I have been accused of thinking I am above the talker.
I have been accused of being codependent, a martyr to save them.
I have been accused of being a know-it-all.
I have been accused of pushing my agenda.
The reality is, I am just listening.
I used to give advice because I thought that was what the other party wanted from me, but I never thought my advice was any good. Another person's life is not my life and it is not mine to change or help them with.
I have no idea what kind of crazy trauma and drama and mishaps and beliefs she has running through her brain, making her need to own whatever she is saying or whatever reason she is giving for the words she uses.
All I have is a point of view. It is not my place to try and make that someone else's point of view. I do not intend for a word of mine to be heard. I am used to that anyway.
Shrinky says its my semi-sociopathy. I'm not mentally ill, but I sure as hell can detach like I am.
It is a real part of me that I am completely and blissfully content when I am completely by myself.
I can not say that I do not love company, but I do not need it. I much prefer living in my headphones and burying my nose in a book to talking to strangers. I want to get a dog, a snobby impersonal dog and walk him as far away from other dogs and people at the dog park because, well he doesn't want to talk to strangers either. That's my kind of dog.
But...
Here'a the rub: I have learned that I can not stop the conversation when it gets hard. I fight to the bitter end. The completion. The resolve. (I have suffered through 10-20 cold wars at this point).
I am trying out a new approach to that.
I am creating a possibility that I can have those conversations and sift through the resistance and the transference and just get to the nitty gritty of it all by just asking what they are gaining.
I will admit a selfish gain on my end from this: I like to watch people figure it out.
I do not want to figure it out for them, nor do I want to walk away.
I want to have relationships with people where they feel like they can trust me and see that I am not judging and that I actually do not see anything wrong with anything about them.
Even the stuff I ask them about.
It is just a question. Nothing more.
It is difficult to figure out how to do this at times. My current conundrum is someone who likes reasons, but does not want to discuss what those reasons do for him. He will likely bolt because he is mentally accusing me of one of those prior accusations I listed, or a new one...I just don't care. I'm still asking.
In a nutshell, those reasons HAVE to be doing something for him, otherwise, what is the point of having a reason?
If I say I can not go skiing because I'm afraid of hurting myself, I have a reason. That reason keeps me safe and my knees intact. Maybe I am missing out on a real high in "nature".
Eh, I hate being cold anyway.
I have a reason. It is a silly reason but I have it and my safety is the benefit there.
If I said I can not learn Italian, because I do not want to know what those sleazy guys who sit at my morning coffee shop are saying about me, I gain by not having to know and being able to pretend they are complimenting the intelligence I exude, despite their obvious gestures towards my ass.
Ridiculous. But I gain something from that reason.
If I said I will never date a blonde man because I'm not attracted to them, I gain nothing from my reasoning. I cut out a whole slew of men who are likely tall enough to compliment me in 4" heels and probably have a place to take me on Nantucket this summer.
No gain keeping this reason up.
These are silly examples but they are real, humorous reasons I actually operate under. I've kicked the last one out because I want my options wide open (though tall dark and handsome is surely going to be where it's at...I jest).
I'm on that trip this week. I am trying to examine my reasons, and see where they bring me and what it is I actually gain from them. If there is nothing of value, I am dropping them. At the end of the day, they are only holding me back.
Over n out!
XO Aud.
Thursday, April 19, 2012
IaMuNoRdInArY: Swing open up your chest and let it in
IaMuNoRdInArY: Swing open up your chest and let it in: I have had a dream for years but I didn't realize it was a dream until last night. I have woken from my rest with my arms reaching for the ...
Monday, April 16, 2012
IaMuNoRdInArY: I'll listen for you not to you and we will learn t...
IaMuNoRdInArY: I'll listen for you not to you and we will learn t...: I've had a lot come at me of late and it's triggered some serious reflecting. It's not really about what's right or wrong because there is ...
I'll listen for you not to you and we will learn together
I've had a lot come at me of late and it's triggered some serious reflecting.
It's not really about what's right or wrong because there is no right or wrong.
It's about listening.
I'm sure it's something we can all attest to at one point or other, thinking that opening our ears to someone who has something to say and then thinking our words of wisdom will help.
I've learned that sometimes the best wisdom we can bestow is to listen differently.
We listen TO each other but we don't listen FOR each other.
Listening to requires being present and hearing and trying to give our own two cents.
Listening FOR means we are hearing not only what is being said but also who the person is who's saying it.
It feels good for ME when I can impart wisdom.
That's about me.
I have to get me out of the way.
When someone is asking me to listen, he is telling me HE wants to be heard. Not just his words but WHO he is in saying them.
I can spend all day rationalizing what I think will be helpful to someone else, but that's what I think.
Again, that's about me and my agenda and my trying to run someone else's life.
The best kind of support I can give is seeing him and listening to where he is coming from.
An attack will never create resolve.
My judgment and opinions are an attack.
It's better to come from this place:
"what I see from this is this (insert example), help me understand what YOU see".
Even the closest people I can account for in my life are not 100% obvious to me. Just like I am not 100% obvious to them. If I spend all my time trying to get what they are saying and stick it to them, what the hell is that going to do? Where the hell is that going to get me?
Nowhere.
And it isn't going to make them budge either.
To support a breakdown is to listen FOR.
For the person who's hurting.
For the person who needs my support.
For the person who wants so desperately to find his own resolve and happiness.
Not for me.
Not for my way of "giving".
Not for my own abilities.
Because that makes me a know at all. It makes me a person who sees herself as actualized and ahead of the game and in it, not watching it.
That's what it's about.
Listening FOR gives me the chance to be in it and one with the person who's asked that I lend that ear.
It's not about me.
It's not about them.
It's about happiness and finding it in others to foster it in ourselves.
It's not really about what's right or wrong because there is no right or wrong.
It's about listening.
I'm sure it's something we can all attest to at one point or other, thinking that opening our ears to someone who has something to say and then thinking our words of wisdom will help.
I've learned that sometimes the best wisdom we can bestow is to listen differently.
We listen TO each other but we don't listen FOR each other.
Listening to requires being present and hearing and trying to give our own two cents.
Listening FOR means we are hearing not only what is being said but also who the person is who's saying it.
It feels good for ME when I can impart wisdom.
That's about me.
I have to get me out of the way.
When someone is asking me to listen, he is telling me HE wants to be heard. Not just his words but WHO he is in saying them.
I can spend all day rationalizing what I think will be helpful to someone else, but that's what I think.
Again, that's about me and my agenda and my trying to run someone else's life.
The best kind of support I can give is seeing him and listening to where he is coming from.
An attack will never create resolve.
My judgment and opinions are an attack.
It's better to come from this place:
"what I see from this is this (insert example), help me understand what YOU see".
Even the closest people I can account for in my life are not 100% obvious to me. Just like I am not 100% obvious to them. If I spend all my time trying to get what they are saying and stick it to them, what the hell is that going to do? Where the hell is that going to get me?
Nowhere.
And it isn't going to make them budge either.
To support a breakdown is to listen FOR.
For the person who's hurting.
For the person who needs my support.
For the person who wants so desperately to find his own resolve and happiness.
Not for me.
Not for my way of "giving".
Not for my own abilities.
Because that makes me a know at all. It makes me a person who sees herself as actualized and ahead of the game and in it, not watching it.
That's what it's about.
Listening FOR gives me the chance to be in it and one with the person who's asked that I lend that ear.
It's not about me.
It's not about them.
It's about happiness and finding it in others to foster it in ourselves.
Friday, April 13, 2012
IaMuNoRdInArY: Hello Ted
IaMuNoRdInArY: Hello Ted: There's a man seated across the way from me on the 4 train right now. He's unassuming. He wears a suit. His hair is brown, receding, but...
Hello Ted
There's a man seated across the way from me on the 4 train right now.
He's unassuming.
He wears a suit.
His hair is brown, receding, but thick and well-kept, definitely cut every three weeks.
He has a deep furrow in his brow and subtle crows feet.
He sits like he's tired.
His nails are short, bitten. Not in a bloody, nic-fit/nervous/need a fix sort of way. Just bitten.
There he goes, chewing his right thumb.
He's got a watch on his left hand.
Watch is nice, shoes are nice, shirt is pressed, tie doesn't match all that well, but it's kind of sweet that it doesn't.
I could give him a story.
He could be an attorney. The kind that sues people.
He could be a banker. The kind that does private equity or investment banking. Although, it is only 6 pm. Kind of early for an investment banker to be heading home. Definitely not a trader. The market closed hours ago and this guy definitely hasn't had a drink.
He could be a copywriter, worried about a deadline on a campaign for Gillette that's better than "the best a man can get". Maybe one where the girlfriend steals the gel to shave her legs and it runs out and he goes to use it and is mad for a second but then he touches her leg and realizes this is still the best a man can get.
Good one.
He could be out of work having just spent the whole day interviewing and trudging around the city trying to get a break.
He could have been at a funeral, his eyes are looking a little worried and sad.
I could use my creative genius to turn him into a womanizer, tired because he went home with some girl he met on OKCupid last night and went straight to work this AM, bolting before she woke up.
Or I could make him a poet, full of brooding and beautiful words that he could recite to me as a drift off to sleep. That is, after he courts me for months trying to make things perfect and comfortable enough that he can show me this side of him.
He's probably Jewish though. That thick hair.
That means he's got a overly involved mom and he adores her. It also means he's the marrying kind, but it's off limits here because I'm Shiksa.
His brow's probably furrowed because his boss is a jerk and he just wants to stick it to him and start his own hedge fund.
It's in the works.
His eyes are puckered because he's single and he doesn't have a woman to show him how to use eye cream.
Men do it if you tell them about it.
His watch on the left means he's a righty. Probably really stiff and calculated. No imagination there. And his clothes are so together that its boring and annoying. His tie doesn't match because, come to think of it, he probably still lives at home with his mom and she laid his clothes out for the day when it was dark in his room and accidentally grabbed the hunter green instead of the navy.
We wouldn't last two weeks.
He just caught me looking at him.
He just smiled.
He just said "what are you doing over there?"
Turns out his name is Ted. He's 32 and he's an accountant. His week was really long but the overtime is worth it because he's saving to buy his girlfriend a ring. She's angry he comes home so late, especially tonight because she's going to Massachusetts for the weekend to visit her best friend. She just had a baby.
I told him what I was writing. He laughed.
He's going to read this.
He told me what his story was about me.
That girl is pretty. She looks like she's about 24 (yahtzee) and is probably married to some rich asshole because she is in those LuLu Lemon workout clothes that my girlfriend likes and it's 6pm so she obviously didn't work today. I feel bad because she seems so interesting. I wonder why she picked a jerk like that. Maybe the money?
She's reading Viktor Frankl. Whoa, existentialist. Maybe she's a lesbian. The lipstick kind. I bet her girlfriend is hot. Or maybe they're married now. They probably own a yoga studio.
Her hair is cool. And she's not wearing any makeup.
In NYC? Definitely a lesbian.
Whatever, she still looks good. I think lesbians are cool.
What is she doing? She keeps looking at me. She just looked and then wrote something in her book. She's chuckling about it. WTF? Bitch.
-No thoughts for a few minutes-
She just looked again, damnit. Eh, it's cute, I'm asking...
It's amazing what we come up with without asking. It's amazing how much we judge without knowing.
It's also amazing how easy it is to get to know something about somebody and to make someone smile.
Ted gets off at Atlantic av. I get off 2 earlier.
I could imagine where he lives or what his girlfriend looks like. Instead, we exchanged numbers and I'm going to I to his cookout on may 6th in prospect park.
Just thought I'd share. and Ted, I want to check out that place on union. Sounds pretty cool. You aren't square at all are you?
He's unassuming.
He wears a suit.
His hair is brown, receding, but thick and well-kept, definitely cut every three weeks.
He has a deep furrow in his brow and subtle crows feet.
He sits like he's tired.
His nails are short, bitten. Not in a bloody, nic-fit/nervous/need a fix sort of way. Just bitten.
There he goes, chewing his right thumb.
He's got a watch on his left hand.
Watch is nice, shoes are nice, shirt is pressed, tie doesn't match all that well, but it's kind of sweet that it doesn't.
I could give him a story.
He could be an attorney. The kind that sues people.
He could be a banker. The kind that does private equity or investment banking. Although, it is only 6 pm. Kind of early for an investment banker to be heading home. Definitely not a trader. The market closed hours ago and this guy definitely hasn't had a drink.
He could be a copywriter, worried about a deadline on a campaign for Gillette that's better than "the best a man can get". Maybe one where the girlfriend steals the gel to shave her legs and it runs out and he goes to use it and is mad for a second but then he touches her leg and realizes this is still the best a man can get.
Good one.
He could be out of work having just spent the whole day interviewing and trudging around the city trying to get a break.
He could have been at a funeral, his eyes are looking a little worried and sad.
I could use my creative genius to turn him into a womanizer, tired because he went home with some girl he met on OKCupid last night and went straight to work this AM, bolting before she woke up.
Or I could make him a poet, full of brooding and beautiful words that he could recite to me as a drift off to sleep. That is, after he courts me for months trying to make things perfect and comfortable enough that he can show me this side of him.
He's probably Jewish though. That thick hair.
That means he's got a overly involved mom and he adores her. It also means he's the marrying kind, but it's off limits here because I'm Shiksa.
His brow's probably furrowed because his boss is a jerk and he just wants to stick it to him and start his own hedge fund.
It's in the works.
His eyes are puckered because he's single and he doesn't have a woman to show him how to use eye cream.
Men do it if you tell them about it.
His watch on the left means he's a righty. Probably really stiff and calculated. No imagination there. And his clothes are so together that its boring and annoying. His tie doesn't match because, come to think of it, he probably still lives at home with his mom and she laid his clothes out for the day when it was dark in his room and accidentally grabbed the hunter green instead of the navy.
We wouldn't last two weeks.
He just caught me looking at him.
He just smiled.
He just said "what are you doing over there?"
Turns out his name is Ted. He's 32 and he's an accountant. His week was really long but the overtime is worth it because he's saving to buy his girlfriend a ring. She's angry he comes home so late, especially tonight because she's going to Massachusetts for the weekend to visit her best friend. She just had a baby.
I told him what I was writing. He laughed.
He's going to read this.
He told me what his story was about me.
That girl is pretty. She looks like she's about 24 (yahtzee) and is probably married to some rich asshole because she is in those LuLu Lemon workout clothes that my girlfriend likes and it's 6pm so she obviously didn't work today. I feel bad because she seems so interesting. I wonder why she picked a jerk like that. Maybe the money?
She's reading Viktor Frankl. Whoa, existentialist. Maybe she's a lesbian. The lipstick kind. I bet her girlfriend is hot. Or maybe they're married now. They probably own a yoga studio.
Her hair is cool. And she's not wearing any makeup.
In NYC? Definitely a lesbian.
Whatever, she still looks good. I think lesbians are cool.
What is she doing? She keeps looking at me. She just looked and then wrote something in her book. She's chuckling about it. WTF? Bitch.
-No thoughts for a few minutes-
She just looked again, damnit. Eh, it's cute, I'm asking...
It's amazing what we come up with without asking. It's amazing how much we judge without knowing.
It's also amazing how easy it is to get to know something about somebody and to make someone smile.
Ted gets off at Atlantic av. I get off 2 earlier.
I could imagine where he lives or what his girlfriend looks like. Instead, we exchanged numbers and I'm going to I to his cookout on may 6th in prospect park.
Just thought I'd share. and Ted, I want to check out that place on union. Sounds pretty cool. You aren't square at all are you?
Tuesday, April 10, 2012
I shan't introduce you as an acquaintance. I'd like you to be my friend.
I have an 88 year old client.
She's a lady of leisure of the upper east side.
She's a two-time widow, twice Mrs MD.
She has a shaky gait and a tendency to fall, but, otherwise she's quicker than most of the 20 and 30-somethings I know.
We met when i was 24, in "love", and incredibly unaware.
It's been a blessing to have known her these past 6 years.
She has a keen wit, a brazen sense of humor, a well-earned sense of entitlement and an outlook about life that leaves me smiling each and every time we part.
She has lived.
She has learned.
She imparts her wisdom.
Today we were talking about her new home, an assisted living place in Battery Park, very classssssy, and very much suited for her Chanel suits and her pearls.
I asked her if she'd found some friends there and she responded in a way that taught me a valuable lesson and made me aware of something I've been searching for in my life.
She said, "No, no friends. There are five women I eat with every night and we watch movies and do other activities, but they are just acquaintances.".
I asked her what she would define as a friend.
She said:
"a friend is someone that you can share your worries with an you know that they will always be there. You don't have to do a thing with a friend but be and they love you. Like you, Audrey, you're my friend, who I've been happy to know for quite some time now. I like to watch you grow."
I have a tendency.
No, wait, it's not a tendency, it's a defining trait:
I am in a good place and I love myself.
I probe and dive deep with people easily and quickly, as I am on a constant drive to find other people who are just in love with themselves.
I don't mean in love in a conceited way.
I don't mean love with a sense that everything is perfect and wonderful.
In fact, I love people purely because they are not wonderful and, oftentimes, highly imperfect.
It's gotten progressively more obvious that this is what I naturally do, but it's not how it started...
This girl used to be closed up like fort knox.
I put up a steel door with 10000 bolts and locks and alarms and locked my lips just to feel safe.
As a result, I had some terrible "friendships".
I was so scared to let anyone know that my life was far from perfect.
I let them ask me for whatever they wanted or needed and gave them advice and support without asking for any return.
I was a rock.
I was the one who everyone went to, because I was so together.
I wised up.
I started asking for that kind of love and support in return and one by one they walked away.
I had "friends" who liked the same things, who read the same books, who laughed at my jokes.
I didn't have anyone who was willing to acknowledge that I might not be OK.
There's been a change.
I've let down my guard and, in doing so, found that I desperately wanted to lead with those vulnerabilities and to have people in my life who would open up the same way to me.
It's been scary of late realizing that a lot of the pain and hurt I have felt in my life was a result of trying to be giving and loving to closed people.
People who WERE exactly like what I was pretending to be:
Emotionless, sarcastic, flippant, and "cool".
Nothing phased me to the outward eye and nothing could stop me or bring me down.
I was steadfast and supportive and everyone who wanted to take from me, they were the best of friends.
Except when I needed someone.
This was rare.
I had even fooled myself most of the time.
I was selfless, but I was also unapproachable.
I didn't have friendships.
I didn't have love.
The me I was hiding was very lonely.
My first rude awakening was when my mother died. I went home for her funeral. I watched a casket close. I heard prayers and anecdotes. I watched people cry. I listened to my father. I watched my younger brother slide away and disappear into a cold, hurt man. I was empty and scared and hurt and angry and broken and alone.
But I just got drunk and told everyone I was fine.
I went home. I went back to dancing and pursuing my career.
No one called.
I had developed a rationale that was haunting me and killing me off from the inside out.
Audrey was not allowed to not be OK.
That's when I started to change.
I blow a fuse
I make up a story about why they are cruel, deceitful people with hearts of stone who were sent here to break me.
She's a lady of leisure of the upper east side.
She's a two-time widow, twice Mrs MD.
She has a shaky gait and a tendency to fall, but, otherwise she's quicker than most of the 20 and 30-somethings I know.
We met when i was 24, in "love", and incredibly unaware.
It's been a blessing to have known her these past 6 years.
She has a keen wit, a brazen sense of humor, a well-earned sense of entitlement and an outlook about life that leaves me smiling each and every time we part.
She has lived.
She has learned.
She imparts her wisdom.
Today we were talking about her new home, an assisted living place in Battery Park, very classssssy, and very much suited for her Chanel suits and her pearls.
I asked her if she'd found some friends there and she responded in a way that taught me a valuable lesson and made me aware of something I've been searching for in my life.
She said, "No, no friends. There are five women I eat with every night and we watch movies and do other activities, but they are just acquaintances.".
I asked her what she would define as a friend.
She said:
"a friend is someone that you can share your worries with an you know that they will always be there. You don't have to do a thing with a friend but be and they love you. Like you, Audrey, you're my friend, who I've been happy to know for quite some time now. I like to watch you grow."
I have a tendency.
No, wait, it's not a tendency, it's a defining trait:
I am in a good place and I love myself.
I probe and dive deep with people easily and quickly, as I am on a constant drive to find other people who are just in love with themselves.
I don't mean in love in a conceited way.
I don't mean love with a sense that everything is perfect and wonderful.
In fact, I love people purely because they are not wonderful and, oftentimes, highly imperfect.
It's gotten progressively more obvious that this is what I naturally do, but it's not how it started...
This girl used to be closed up like fort knox.
I put up a steel door with 10000 bolts and locks and alarms and locked my lips just to feel safe.
As a result, I had some terrible "friendships".
I was so scared to let anyone know that my life was far from perfect.
I let them ask me for whatever they wanted or needed and gave them advice and support without asking for any return.
I was a rock.
I was the one who everyone went to, because I was so together.
I wised up.
I started asking for that kind of love and support in return and one by one they walked away.
I had "friends" who liked the same things, who read the same books, who laughed at my jokes.
I didn't have anyone who was willing to acknowledge that I might not be OK.
There's been a change.
I've let down my guard and, in doing so, found that I desperately wanted to lead with those vulnerabilities and to have people in my life who would open up the same way to me.
It's been scary of late realizing that a lot of the pain and hurt I have felt in my life was a result of trying to be giving and loving to closed people.
People who WERE exactly like what I was pretending to be:
Emotionless, sarcastic, flippant, and "cool".
Nothing phased me to the outward eye and nothing could stop me or bring me down.
I was steadfast and supportive and everyone who wanted to take from me, they were the best of friends.
Except when I needed someone.
This was rare.
I had even fooled myself most of the time.
I was selfless, but I was also unapproachable.
I didn't have friendships.
I didn't have love.
The me I was hiding was very lonely.
My first rude awakening was when my mother died. I went home for her funeral. I watched a casket close. I heard prayers and anecdotes. I watched people cry. I listened to my father. I watched my younger brother slide away and disappear into a cold, hurt man. I was empty and scared and hurt and angry and broken and alone.
But I just got drunk and told everyone I was fine.
I went home. I went back to dancing and pursuing my career.
No one called.
I had developed a rationale that was haunting me and killing me off from the inside out.
Audrey was not allowed to not be OK.
That's when I started to change.
My first attempts made me keep that persona up for a long time after I realized.
Those people I gave so much to had left.
They were gone, telling me I was being selfish or was too depressing.
That I was turning into someone they didn't know.
That I was so much not myself that they were through.
But this was me
I lost everyone.
So I went back to the old OK ways, gained a few back and made some new, unavailable friends.
Two years ago I split in two. I killed off OK Audrey and found a brave place to start over from, as me.
The hardest part about being open is that most other people aren't.
I have become aware of the struggles I experience because of this only recently.
I'm breaking a habit.
When people leave me, my go-to has been as follows:
I blow a fuse
I make up a story about why they are cruel, deceitful people with hearts of stone who were sent here to break me.
But...
They aren't.
In fact they are beautifully vulnerable. So vulnerable, in fact, that my openness is frightening.
This defining trait poses a problem.
I'm in a world where people are afraid to be anything but OK. It takes a lot of time and testing to get to a point where most people can share just a little.
I can't wait that long.
Because I am afraid of being that made up Audrey.
I'm afraid of putting on that familiar "cool" persona.
I can function in that person so well but it is so dark and lonely there that I just have to strip it away and be me.
It's a beautiful thing to be yourself.
I've made this a mission of late.
The interesting thing I've found is the people in my life that I've grown close to love this openness.
They are impressed by my courage and strength and they have risen to the occasion and opened all their doors as well.
I had a new friend ask me if it would be OK if she told me when things weren't going well for her and when she thought I was not being true to myself/putting on a front, she reserved the right to tell me so. She asked me if we could be that for each other. I was so excited to agree.
After my talk with my wise old friend today, I realize why.
She's staying.
She's a real, nitty, gritty, down and dirty friend.
This unrelenting openness is helping me heal too.
Tonight I announced to a whole room of dietitians that I had a severe eating disorder in the past. I said it outright and followed with the fact that I am better and that I am here and pursuing my new vocation to pay it forward and help other people. I am coming from an honest and whole and empowered place and I think that this is just acceptable as those who are there because they love to calculate tube feeds. In fact, I think I have an even better, more fulfilling reason to be on this track.
I would never have admitted that before.
Becuase I was cool and OK and no one needed to know about my pain and suffering. Too bad that pain and suffering has played a major role in defining me.
I wouldn't be the amazing person I've grown to accept I have become without that experience.
Since I've opened myself, I've been approached, day in and day out by new people. I've grown closer to keepers, as I like to call them.
I've been rejected by people too, but it doesn't hurt like it used to.
I understand that they are scared to not be OK.
Now I'm working on seeing that upfront and not spinning back into the finger pointing and feeling abandoned. People who stay are open and loving and wanting to have me in their lives. It's not a bother to lose people who don't want those things.
So, tonight I write with the hope that readers will grow in their courage to be themselves and to just not be OK.
People are truly beautiful for their flaws and idiosyncrasies.
I love you all.
XX
Audrey
Sunday, April 1, 2012
IaMuNoRdInArY: And this is why food is love...
IaMuNoRdInArY: And this is why food is love...: Today I'm going to write about my work...because I love it and I'm inspired so much by it.
And this is why food is love...
Today I'm going to write about my work...because I love it and I'm inspired so much by it.
I am a dietetic intern on the track to become a registered dietitian and get my MS in clinical nutrition at NYU. Far cry from being a ballet dancer in career number 1, right?
Wrong.
My career progression has actually fallen together beautifully. At first, I really wasn't sure why I had this plan. I knew I had had some serious issues with food for the first 25 years of my life and that I had overcome them. I knew that my mother's death was excessively correlated with her lack of self-care and morbid obesity. I also knew that, if the dancer thing hadn't work out, I would have gone to school to become an OB/GYN and help life start everyday and women to show themselves love and care.
But I did get to dance and I did need a lot of help getting myself into a place where food and eating and health and wellness and self-love were as paramount as they need to be.
I'm paying it forward.
I can't think of a better place to work to help people's lives to be amazing.
The concept I work from is the idea that food is love. I work with people who are suffering severely with lack of love in this department and people who are push and pull and fighting the fight against letting love happen.
I see it this way:
every person who doesn't enjoy eating at every moment suffers from an eating disorder.
Obviously, our minds travel to that image where some one's life revolves around 6000 calorie days with 65 trips to the bathroom, esophageal damage, teeth rotting, and a propensity to cut themselves; or the woman on the bus who you mistake for a five year old when you see her from behind and you shudder at the site when she stands and you see she's 40 years old and weighs 75 lbs.
That's not what I'm talking about.
I do treat these people. And you know what? (and I don't state this is defense of my former self)
Every person I have met is absolutely amazing. Driven, caring, successful, effective, kind, with a side of them that is so exceptionally full of life, like children, almost.
They share one problem, not fault, not negative quality, not reason for contempt. Just a problem, a faulty wire, perhaps.
A faulty wire that's expanded to effect every light in the building.
They don't love themselves.
I'm going to illustrate this whole self-love thing in a completely psychologically driven way. It's my favorite concept and I lead in with this in mind every time someone says, "Audrey, I have a question about food".
Maslow's Hierarchy of Needs
It's a concept that illustrates breathing, water, homeostasis, excretion, sex, sleep and food as the physiological, most basis needs of human life.
Then there's safety and security, love/belonging, esteem, and finally, self-actualization.
I'm gonna tear this apart right now. Let's start at the top.
Self actualization
Essentially self-actualized people are rad.
They don't judge anything...not the world, not the people in it, and, most importantly (to further my soapbox order of the day), they don't judge themselves.
They are creative, have an established set of morals and beliefs that they structure their lives around.
The can be spontaneous.
They don't second guess and they are accepting: the facts, the realities, and just the way things are.
They just accept them, without complaint, without opinion, without self-harm or punishment for things not being the way they would like them to be.
They just are.
Pretty amazing right?
EXCEPT...part of the whole Maslow's Hierarchy of Needs is that one cannot even begin to achieve the highest level of the pyramid unless ALL of the prior needs are met.
So your friend who's totally blaze and seems to Tai Chi let it all wash over and is all into art and community and education and travel etc etc etc, but doesn't actually take care of himself -- i.e. drinks too much, sleeps too little, procrastinates at times, overdoes it at others, is late...these are all prior developments that need to be addressed.
In reality, your friend is pretentious and selfish.
HUGE difference.
Moving along...
Self-esteem
Now, I can champion this one. If you are not in absolute love with yourself, you are not going to be able to give yourself to others. You are not going to trust people. You are not going to be free of all the worries and stories and off-putting principles you've created about every type of interaction.
You just have to love all those things.
It's a quick jump into acceptance and actualization when that's achieved.
So you're thinking about yourself and people you know. That friend who always looks good and always gets the job and can talk to anyone and everyone and seems to just be?
She has a voice in her head.
That voice is telling her all the things that your voice tells you, maybe even worse. One of two things are happening...She's either learned to accept the voice and shrug it off/go beyond it, or, more likely, she's in outright defiance.
The latter does not breed happiness, let me tell ya.
Love/Belonging
Everybody blames everything on their parents. It's the basis of an entire psychological healing profession. It's the reality that supersedes all actions. Hell, it EXCUSES us for how we are.
A new point of view:
Actually, they love you and you love them.
No one is perfect, living by the direction of that voice that's gibber-jabbering day in and day out will make us screw up.
You can not STOP hearing that negative, that questioning, that self-loathing.
You just can not stop that.
Sorry.
It's going to be there.
You just have to realize that a greater force is in you and SHOULD trump that not so great stuff.
It's a fact that you love.
We all love. Everybody cares and is unbelievably attracted to intimacy and really being with and knowing and feeling safe with other people.
We are not loners. Not a single one of us. We are completely in need of connecting.
So, when your boyfriend tells you he's not interested in the ballet and he thinks you talk to much, well, you just say to yourself we need to talk this out, see what's really going on, and come back at him thinking: man, i love this guy. Period.
Isn't it strange that as I write about more and more basic things, it starts to sound a lot more difficult?
Safety.
This one seems like a no brainer. But you don't trust anyone, really, so no it's not...AT ALL.
The extreme version of this one is explained like this:
Homeless people are totally messing up their lives. Obviously they can't even get shelter, so they are totally screwed (I will remind you of your nodding right now when we get back to the basics).
So you have a home. Your finances may even be in order (by the way, in order to achieve this level, finances are not a worry. I don't mean you're Wall Street King of the Thing, Money-bags McGee...he's 99% of the time insanely unhappy anyway) I mean you just know you have a job, you have support, if you need more money, you will get it. You will do what you have to do.
What the f...Audrey, you're writing cockamamie shit right now.
That is NOT possible.
Reminder: we are in the 2nd level of needs. The one where we are safe. The one before we can trust other people and love ourselves and others fully. Gonna have to get on that...
And this one I have to present from a different angle:
There's a homeless guy who sleeps in a doorway between 87th and 88th on Lexington. He has a buddy with him who shouts at 6 am (When I get uptown for works) and says "GET UP IT'S TIME TO START!!!!!". Every day, he sits and smiles. People give him food, he gets money to buy what he has decided he needs. He has a great friend who encourages him to keep up. He loves him and trusts him to be there for him.
I gave him bright pink socks one day. He asked if I'd buy him socks because his feet were freezing.
I had Pilates socks in my bag. Warm, thick, with the sticky stuff on the bottom so i don't slip, fluorescent pink.
I gave them to him.
Next time I saw him...huge grin, showing off his sweet foot gear.
He wasn't and isn't embarrassed.
He is appreciative and happy.
Who's actualized?
And onto my point...
Physiological needs
Basically, it goes like this:
1. If you can't breathe for something like 3 minutes, you die.
2. If you don't have water for something like a week, you die.
3. If your body is not doing what it is supposed to, you get sick and possibly die.
4. If you don't sleep, you might as well be dead because you're living like a zombie.
5. If you don't have sex...well, I can speak for this one, you pretty much feel dead on the inside because you just have to get laid.
and...
6. 30 days tops without food...you die.
Now I could go through each of these less dramatically, but I'm going to push my foodie point.
Eating is a basic physiological need. It trumps an amazing amount of other parts of living and being and the things people put first in their days, weeks, months, and years.
If you're messing with food, you have some serious issues.
I mean this.
If you skip breakfast because you have a big business lunch-in and you don't want to eat too much today: Serious issue.
If you start feeling guilty WHILE you're eating fudge (by the way, what the hell?), or after you eat it well, you've got serious issues.
If you eat when you're sad: serious issues.
If you binge and purge: serious issues.
If you look in the mirror and take yourself apart and inevitably say "I need to be on a diet": SERIOUS ISSUES.
Food is love.
and it's delicious.
God gave us an amazing gift when He gave us the ability to taste, to savor, and enjoy.
He did not intend for us to say, thank you God for Haagen Daaz, I will now run 4 extra miles.
He did not intend for us to say, "hmm, i have 5 bucks for lunch and I feel like shit today...McDonald's: dadadadada I'm loving it."
He did not intend low-carb, low-fat, Atkins, sugar substitutes, convenience foods, preservatives and packaging, eating on the subway, while walking to the office, skipping lunch because work is piling up and that's more important.
ERROR.
WRONG..YOU are more important.
Love yourself.
Feed yourself.
Be good to your body.
Accept it.
Feel HAPPY when you eat.
Like what you are eating.
Share it with others.
That's just step one.
I love my job.
I am a dietetic intern on the track to become a registered dietitian and get my MS in clinical nutrition at NYU. Far cry from being a ballet dancer in career number 1, right?
Wrong.
My career progression has actually fallen together beautifully. At first, I really wasn't sure why I had this plan. I knew I had had some serious issues with food for the first 25 years of my life and that I had overcome them. I knew that my mother's death was excessively correlated with her lack of self-care and morbid obesity. I also knew that, if the dancer thing hadn't work out, I would have gone to school to become an OB/GYN and help life start everyday and women to show themselves love and care.
But I did get to dance and I did need a lot of help getting myself into a place where food and eating and health and wellness and self-love were as paramount as they need to be.
I'm paying it forward.
I can't think of a better place to work to help people's lives to be amazing.
The concept I work from is the idea that food is love. I work with people who are suffering severely with lack of love in this department and people who are push and pull and fighting the fight against letting love happen.
I see it this way:
every person who doesn't enjoy eating at every moment suffers from an eating disorder.
Obviously, our minds travel to that image where some one's life revolves around 6000 calorie days with 65 trips to the bathroom, esophageal damage, teeth rotting, and a propensity to cut themselves; or the woman on the bus who you mistake for a five year old when you see her from behind and you shudder at the site when she stands and you see she's 40 years old and weighs 75 lbs.
That's not what I'm talking about.
I do treat these people. And you know what? (and I don't state this is defense of my former self)
Every person I have met is absolutely amazing. Driven, caring, successful, effective, kind, with a side of them that is so exceptionally full of life, like children, almost.
They share one problem, not fault, not negative quality, not reason for contempt. Just a problem, a faulty wire, perhaps.
A faulty wire that's expanded to effect every light in the building.
They don't love themselves.
Maslow's Hierarchy of Needs
It's a concept that illustrates breathing, water, homeostasis, excretion, sex, sleep and food as the physiological, most basis needs of human life.
Then there's safety and security, love/belonging, esteem, and finally, self-actualization.
I'm gonna tear this apart right now. Let's start at the top.
Self actualization
Essentially self-actualized people are rad.
They don't judge anything...not the world, not the people in it, and, most importantly (to further my soapbox order of the day), they don't judge themselves.
They are creative, have an established set of morals and beliefs that they structure their lives around.
The can be spontaneous.
They don't second guess and they are accepting: the facts, the realities, and just the way things are.
They just accept them, without complaint, without opinion, without self-harm or punishment for things not being the way they would like them to be.
They just are.
Pretty amazing right?
EXCEPT...part of the whole Maslow's Hierarchy of Needs is that one cannot even begin to achieve the highest level of the pyramid unless ALL of the prior needs are met.
So your friend who's totally blaze and seems to Tai Chi let it all wash over and is all into art and community and education and travel etc etc etc, but doesn't actually take care of himself -- i.e. drinks too much, sleeps too little, procrastinates at times, overdoes it at others, is late...these are all prior developments that need to be addressed.
In reality, your friend is pretentious and selfish.
HUGE difference.
Moving along...
Self-esteem
Now, I can champion this one. If you are not in absolute love with yourself, you are not going to be able to give yourself to others. You are not going to trust people. You are not going to be free of all the worries and stories and off-putting principles you've created about every type of interaction.
You just have to love all those things.
It's a quick jump into acceptance and actualization when that's achieved.
So you're thinking about yourself and people you know. That friend who always looks good and always gets the job and can talk to anyone and everyone and seems to just be?
She has a voice in her head.
That voice is telling her all the things that your voice tells you, maybe even worse. One of two things are happening...She's either learned to accept the voice and shrug it off/go beyond it, or, more likely, she's in outright defiance.
The latter does not breed happiness, let me tell ya.
Love/Belonging
Everybody blames everything on their parents. It's the basis of an entire psychological healing profession. It's the reality that supersedes all actions. Hell, it EXCUSES us for how we are.
A new point of view:
Actually, they love you and you love them.
No one is perfect, living by the direction of that voice that's gibber-jabbering day in and day out will make us screw up.
You can not STOP hearing that negative, that questioning, that self-loathing.
You just can not stop that.
Sorry.
It's going to be there.
You just have to realize that a greater force is in you and SHOULD trump that not so great stuff.
It's a fact that you love.
We all love. Everybody cares and is unbelievably attracted to intimacy and really being with and knowing and feeling safe with other people.
We are not loners. Not a single one of us. We are completely in need of connecting.
So, when your boyfriend tells you he's not interested in the ballet and he thinks you talk to much, well, you just say to yourself we need to talk this out, see what's really going on, and come back at him thinking: man, i love this guy. Period.
Isn't it strange that as I write about more and more basic things, it starts to sound a lot more difficult?
Safety.
This one seems like a no brainer. But you don't trust anyone, really, so no it's not...AT ALL.
The extreme version of this one is explained like this:
Homeless people are totally messing up their lives. Obviously they can't even get shelter, so they are totally screwed (I will remind you of your nodding right now when we get back to the basics).
So you have a home. Your finances may even be in order (by the way, in order to achieve this level, finances are not a worry. I don't mean you're Wall Street King of the Thing, Money-bags McGee...he's 99% of the time insanely unhappy anyway) I mean you just know you have a job, you have support, if you need more money, you will get it. You will do what you have to do.
What the f...Audrey, you're writing cockamamie shit right now.
That is NOT possible.
Reminder: we are in the 2nd level of needs. The one where we are safe. The one before we can trust other people and love ourselves and others fully. Gonna have to get on that...
And this one I have to present from a different angle:
There's a homeless guy who sleeps in a doorway between 87th and 88th on Lexington. He has a buddy with him who shouts at 6 am (When I get uptown for works) and says "GET UP IT'S TIME TO START!!!!!". Every day, he sits and smiles. People give him food, he gets money to buy what he has decided he needs. He has a great friend who encourages him to keep up. He loves him and trusts him to be there for him.
I gave him bright pink socks one day. He asked if I'd buy him socks because his feet were freezing.
I had Pilates socks in my bag. Warm, thick, with the sticky stuff on the bottom so i don't slip, fluorescent pink.
I gave them to him.
Next time I saw him...huge grin, showing off his sweet foot gear.
He wasn't and isn't embarrassed.
He is appreciative and happy.
Who's actualized?
And onto my point...
Physiological needs
Basically, it goes like this:
1. If you can't breathe for something like 3 minutes, you die.
2. If you don't have water for something like a week, you die.
3. If your body is not doing what it is supposed to, you get sick and possibly die.
4. If you don't sleep, you might as well be dead because you're living like a zombie.
5. If you don't have sex...well, I can speak for this one, you pretty much feel dead on the inside because you just have to get laid.
and...
6. 30 days tops without food...you die.
Now I could go through each of these less dramatically, but I'm going to push my foodie point.
Eating is a basic physiological need. It trumps an amazing amount of other parts of living and being and the things people put first in their days, weeks, months, and years.
If you're messing with food, you have some serious issues.
I mean this.
If you skip breakfast because you have a big business lunch-in and you don't want to eat too much today: Serious issue.
If you start feeling guilty WHILE you're eating fudge (by the way, what the hell?), or after you eat it well, you've got serious issues.
If you eat when you're sad: serious issues.
If you binge and purge: serious issues.
If you look in the mirror and take yourself apart and inevitably say "I need to be on a diet": SERIOUS ISSUES.
Food is love.
and it's delicious.
God gave us an amazing gift when He gave us the ability to taste, to savor, and enjoy.
He did not intend for us to say, thank you God for Haagen Daaz, I will now run 4 extra miles.
He did not intend for us to say, "hmm, i have 5 bucks for lunch and I feel like shit today...McDonald's: dadadadada I'm loving it."
He did not intend low-carb, low-fat, Atkins, sugar substitutes, convenience foods, preservatives and packaging, eating on the subway, while walking to the office, skipping lunch because work is piling up and that's more important.
ERROR.
WRONG..YOU are more important.
Love yourself.
Feed yourself.
Be good to your body.
Accept it.
Feel HAPPY when you eat.
Like what you are eating.
Share it with others.
That's just step one.
I love my job.
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