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...

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.