Monthly Archives: August 2011

To Pick a Fate

31 August 2011

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I don’t believe in fate. Not in the sense of an invisible path that you’re put on from birth and nothing changes about it…ever. It’s not that I don’t think the universe, or God, or whatever you’d like to call it, is capable of doing that. I just don’t think He/It would. What’s the point in letting us have free will if it’s not really going to matter? That’s why the only thing I’ve ever really taken to heart from the various palm and Tarot readers I’ve seen (because occasionally I do that, don’t judge me) is that they can only predict what will happen while you’re on that particular path. If you’re in a loving, stable relationship, it makes sense that they would predict you’ll marry that man. It’s not just telling you what you want to hear (although many times it is that), it’s telling you what’s likely to happen if you keep loving and supporting each other the way you are at that moment. If there’s already strife and tension though, well you may already be heading down a different path.

Why do I bring this up? Why now? I’m not really sure. Maybe it’s because I feel like at this point in my life, every day is in flux. Every day has the potential to put me on an entirely different path from where I was yesterday. Today, I have no intentions on looking for or starting a relationship with a man (or a woman, because I know someone was thinking it). Tomorrow may be entirely different. Today, I’m not entirely sure how I will make it to my career goals. Next week, the way might become so clear I couldn’t imagine how I didn’t see it before. Or I could change my mind entirely about where I’m going and how.

Things happen quickly in New York. There’s a reason why it’s called a New York minute, not a California or a Chicago minute. You see an apartment at 8, put a deposit down at 9 and move in the next day. You interview for a job on Monday, accept it on Friday, and become a full-fledged employee by the following Monday. Men are in and out of our lives in an evening while women can become best friends overnight. Anything can change at the flip of a coin, which is why fate doesn’t make much sense here. You may feel like you were meant to be here, there, with this person or that job, but I don’t believe it. All I believe in is right. That meant to be feeling is to me, “this is right”. This is the situation, the person, the place that slips on like a perfectly worn-in pair of jeans even though you’ve never seen them in your life. This is the life that molds to you like that perfect pair of shoes, as if you were the muse it was designed for.

It’s okay if you call that fate. It’s easy to believe that, when things are going right, you were guided there by a divine being sending you to the place meant just for you. But when things aren’t so good? When you’re not where you want to be, when the guy isn’t right, when everything feels like that too-tall pair of heels that pinch your toes and rub your heels raw, is that meant to be too? Maybe…if you really believe in fate, you’ll believe that this moment was meant to teach you lessons you wouldn’t learn otherwise. I prefer to believe that it’s simply a matter of wandering down the wrong path. Because if it was my fault (deliberately or accidentally) then I also have the power to fix it. I have the power to get myself out of the swamp that pulls me down when I would rather be climbing. You can have your fate, if it’s what comforts you. Me, I believe the universe gave me everything I need to climb mountains or wallow in valleys. The path has many branches and I’m the only one who can decide which one to take.

xoxo

 

Cat

Grateful For the Miss

30 August 2011

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Maybe it’s the invincibility of youth or a misunderstanding of what real danger is, but I didn’t give much thought to Hurricane Irene. Sure, I took my laptop home from work so I’d be able to work yesterday even if the trains were shut down, but my train has shut down in regular rainstorms, so it wouldn’t have been that surprising. I gathered up my candles and flashlights in case the power went out, not really believing it would, but it happens sometimes so it’s best to be prepared. And that was the extent of my hurricane prep. No “go bag”, no plan in case of flooding or severe winds damaging my home. Nothing. Because nothing too bad had ever happened, so nothing would happen now…right?

Luckily, I was right…sort of. My house, where I’m staying with my parents until my new lease starts, is like a peaceful island in the aftermath of Irene. We had no flooding, although our backyard is looking a little swampy. No wind or water damage. We didn’t even lose power. With the exception of a few branches falling onto the roof of the shed out back and a wash of dirt in the driveway, you couldn’t really tell that a hurricane had passed through. But that was probably pure luck. Less than a mile down the road from my peaceful little house, the road opened up…literally. There is a fissure in the pavement that could swallow a good-sized car if it didn’t stop in time. Closer to home, our neighbors across the street are sandbagging the rising river in their backyard, the river that just days ago was an itty-bitty creek. In another part of the development, another rising river flowed into basements, garages, and even cars. Those people are all flinging open their doors in hopes of sweeping the water away.

Major highways and places I pass on a daily basis are actually underwater. There aren’t any roads, because they’ve become rivers and those roads not under water are under massive piles of debris. It’s exactly like those pictures you see on the weather channel or the news after a big storm, complete with the people standing around aimlessly in the background, wondering how they’re going to pick up and go on. And the more I hear, the more I realize that I was just downright foolish. Because it can happen. And for many of my neighbors, it did happen. As far as I know, no one has died, but that’s only as far as I know.

In your twenties, in a place like America, and especially in New York, most of us are more afraid of failing than dying. Sure, we’re scared of death in the abstract. We’re scared that we won’t accomplish enough before dying, that it will be painful, that we’ll have regrets. But most of us assume that it’s a long way off, because for most of us, it is. But every once in awhile, the earthquake is more than a ripple, the hurricane is more than a storm, and that harmless car trip isn’t so harmless. Today, I am thankful for a bit of perspective and the fact that the people who matter to me are safe…including myself.

xoxo

Cat

The Thing I Cannot Do

29 August 2011

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I’ve never considered myself to be a writer (which sort of makes 100 plus posts on this blog an unexpected accomplishment). A scribbler, yes. A dreamer? Most definitely. But a writer? Calling myself a writer seemed to imply a certain amount of talent that I just didn’t seem to possess, or at least could never see in myself. I never won essay or writing contests at school, though we were all required to enter. Sure, I wrote a mean paper in English and history classes, but that’s mainly because I would never settle for anything less than an A. Besides, there was a big difference between analyzing the theme of insanity in King Lear and the kind of writer I wished I could be. What I did was have an argument on paper, and I’m very good at arguing. What I wanted was to be a person who created stories. Not the silly ones in my head to help me fall asleep at night, but the big, interesting stories that people would want to read.

But writing, being a writer like the ones I admire and whose names line my shelves, is just as much about failure as it is about success. Just recently, I read an article about a woman who was rejected thirty times by agents and publishers before signing a six-figure deal for the same project. Just to put that into perspective, no one gets six-figure book deals anymore unless they’re already a big name. Someone saw something special in her work after many people said there was nothing. Thinking about this and my desire to write, fear of failing, and doubt in my ability, I remembered a quote from one of my heroes, Eleanor Roosevelt: “You must do the thing you think you cannot.” This is the same woman who challenges us to do something everyday that scares us. And who would know better than her? She survived two world wars, the Great Depression, life in the international spotlight, not to mention her husband’s infidelity (yea, FDR was no saint) and despite lacking classic beauty, she became an idol to millions of women. If there’s a woman whose advice we should appreciate (and I believe there are many) hers would be at the top.

So I did something that scared the living daylights out of me, something that I’m still not entirely sure I can really do. I signed up for the project that led to that writer’s six-figure deal: NaNoWriMo. For those of you who think I just letter-vomited on the screen, NaNoWriMo stands for National Novel Writing Month. Participants pledge to write a 50,000 word (standard length) novel in one month. Thirty days to write a full-length novel. Even most well established authors would balk at that idea. Except maybe James Patterson, who I’m convinced thinks every month is NaNoWriMo. But the only way for me to convince myself that I can, in fact, be a writer is to write. And by signing up for an official writing project, and by telling all of you about it, it will force me to actually write. It doesn’t have to be fantastic; it doesn’t even have to be good. It just has to be done. So the ticker starts at midnight on November first. Wish me luck. Oh, and in case you’re wondering, I’m not hoping to get a book deal out of this. I’m just hoping to silence my inner critic, even if it’s only for a month.

xoxo

Cat

What Time’s the Charm?

28 August 2011

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You always remember your first love. I know that I will. But if you somehow got your hands on my many-volumed diary, you probably wouldn’t immediately know who my first love was. Or you might think you did, but you’d be wrong. Because despite the number of relationships I’d been in before, the crushes, and even the times I said those words, I know I’ve only been in love once. I mean really in love. Not “I love you so bad it hurts”. Not, “losing you would be like losing an arm” love. I’ve had that kind of love, sure. I’ve also had “can’t get you out of my head” love. But I’ve also had a great love, a love-of-your-life love, and when you have that everything else seems like just a crush. But the relationship ended. Not the love mind you. Ask either one of us and in an honest moment, we’ll admit that the love is still there and still strong. But the relationship broke and I’m not sure that this Humpty Dumpty can ever be put back together again.

So what’s next? If I can’t be with my first great love forever, will it be the second? I refuse to believe that there will never be another love for me because I’m incapable of wrapping my mind around that concept. So I know that one day, when I begin to look again, I will be looking for my second love. But will it be second time lucky, or third time’s the charm? This may be childish, but I don’t want a third one. If the third love’s the One, then I’d rather skip the other guy and make Mr. End-All-Be-All my number two.

I know that I have zero control over it and I know that hindsight could possibly convince me otherwise. But I don’t care. I don’t care how much I might benefit from another love who’s not the One. And it’s not about avoiding another heartbreak, although I wouldn’t voluntarily go through that again. There could be many boyfriends before my next love, and that’s fine. There could be none and just a vast space of singleness. That’s okay too. But how many great loves can a girl have? How many men can you give your heart to and still have something left for yourself? If you love your first love, you love your family, your husband, your kids, your pet, your friends…when do you have time to love yourself?

My mom has always tried to teach me to be independent (and I proved my independence by ignoring her). She talked about making your own decisions, having your own space, career, money, time. But what about your own love? Isn’t that just as important as the other things? And really, it should be the root and the reason for those other things. So maybe that’s the lesson: maybe my second great love is to fall in love with myself. I’ve certainly been working on it since separating from number one. And I could do far worse. In that case, it really would be second time lucky, and I would be with my second love forever.

xoxo

Cat

Cat Was Here: Ovelia

27 August 2011

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Ovelia

I’m pretty excited to do the first installment in my new ‘hood: Astoria. And I can’t think of a better place to start than Ovelia, which basically embodies all the reasons I’m moving there. The restaurant, which is Zagat rated, is as trendy as any hotspot in Chelsea or SoHo with its funky décor and wait staff that looks like a bunch of Gossip Girls extras. (I mean that in a beautiful way). But unlike Balthasar or Café Ocho, brunch for two on a Saturday didn’t require reservations or a long wait. Imagine that.

But you can’t survive on atmosphere and cute waters alone, although I’d be willing to try. So in case you go to brunch to actually brunch, Ovelia will satisfy you in that regard as well. Remember your favorite diner from home? You know, the one where you could walk in, sit down at two in the afternoon and order a Greek salad or pancakes with bacon, no problem? Imagine that menu fancied up, without the massive dose of cardiac-arrest-inducing fat, throw in some organic goodness and put a bow on it; that’s Ovelia. It’s the comfort of familiar favorites with unexpected twists that make a meal feel like a special occasion. And with that latent familiarity, you’re sure to find something to please anyone.

Info:

Location: 34-01 30th Ave, Astoria, NY 11102

Phone: (718) 721-7217

Email: ovelianyc@gmail.com

Website: www.ovelia-ny.com

 

Good for: brunch, mornings after (in case you can’t cook), lunch, neighborhood hangout.

Dancing on the Edge

26 August 2011

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Have you ever felt like you were on the edge of a precipice and on one side is you now, on the other is a shiny, new, exciting you? I’m starting to feel like that lately. There are little flashes of, like I’m walking up to the cliff through a thick forest. I can’t quite see it yet, but I’m pretty sure it’s there. Although even if it weren’t, it would still be a relief to escape the shadows of the trees. Am I rambling? Probably a little bit. But I am in a rambling mood. You see, a goal is starting to take form in my mind, the mountaintop I might eventually like to reach.

Don’t mistake my meaning, I’m still very much a wanderer and I hope to do many things along the way. Some tangential, some completely unrelated. But I don’t think having a goal means becoming a sprinter or heading back to the beaten track. It just means knowing what mountain you’re on. It’s a way to orient yourself, to see if the path you’re creating is heading somewhere or wandering aimlessly in no particular direction. And while aimless wandering can be a welcome relief after being on the straight and narrow, I’m not sure how sustainable it is. I like a bit of disorder, a bit of ‘wait and see’. But I’m realizing that what I really like is controlled chaos. I like the blowout night every couple weeks because I work so hard the rest of the time. I like having freedom because I’ve been so strict with myself in the past. The occasional splurge means more to me because it’s occasional. And most importantly, I know that I’d enjoy wandering more if I knew it was part of something bigger.

Bottom line, I need a purpose so I can dance around it and have fun deciding how to get there. It may be by the most unconventional, circuitous route and most likely it will be. It may even look like I’m going in circles. But I’ll still be going. So here I stand, on the edge of a new beginning, or not. It doesn’t really matter actually. What matters is that I decide.

xoxo

Cat

Behind the Mask

25 August 2011

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As often happens, I was sitting at my computer yesterday, staring at a blank screen, wondering what to write for this blog. I could have just left it, decided that since nothing was coming to me I shouldn’t force it. But there’s something super satisfying about seeing my words on the screen and hitting the publish button. So I started trolling around for ideas. And then I found this picture on, of course, Tumblr:

And it was more than just a smile-inducing moment or an “I can relate to that.” Because it reminded me of all the nights that I had gone to sleep “alone”. It could have made me sad and lonely. It could have made me wish for someone to snuggle up to. But it never did. Sure, I went to sleep lonely, but it was because of what was going on outside the house, in the world I entered every day. Even when I had a boyfriend, I could feel lonely at nights because I didn’t feel understood. But alone? Never. As long as I had a lamp by my bed, I would never be alone.

I had an extremely vivid imagination as a kid. Okay, maybe I still do. I didn’t just have an imaginary friend, I populated whole worlds that existed for my own benefit. Every night, before going to sleep I would reach for whatever book was on my nightstand until the lights went out. But my brain just wouldn’t shut off after that. I’d enter the worlds I’d created, sometimes pulled partially or wholly from the books I read, having elaborate fantasies that eventually drifted off into dreams that I would forget in the morning. And I think as a kid, this is pretty normal. Maybe not to the extent that I did it, I was pretty elaborate, even writing down some of my imaginary tales. What’s strange is that I was never me.

Whenever a new fantasy would begin, it always started with a new name, a new identity. If I wasn’t so shy and private, there’s a good chance I would have been a good actor because I learned to take on the persona of each character I had created. Even with this blog, before I knew exactly what I would write about, I knew what I would call myself, and I never even thought to use my real name. I’m sure there’s a whole involved psychological explanation for all this that probably involves and inferiority complex of some sort. But to me, all those personas, and especially this one felt like a way to actually be more honest. Behind the mask, you can be anyone you want, and what you want often says more about who you are than the face you put out for the “real” world to see. Which is why Cat isn’t going away anytime soon, even when I have a blog-blank day.

xoxo

Cat

The Final Snap

24 August 2011

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While sitting with a longtime friend at a local restaurant, waiting for our food to arrive. I stared off into space and matter-of-factly said, “I think I’m over Ducky.” After swallowing the mouthful of soda she was choking on, my friend asked if I was sure. I shrugged and told her that of course I wasn’t sure because things could change. What I was sure of was that I’m tired of the stretch and snap routine. While it has made it incredibly easy to ward off commitment of any kind and has given me something to look forward to, it’s gotten old. As I told my disbelieving friend, it was just getting a little pathetic. Because it wasn’t like Ducky was just a nice surprise every once in awhile, I was waiting around for him to show up. And when you’re waiting for a guy to make you happy, whether it’s for a night or for longer, that’s when you need a drop-kick reality check. And ask anyone who’s ever gotten advice from me: I’m fantastic at drop-kick reality. So I mentally bitch-slapped myself and decided to get a life.

This conversation and the decision it reflected happened a couple weeks ago. And into true snap-back form, guess who suddenly shows up? Quack, quack, that’s right. It’s Ducky. But for the first time since meeting him, my heart didn’t leap when his name came up on my phone. I didn’t immediately start clearing my schedule in anticipation of the fun we would assuredly have. Instead, my reaction was more along the lines of, “let’s see what he has to say for himself.” Because you know what? I should have walked away months ago, you know, the last time I heard from him…which was back in June! Yes, I am apparently a bit slow on the uptake. Whatever, the only thing I can say for myself is that he wasn’t my sole focus. Maybe it was the hope offered by that last conversation that yes, he would be coming back at the end of the summer and yes, he did want to see me, that kept me hanging on. But strangely enough, here he is…and I don’t particularly care.

I promise you, this is not a front I’m putting on. He wanted to hang out with me yesterday, even suggesting I call in sick to work to have a whirlwind day with him. But where was I at 9am on Tuesday? At my desk, as usual. And since turning him down, I haven’t heard from him, despite my suggestion that if he really wanted to see me, I would be free this weekend. And what do I feel? Vindicated. That’s right. Instead of feeling disappointed or upset that he hasn’t made the extra effort, I am doing a little mental dance right now because I was right: it’s time to move on. I laid everything out there for him when he was here last, and he has not stepped up to the plate. And there isn’t any indication that he will step up to the plate. So you know what? I’m going to let him fly off. My life is on a crazy careening course that seems to be heading in an interesting and wonderful direction. Anyone who is going to be a part of that is going to have to grab on and hold on or else go spinning off into their own world. So this is it, this is the final snap….I hope.

xoxo

Cat

Just a Bump in the Road

19 August 2011

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Does disappointment ever get easier to deal with? Whether it’s a man that didn’t call back, or a job that, well didn’t call back, disappointment can hit like a fresh wound every time. Even for someone like me who has built up a fairly thick shield of armor, not getting what you want can get under your skin. It makes your stomach drop to your toes and tears well up in those beautiful eyes. And only through repeated exposure do you learn how to let it pass and move on.

The other day, I learned that I hadn’t gotten a job that I was up for and really wanted (so much for the law of attraction!). I know, I know, why am I looking for a job when I just started a new one? It’s a matter of stability: the position I have right now is temporary. That’s not the point though. The point is that I wanted something, worked to get it, and it went to someone else. And I was left with that familiar pit in my stomach and a pile of doubt. Why wasn’t I good enough? What did that other person have that I don’t? It was going so well, what went wrong? But, if you’ve dealt with as much disappointment as I have, you’ve developed a system for putting it behind you and moving on. Mine consists of the following:

Step 1: Take a moment for myself

Depending on how bad the disappointment was, this may or may not involve tears. That’s okay, it’s part of the process. Other times, it’s just a deep breath and a mental pep talk.

Step 2: Assemble the Dream Team

The family of blood and the family of choice:
Mom swoops in with a big hug and homemade meal, possibly even my favorite if given enough notice.
Dad steps up to the plate with awkward but well-intentioned comfort and advice.
Brother helps figure out where to go from here.
Adopted family, assemble!
Best gal pals pump me up with reminders of how awesome I am and offer replacement comfort in the form of booze, ice cream, cookies, or puppies.
Oldest buddy agrees that it sucks and the guy/job/college/whatever is stupid, then offers himself as sexual replacement.
Finally, ex-boyfriend/love of my life/best friend rounds it out with all the reasons why I’m still sexy, beautiful, smart, and generally wonderful. Cracks a few dirty jokes to make me laugh, then reminds me of all the times that I overcame bigger, harder things than this. And because he’s been around for so long, he’s got a good long list to remind me that this is nothing. Because you are you and I am I and this is just another bump in the road.

xoxo

Cat

Doing it By the Book

18 August 2011

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If you know me, it’s no secret that I turn to books for just about everything: wisdom, insight, humor, entertainment. So indulge me for a moment, this post is pretty book-heavy. It starts with The Princessa by Harriet Rubin, and her directive to “tell your story,” both what it has been and what you want it to be on future pages. Telling the story up to this point is the easy part. It’s what comes next that’s usually hard. So I tried to think about what areas of life might be the scaffolding for my story to assemble around. And the result amounts to a checklist of sorts that includes career, family, friends, home, and love.My family is, for once, a happy and stable part of that puzzle. And though they sometimes drive me nuts, I’m pretty happy with my friends. Home is taken care of with a lease finally signed (woohoo!). Which leaves career and love. And that’s where my next two books come into play: Act Like a Lady, Think Like a Man by Steve Harvey (I know, I know, that again?) and Hot (Broke) Messes by Nancy Trejos. Now, I am thankfully not a hot, broke mess, but reading that book raised an interesting thought in my head. Trejos writes that her financial and romantic lives are both screwed up and that she feels like she can have one of those things be a mess, but not both. So she picks her financial life to clean up. But for a lot of women, couldn’t it easily have been romance instead?

Steve Harvey writes that for a man to really be in a relationship, all other aspects of his life have to be in order first. For women, though, it seems like when our whole world is a mess, we’ll settle for just one aspect coming together and it’s kind of arbitrary which one comes first. If we me the right guy, it’ll make us feel good about ourselves and that confidence will get us the job. If we just drop that last pound, we’ll have guys at our beck and call, and job offers up the wazoo. We’ll take anything just to get us started. But that doesn’t really work outside of our imaginations does it? Because we need the total package to be happy, whatever the individual wrapping might be.

I realize this now because I’m checking off boxes and feeling my happiness rise (and fall) and a new though occurs to me: that maybe romance is part of that story I want to write for myself. With my life becoming less transient, the idea of (gulp) settling down in other areas sounds more appealing. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not talking about putting a ring on it. But the word boyfriend seems less cringe-worthy and I wonder if “relationship” might not be such a dirty word after all. Okay maybe not. I still don’t think I’m quite ready for all of that. But it doesn’t seem like such a far-fetched, long off idea anymore. I still need a little time before Prince Charming, but maybe it’s time to put romance back on the table.

xoxo

Cat