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Speak Your Truth and Build Happiness Together

After years of emotionally abusive relationships, I currently have a loving and supportive partner, but it hasn’t come easy.  Most of my past relationships fell apart due to miscommunication and feeling unheard.  I had to learn from my missteps and change my approach to communicating effectively, and although this is a difficult and ongoing process, proper communication skills are key to a relationship’s sustainability.

Here are some useful communication tools that I’ve acquired over the years after learning from past mistakes.

1)  It’s okay to ask for what you want.

It was never easy for me to request anything from my ex-partners because I was deathly afraid that they would either think less of me or leave me.  More importantly, I didn’t feel like I deserved to be treated well.

One of my ex-girlfriends would tease me about my weight constantly and I never let her know how much it hurt my feelings.  Instead of having a potentially uncomfortable conversation, I built up resentment towards her over time.  The main reason I never confronted her was because I had such low self-esteem that I thought she was doing me a favor by being with me.

By treating myself like a charity case, I didn’t put any value in myself which made it harder for us to put any value in our relationship.  I still think it was unkind of her to constantly shame me for being overweight, but it’s also possible that she didn’t mean any harm, and I’ll never know how she would’ve felt if I communicated that she genuinely hurt my feelings.

Over the years, I’ve learned to value myself more, which means that I have to occasionally request that my emotional needs are met.  I try my best to bring up the conversation gently and reassure her that my words are not meant as a personal attack.

These conversations generally aren’t comfortable and can get contentious, but I would much rather cope with some discomfort than to let years of resentment build up.  It’s better for your relationship–and for you personally–to realize that you are valuable enough to ask for what you want.  You owe it to yourself to let your voice be heard.

2)  Don’t demand to have your needs met.

Asking for what you want is different from demanding to get what you want.  When you become forceful in conveying your needs, you are selfishly disregarding your partner feelings.

I became incensed in a past relationship when my ex-girlfriend would take too long responding to texts.  Instead of simply letting her know that this was bothering me and discussing this issue like adults, I told her that she needed to text me more often, and I accused her of not caring about me if she didn’t comply.  Needless to say, we didn’t last.  Coercion is an unhealthy way of connecting with someone.

The mistake I made was conflating her actions with my self-worth. I thought that her lack of texting meant that I was an unlovable person. When you expect your partner to do whatever you ask, you are neglecting your partner’s needs and not taking ownership of your own feelings, meaning that you are deflecting responsibility onto someone else.  This hinders your own growth as well as the growth of your relationship.

Communicating your needs is not about getting your partner to comply by any means necessary (this would be considered emotional manipulation bordering on emotional abuse).  The purpose of asking for what you want is to assert yourself and let your voice be heard, not to get anything and everything you want. Remember that speaking up for yourself is its own reward, and remember that your partner has feelings, too.

3)  Don’t take criticism personally.

There will be times when your partner will request that his/her emotional needs are met, and when this happens, it’s very easy to react defensively and harshly which isn’t helpful to either party.

My natural impulse when my partner criticizes one of my behaviors is to defend myself angrily because I generally view criticism as a personal attack against my character.  I have to remind myself every day that this is not the case.

I was once told that I should lift my knees slightly higher when I run in order to improve my technique and burn more calories.  I automatically began making implications that weren’t there.  “So she thinks I’m bad at running, meaning she thinks I’m lazy, and lazy people aren’t desirable, so she thinks that I’m a lazy undesirable person?”

It took many years for me to realize that my self-worth is not wrapped up in any behavior.  Behaviors are something that can be fixed, improved, or even ignored, but none of that has anything to do with my worth as a person.

Once I learned to depersonalize criticisms, I became more able to hear my partner’s needs and assess whether her criticisms are valid or invalid, and either way, I’m thankful that she trusts me enough to communicate her needs to me.

Although criticism can oftentimes feel initially unpleasant, it never has to be negative.  You can either take your partner’s advice, or you can respectfully disagree, but either way, your self-worth will always stay intact.

4)  Take yourself out of the situation when tempers are flaring.

When you’re in a relationship, it’s inevitable that you and your partner will eventually have tempers.  When this happens, it’s hard–if not impossible–for logic to seep into your brain.  In these instances, it’s okay to temporarily take yourself out of the situation until anger subsides.

The good news is, anger has a time limit and cannot sustain itself forever.  When I feel like I’m about to lose control, I’ll leave my apartment for a few minutes to clear my head.  This gives me time to calm down which minimizes the possibility of saying something I’ll later regret in the heat of the moment.

It also gives me a chance to consider why the initial argument made me so angry in the first place, and when I can analyze my thoughts in a calmer manner, I can re-enter the conversation after I’ve calmed down.  In my experience, if the argument is resolved by the time you have calmed down, it’s okay to let it go and never bring it back up again.  But if there is still lingering resentment, it’s important to resolve the issue and not sweep the problem under the rug because it will always resurface down the road.

5)  Use positive reinforcement instead of negative reinforcement.

I was raised on negative reinforcement where my parents would shame me for any type of indiscretion.  They thought this would force me to behave well in order to save face.  What they didn’t realize was the irreparable damage this has done for my self-esteem.

I’ve found that many people were raised the same way, so they use similar tactics in communicating with their friends and spouses.  When you shame people for making a mistake (or what you deem as a mistake), they are actually more likely to repeat the behavior because shaming increases the likelihood of lower self-esteem, self-sabotage, and self-fulfilling prophecies.

Since I was used to being treated this way, I gravitated towards women who would treat me in a similar fashion and thought that constant shaming was the only way to get my point across, too.  It wasn’t until my current relationship when I realized that this is a toxic and inefficient way of communicating with your partner.

Instead of shaming me whenever I make a mistake, she congratulates me whenever I make her happy or when I achieve something.  Not only has this increased my overall self-esteem, it has also incentivized me to continue positive behavioral traits knowing that it makes both my partner and me happy.  My life feels less stressful as a result.  I don’t feel a sense of constant impending doom.  Positive reinforcement has allowed me to forgive myself whenever I make a mistake instead of feeling ashamed.

Conversely, you can return the favor and let your partner know whenever he/she makes you happy, and it’s a wonderful feeling to share your happiness together.  The only drawback of positive reinforcement is how difficult it is to break a bad habit, but otherwise, there is no discernible downside.  It is better for your relationship in every way.

Best Places To Do It This Summer

It’s Summertime, it’s lovely out, and everybody knows warm weather means taking sex outside of the bedroom!   Look through this list and see what you can dream up- but remember to be careful, and that telling the police “but I read it in a blog” is not a way out of a public indecency charge, young lady!

Good idea:
Young Couple In Love On A Road TripIn A Car

This is where many kids started getting hot and heavy, because they didn’t have their own place yet- trying to contort into some kind of reasonable position can make you feel like a kid again, although the crick in your neck tomorrow might remind you that you’re not!  Also, steaming up windows is almost like having them tinted!

Bad Idea:
On A Bus

Sex in a car is dirty and clandestine, but sex on the bus is just plain dirty. The Replacements sang a great song about kissing on a bus, but they never sang about going past first base.

Good Idea:Intimate Couple In Office

Private Office

If you or your dude have scaled the corporate ladder and have an office with a door, that’s a super hot place to hook up- big office chair, nice big desk!  Not least of all, the next time he’s having a tough meeting over quarterly reports, the memory will give him a reason to smile.

Bad Idea:
Cubicle Farm

Just like no glove, no love, if there’s no door, you can’t get more.  If you don’t have enough privacy in your office to make a doctor’s appointment, you shouldn’t play doctor there.

Good Idea:Couple

In The Forest

Getting back to nature can definitely mean going au naturel- just check for poison ivy before bedding down!

Bad Idea:
In The Park

It’s easy to feel like you found a private spot, and hard to be sure!  My friend thought she was getting away with a secret shag in Griffith Park until a passing bicyclist smiled and waved at her.

Good Idea:Young couple kissing with desire in the kitchen.

Kitchen

Counters, sinks, hey, is your kitchen floor clean enough to screw on?  Let’s find out!  Next time you’re having a leisurely morning, ask your man if he wants to butter your buns, or cook breakfast in only an apron and he’ll probably figure it out on his own.

Bad Idea:
Kitchen

This part is for safety.  Don’t cook breakfast naked because: bacon spatters!

Good Idea:Sexy Young Couple Posing In Mirror

Quickie in a Bathroom at a Party

You’re all dressed up and you’ve had a drink and you lock eyes with your fella, or a nice looking dude- the bathroom offers privacy, a couple of surfaces to take advantage of, and in a tile bathroom, cleanup’s a breeze!

Bad Idea:
Full On Lovemaking Session in a Bathroom at a Party

Don’t keep drunk people waiting for a bathroom too long.  That leads to fights and dead, pee-soaked houseplants.  You will not be invited back.

Good Idea:The newly married couple lying on the roof of house in red sunseOn A Rooftop

An empty hotel or apartment rooftop can be a great spot for warm-weather shenanigans, to say nothing of the view!

Bad Idea:
On A Rooftop

Try to keep from yelling “I’m the King of the World!” because that can get you busted.  Also, make sure the stairwell door doesn’t lock behind you lest your adventure leave you stranded up there!

Good Idea:Lovers In ShowerIn The Shower

Speaking of the bathroom, the shower is a fun place to get hot and steamy and get clean, then get down, then clean again!  Plan ahead with some lube.

Bad Idea:
In The Pool or Hot Tub

This can’t be said enough.  Dolphins are made to have sex in the water.  People aren’t.  We just get squeaky and dried out.  Chlorine is not your friend.  Don’t do it!

Lastly, The Bad Idea That Everyone Pretends Is A Good Idea:
On An Airplane

Look, the romance of joining the mile high club is very different from the reality of trying to have a tryst on an airplane.  Unless you’re on a private jet, there’s barely room for one person to be in the bathroom, let alone two.  If you and your lover are small enough where you can comfortably romp in a rolling suitcase, you can probably have a good time in a plane bathroom, but you folks can just stay in the suitcase as well!  Next time, try doing it in a hand towel dispenser, or a water bottle, tiny people!

Join Me in the Bedroom, Your Sexy Surprise Awaits…

How do you build up the tension with your partner, when you are planning a sexy surprise? Does planning your trysts keep a smile on your face all day?


“Go straight to the bedroom. Make yourself comfortable gorgeous, I’m fixing you a drink.”

I texted, as I slipped into the shadows of the darkened kitchen. “Bloody hell!” My husband was home early, and he’d caught me in the midst of the finishing touches to my “welcome home darling” handiwork.

Not ten minutes earlier, I had been attending to the seams of my come hither silky black stockings, lighting “everything looks better in candlelight” candles and gathering ingredients to make a delicious love potion (Dutch courage) before my phone alerted me that his plane had landed earlier than expected and my king was on en route to the castle.

My text delay tactic was a success, and he wordlessly took the hallway route directly to the bedroom, beautifully avoiding the slight scramble playing out in the kitchen. Having bought myself a few extra minutes, I returned to my preparations and to my Dutch courage.

I took a languid sip from my most lovingly crafted libation and smiled. “Damn that tasted good.” Casting aside my slippers, I eased my stocking feet into a pair of appropriately teetering stiletto heels. Another sip, another smile as I pressed the play button to release the strains of The Black Keys into the room.

I’d spent considerable time that day performing a mental scan of oh so many artists, oh so many songs, to choose the perfect playlist for my head fantasy. Another sip, another smile as I rewound the day and reflected on how this present moment had come to be.

It had all begun that morning, after school drop-off and on my way to the gym when the provocative rhythm of “Psychotic Girl” by The Black Keys came on the radio.

I’d had a week of solo parenting and after a marathon hamster wheel of juggling the jostling roles of resident short order cook, laundry department, worker bee, personal shopper, taxi driver, baseball Mum, errand girl, cleaning crew, homework tutor, caring mother/wife/friend/daughter/entrepreneur, I was very much looking forward to either some well earned beauty sleep, or a naughty play date.

Thanks to the inspiring hypnotic pulse of the Black Keys the naughty play date trumped beauty sleep.

This is a reoccurring theme. My mind’s movie reel flashed with a menu of potential choices for the evening’s feature presentation and my imagination was off to the races in conjuring up a most delightful and pleasurable reunion with my king.

Trusting Your Instinct

I’ve never been one to trust my gut, follow my instinct, or listen to that little voice inside, and that’s how I found myself, at 26, saying “I do” in front of an official justice of the peace, the greatest Elvis impersonator I’ve ever seen, and a man I’d known for 3 months.  I didn’t marry an Elvis impersonator, I married a man I’d known for only 3 months, total.  I thought I was being romantic and carefree, disregarding societal norms and traditions.  As someone who’d had a million one-night/few-night stands, but only a couple adult relationships, I thought that the hardest part of being married was finding someone to marry me.  So when the opportunity came up, I grabbed it and ran, forcing solutions to any possible roadblock between me being alone, and me having legal proof that I was loveable.

At the time we started dating/got engaged, he hadn’t paid his rent for several months, so I insisted that he move in with me, rent free.  It’s not like having him there would raise the rent I was already covering, so what did it matter?  It was a small price to pay for the validation of being an integral part of someone’s basic needs being met.  He was unemployed, and couldn’t afford the rings, so I bought them.  Did you catch that?  I BOUGHT MY OWN WEDDING RING.  I also used my accumulated airline miles to cover our flights to/from Vegas, where I also paid for the actual wedding.  If that’s not romance, what is?

You’re probably thinking “Damn, the sex must’ve been mind-blowing, to turn you out like that!”, and I regret to tell you that the sex was nothing more than garden-variety.  It was fine, just fine.  Not great, not OMG, just fine sex, nothing to write home about.  But he was willing to only have it with me, and I thought that his lack of quantity of partners meant more than quality.

Now I wasn’t a total pushover, I did require him to get a job before we took our vows, which he kept until we’d been married for 2 weeks.  After that, he was unemployed for quite a while, long enough for me to max out my credit cards taking care of us, including keeping our social life active, because I really enjoyed spending time with our friends.  His and mine, they all got along, and we had great nights hanging out at our apartment with everyone, big spontaneous parties that were fun, truly fun.  I guess I was drunk so much that I didn’t realize that those were really the only fun times.  My marriage was like the boat ride in Willy Wonka: it started off exciting, but quickly became a seemingly inescapable nightmare.

Here’s the thing: I could’ve avoided the whole mess you’re about to read, if only I’d listened to my gut.  See, the night before the wedding, we got into a huge argument.  We were in our hotel, about to go gambling, something set him off, and all of a sudden, we were screaming at each other.  Right there in the hotel suite, in front of our wedding clothes and everything.  I left the room, heading down to the snack bar to catch my breath, to get some air that wasn’t hanging heavy with anger.  I was sitting alone at a big, round table, when I heard a voice say “Don’t do this, don’t marry him.”  It was a voice inside my head, but so calm and clear that it sounded like someone else.  I indulged in considering that option, and felt a wave of peace wash over me that was quickly chased away by worries and but-thens.   “But then I’ll have to admit that everyone who questioned us was right.”,  “But then I’ll have to give back the wedding gifts, and we’ve already opened them, and I don’t have the money to pay people back.” One friend had given us a bedding set from our wedding registry, and we’d already had sex on it, making it unreturnable, I assumed.  I chose ease over instinct, and here’s what happened:

After he quit his job, he very, very leisurely searched for another one.  By “leisurely”, I mean that he mostly spent his days playing video games, and circling a few want-ads in the paper.  I had to find another part-time job to cover our expenses, because what I brought in as a touring comedian and part-time artist’s model wasn’t enough to cover the living expenses for two.  I could easily take care of myself, but now I was married, and responsible for the welfare of another adult as well.  After several months, he landed another temp job.  Then lost it.  Then got another, keeping it for nearly 4 months before declaring it BS, and walking off mid-shift.  He then decided that he had burned bridges with all the temp agencies in our town, and since I was insistent that he financially contribute, our only real option was to move to a remote town in Oregon, where he would apprentice for his uncle as a cabinet maker until he had the skills to support us wherever we wanted to live.

We sold our cars, and I gave up my dream apartment to go live in a truckstop-town full of secrets, a Mayberry on meth.  His uncle was “sober”, meaning that he smoked a lot of weed, but only occasionally had a beer or 6.  I’m not blaming the weed or booze for his laziness, but the cabinets never got made, and our situation did not improve. There were no jobs for him to get, after he failed the drug test for the one supermarket in town that had an opening. I guess I’d never known actual misery before, and being aware of that, and the impossibility of getting out of it all only made it worse.  After having my life threatened by a confused and angry tweeker who wandered into the porn store where I was a cashier for $20 a day, 3 days a week (our only source of income, btw) we moved to a bigger city. My husband quickly got an actual full-time job, but our relationship never flourished, or even recovered to the level of previous discontent.  I tried several times to end it, but, not wanting to repeat what he saw as the mistakes of his 5-times married father, he refused divorce.  Whenever I’d suggest it, he’d pull out the dramatics, one time actually throwing himself on the ground and repeatedly punching himself in the head.

I was afraid of his rage, his yelling, I remember being on the phone with him while I was on the road working, him loudly shouting accusations about why I hadn’t called him sooner after the show, and being scared to move, scared to sit up in my hotel room bed for fear he would somehow know, and it would somehow make him yell more, even though he was hundreds of miles away, not actually physically present.

After a few years of taking my vows seriously, and respecting the sanctity of our marriage, I resigned myself to the idea that it was just easier to stay married, but spend as much time as possible away from home pretending I wasn’t, than it was to get out of it.

Eventually we broke up, while I was out of town.  I cried all the time during my marriage, but not once over the death of it, never regretting the end at all.  To this day, the only thing I do regret was not listening to the voice I heard in Vegas, that of my small but clear instinct, which could’ve saved me 4 years and 4 million tears.

 

An “Erotic ART” moment in the South of France

Some years ago I was living in the South of France with my love who had spent time growing up in the region. The coastal road from Monaco to Nice is narrow and the billboards along the route are in your face as you go around the curves. I passed this particular billboard daily and as an artist my creative imagination landed on what was so familiar about it!Artist_J_Gordon-5

An inspired erotic art piece revealed itself with a perfect canvas primed!Artist_J_Gordon-8

My love, our Russian friend and I sat on the wall directly across from it contemplating the sexy art that might be created.

We went back to our villa and set about creating our inspired intimate replacement for the billboard on the terrazzo floor.

We drank wine, painted, cut out the piece and made editorial comments such as “add more veins! Make it pinker!”

Breaking My Heart Open Through Heartbreak

Heartbreak is the biggest cliche conceivable, but somehow always feels uniquely painful through the scope of our own experience. Contrary to the belief that heartache gets easier as we shed our awkward teen cocoons, the pain felt familiarly sharp with each of my “Big Three.” As I embark upon what I like to call the “Age of the Great Drought of Fucks to Give, While Simultaneously Getting One’s Business Together;” otherwise known as turning 30, I present the Saga of Three Heartbreaks.

Heartbreak #1 Gillam. My Puppy Love. Age 14.

I saw him in my step-sister’s school play and my adolescent loins that burned for Ryan Gosling twinged for him. I called him in advance of our first date from a payphone when I discovered I had won tickets to go see a very cool-by-teenage-standards rock band. Putting the cart squarely before the horse, on our first date, we sat on the edge of a slab of wood resembling a dock with no water, and he wrote me a note explaining to me that he “fell for [me] like a blind roofer” and if I ever doubted his feelings I should read the phrase “Isle of View” aloud. Pretty smooth for a gangly 16 year old. Gillam lived a half hour drive away in an entirely different province (that’s Canadian for “state”). This was my first taste of long distance romance, but certainly not my last. I visited his family and bonded with his younger sister. It was she who had to eventually break it off with me over the phone; when out of nowhere he changed his mind about the whole thing. Everything is so intense at that age, that the serotonin from a rock concert or new love was like a hit of MDMA and sent me into heavy withdrawal for a day or two afterward. When we broke up, I had lost the will to go on, like a real damsel in old days. I went catatonic and watched the portable phone spin on the floor for what felt like an eternity.

Heartbreak #2 Sam. My Delayed High School Sweetheart. Age 20.

Sam was from the same suburb as mine, but we met at a bar in the city, while he was hosting an open mic night, and I had taken a job putting up posters promoting their events. When he confided in me that his parents were going through a divorce (something that I was an old pro at dealing with by now), I felt compelled to offer support even though we barely knew one another. We met at the library in between our houses and talked until the sun came up. We eventually had to be rescued by his father when his parents’ car battery died after we had jointly decided it was a great idea to climb into the trunk and get our awkward flirt on.

As we continued to see one another, it began to feel as though were in a boat, just the two of us. Whenever we saw one another, the rest of the world would disappear, and we were alone on the water together. After several months, Sam went away for a school trip. He had been nervous about a presentation and didn’t have an outfit he felt confident enough to present in, so before dawn on the day he left, I slid my way across frozen tundra that lined the path to his house that winter, and presented a care package that I had meticulously put together of his favorite colors and prints in an outfit for his presentation. His father drove us to his pickup point where we shared a sweet goodbye and then, rather than introduce me to his group of classmates, Sam awkwardly pointed me toward the bus stop (inconveniently, 2 minutes after his father had left for our neighborhood) and then scurried over to join them.

I would later learn he was leaving me for one of the classmates he had avoided introducing me to. I was okay, I had convinced myself; until I curled up in my mother’s lap like an infant, and wept a heavy sob that squeezed every drop of moisture out of my body.

He moved across the country with his new girlfriend from school, and then eventually came back home after she cheated on him. We both happened to be back in our hometown, and ran into one another at the bar where we had both met. As we embraced for the first time in years, I felt the familiar comfort of our boat. This time, however, it was as if he had a dark cloud looming above him. He had become embittered, and I felt compelled to stay as far away as possible. Our mutual friend relayed snidely to me that Sam thought I wanted to marry him and was afraid of seeing him, lest I lose all composure. I responded matter-of-factly that I didn’t mind if I never saw him again. This felt like I was saying it as much to him as I was to myself. Somehow, the universe caught the message and seven years later, we haven’t seen each other in person since.

Heartbreak #3 Jonathan. My Rock Bottom. Age 27.

Truthfully, it was by now that I thought I had aged out of feeling this devastated. Jonathan knocked the wind right out of me. I was empowered and in my element while pursuing a life I loved and taking everything by storm; so when I met Jonathan and discovered our shared feelings, I took the bull by the horns, throwing both caution and boundaries to the wind. As I seized what felt like destiny, it occurred to me how fully engaged and attracted to him I was physically, emotionally and intellectually in an as yet undiscovered way that formed a perfect storm of vulnerability. At first, I felt charming, understood and cherished as we celebrated the prize we had both won in finding each other. A small voice inside me knew it was trouble, but I was a warrior and this felt powerful. I could handle it if things went sour, I convinced myself. This wasn’t my first rodeo and love is worth risks, I bargained. I walked a razor’s edge with Jonathan; he was every bit what you would consider to be the human equivalent of the purest, most deadly addictive drug. Even as I type this, I feel like crumbs of scar tissue are still working their way through my emotional lymphatic system.

Recovery and the Slow Burn.

After a great deal of personal reflection and time alone, I started slowly seeing a stoic man who possesses a quiet calm. He is a sleeping angel in the bed we share as I type this on our nearby couch. I never really felt any fireworks, I didn’t feel like I was in a boat. He didn’t create riddles to explain how he felt (Except for this week, when he compared the evolution of his feelings to a speedometer). When we met, I was still pulling shards out of my fragile psyche. I was not ready for anything serious, I thought. It wasn’t until several months into our relationship that it occurred to me that he was someone I had grown to cherish. I would pick fights and shut down emotionally and start exhibiting all of the traits that had hurt me and had nothing to do with him. He remained sweetly quiet, stoic and unaffected. He just wanted to get us dinner, watch movies and hang out together. He occasionally voiced some concern, but did not think much of my emotionally stunted behavior. I thought he must not really care, so I acted out— until I learned not to. Mostly. As time passed, my fuse grew longer and my sanity began to restore itself. As my head poked out of the sand, there he was, watching movies and hanging out. Without much fanfare, I grew to find myself loving, and eventually (this is an important distinction) in love with him. Little things, mostly silly mannerisms, how he laughs in his sleep, or personal reflections on life that should be a book which straddles self help and unintentional satire. What we share has developed into a cherished depth of connection I haven’t felt with anyone else before. I call it the slow burn.

I probably would not have ever seen Walker (the name I imagine he’d like me to use for him) as a potential partner even a couple of years ago, because I craved the drama, the high stakes, the boat. I needed the excitement. Relationships had to make me high otherwise they didn’t feel real. I wanted to feel the impact, even if it hurt. I couldn’t manage anything between euphoria and total collapse. As I depart the emotional roller coaster of my 20s, I’ve learned to enjoy the nuances in between.

Should Relationships End?

Not too long ago I had to listen to a lecture for work reasons that was about the topic of whether or not it was a good idea for a couple to live together before they got married.  The lecture was skewed towards people of faith, so the natural conclusion was that it wasn’t better.  Rather than fall back on the old standard of living in sin, however, the speaker backed his position up with actual numbers, citing evidence that the divorce rates for people who got married after living together were significantly higher for those who “shacked up” versus those who didn’t make Jesus cry. Thus, those who wait till marriage are more likely to have a successful marriage.

These numbers, I should point out, are fiercely debated and a quick Google search on them yields hundreds of different articles questioning what other factors, like age, economics, etc., could have a stronger correlation to the divorce rates than the shacking up does.  I would also argue that a factor to consider is that the very people who would wait till marriage to live together out of fear of their parents or God or both, are the same people who probably aren’t too likely to consider getting a divorce as a really viable option either.  So of course those people have lower divorce rates. But do they necessarily have happier marriages, or are they just more likely to stay in a bad marriage because they won’t consider a divorce?

What if, and just come with me on this, what if we completely threw out the idea that the single greatest marker of a successful marriage, or any relationship, is that it doesn’t end? It seems crazy, I know, but just think about it.  Each and every one of us probably has at least one great relationship in our past with someone who we ultimately didn’t end up staying with.  What if that wasn’t a failed relationship, but was actually a resounding success? …a resounding success that just happened to end at some point.

Maybe, just maybe, the very real possibility exists that great successful but ultimately short-term relationships are not only possible, but in many, many cases they are so by design.  I could think of the amazing, five month long relationship I had with a woman named Hilary that started in 2009 and ended in 2010 when I moved to Los Angeles as a failure I suppose but I don’t see it that way.  I think the two of us helped each other through a strange transitional moment in both of our lives. It was beautiful while it lasted and then it came to an end when it had to.  I can think of the fact that my parents’ marriage, which is going on forty years’ strong, is not my father’s first marriage, and the fact that I wouldn’t exist if he and his first wife had felt they had to make it work.

So often we let the culture teach us that ending a relationship is the result of a personal failure on our part.  We didn’t work hard enough, we didn’t make the right effort, we were too selfish, etc.  And maybe that’s true sometimes.  But I think the reality is that humans are complicated beings with more and more complicated lives and sometimes we’re so complicated that what is best for us one year might not be the next, or five, ten, fifty years down the road.  Sometimes no amount of work, no amount of attention, will make a relationship last.  Sometimes separating from your partner is the most loving thing you can do.

Can a Relationship Be Recycled?

When it comes to bottles, cans, and men, I like to recycle.  I’ve believed that most of my relationships are like the 6-Million Dollar Man, they can be rebuilt, made stronger.  After a breakup, I usually leave the door open a crack, allowing for second, third, and a thirty-seventh chance at happiness with the same person.  I don’t think it’s a bad idea, though it doesn’t always end up being a good one.  But since I’m a pretty complicated combination of picky and eccentric, I like to really exhaust the possibilities with one person before I begin the arduous task of breaking in someone new.  Just like with a new therapist, the process of explaining myself, making someone understand what makes me tick, is long and hard, so I like to do it as infrequently as possible.  Now, I don’t believe that all relationships should be reconciled, abusive ones should be left as a smoking pile of ashes, but if you truly feel like your life is better with that special person in it romantically, there’s nothing wrong with exploring the possibility of a reunion. However, there’s a few things to do before jumping right back in, that help to set you up for as much success as possible (which varies situationally, of course.)

  1. Take an honest self-assessment.

    Ask yourself why you want to get back together.  Do you genuinely love and miss being coupled with this person, or are you just trying to avoid the painful process of grieving and healing?  Do you want to journey towards happiness together, or do you just not want the other person to move on before you have?  Think long and hard about whether you want this specific person, or just someone, anyone, to end the loneliness.  There’s no sense in getting back together just to be miserable.  A bad relationship will not cure loneliness, it usually just makes it worse.  No one likes being the single rider in line at the amusement park, but it’s easier to enjoy the ride alone than it is when you’re shoved in the roller coaster car next to some jerk who’s all elbows and armpits.  And think hard about whether or not the intimacy is even what you want with your estranged beloved.  The nature of a relationship is always open to evolution.  Do you need them in your bed, or would you be happy with them on the opposite side of your couch?   Imagine the person in a number of different roles, as a platonic friend, casual sex partner, dog walker, writing partner, or distant memory.  The great part about being independent is that no one else gets to dictate what makes you feel good, and it’s okay to be content with whatever you come up with that feels right.

  2. Talk it out.

    A relationship involves more than just you, so determining if it can be rebuilt isn’t exclusively your call.  Talk about everything, the good, the bad, the ugly, and do so with an open heart and mind.  You may not hear what you want to hear, but it’s important to be open to receiving the truth.  Discuss why it ended, and if those reasons are ones that can be worked through together, or ones that will recur and explode again.  Hash out what each of your ideal situations are, and if they’re ones that can actually mesh together.

  3. Build it together.

    Rebuilding a healthy relationship requires effort from both parties. When only one person works at it, it sets up an unfair power dynamic, putting the person who exerts no effort in the position of queen/king, and the other as a servant.  No one is exempt, and regardless of the reasons for the breakup, there’s work for everyone to do, even if it’s just finding forgiveness (which is actually the hardest thing for most people to do).  Be accountable for your part in it all, don’t refute the other person’s feelings, and be aware of whether or not they are extending you the same courtesy and kindness.  A strong relationship is born from a foundation of respect and trust, not denial and blame-shaming.

  4. This is new, go slow.

    Treat this as a new relationship, because that’s what it is.  Even if it feels like just a new chapter in the same book, it isn’t.  Breakups are periods of grieving, and grief changes us.  You are not the same person you were when you first got together with your partner.

  5. Take care of YOU. Pay close attention to how you feel at all times.

    Keep the communication open, and don’t be afraid to change your mind, if you realize that it actually isn’t what you want.  You truly are the only person you’re bound to for your entire life, so give yourself and your emotional health and security first priority.  For a machine to run most effectively, all parts must be in good working order.  You are responsible for keeping up with how the YOU component is functioning, so do what you need to do in order to keep your gears greased and turning.

Giving a relationship another chance is a beautiful and difficult feat, but so is self-preservation.  Above any other tips anyone could give is this: never let the former compromise the latter.

 

 

Romance, Cat photos and Emojis

“I go out walkin’ after midnight
Out in the moonlight
Just like we used to do
I’m always walkin’ after midnight, searchin’ for you”
– As sung by Patsy Cline, written by Alan Block and Donn Hecht

In Walkin’ after Midnight, Patsy Cline sings about walking around her neighborhood, thinking about her ex lover and wishing to be with him.  She seems to be hoping that the energy of her desire will draw him out of his house and bring them together.  This song is so sad and full of longing, and it couldn’t happen today.

She’d just send him a text: ‘sup?  And if he was up, he’d write “u up?” and they’d start sexting and eventually hook up at her place, or behind a P.F. Chang’s.

Going back even further, you may not know that the legendary lantern signal one if by land, two if by sea was actually the way that colonist Paul Revere let his mistress know if his wife had gone to bed and she could come over.

Now he’d just Instagram a picture of two lanterns and caption it “Hey ladies”.

Classic romance films An Affair to Remember and Sleepless in Seattle both had a scene where a man waits atop the Empire State Building for a woman to meet him, his heart filled with hope and anxiety and longing, but not today.  He’d wait five minutes and send her an emoji of a clock and an angry face, and she’d text him back with an eggplant and a thumbs up, or something.   The main twist to all romantic films from here forward will always have to include a broken phone, or losing battery and not being able to find an outlet to charge.

Technology has completely changed the way we communicate, and late night communication in particular.  If Lord Byron wanted to send a secret missive, he had to wake a servant up to hand deliver a handwritten note, and that servant had to wake up her servant, and what if your servants are sleepy, or, worse, you don’t have any?  You’re limited to throwing rocks at a window or moaning out on your balcony, “Romeo!  Wherefore art thou?”

Now, it’s almost too easy.  Once you’ve had a couple drinks and watched Magic Mike XXL, you might reach out to a friend or ex or acquaintance in a more direct way than you would at lunchtime on a Tuesday.  That’s ok, or at least, it’s normal- but if you do find that you’re embarrassed by your late night phone behavior, use my friend’s policy:  he doesn’t write anyone between midnight and 7am, less it be construed as a sext.  “Anything I want to say can wait until it’s daylight,” he says.

young couple in kitchen drinking coffee and using smart mobile phone

We communicate via text much more than in any other method.  It’s easier than ever to use messaging to reduce physical distance between people- but be careful once you start dating, because it can make you feel more distant.

In a study published this year, Pew Research found that 25 percent of cellphone users in a relationship believed that their partner was distracted by that person’s cellphone when they were together, and 45% of internet users ages 18-29 in serious relationships say the internet and phones have had an impact on their relationship.

What do we take from all this?  It’s great to get in touch on your phone, it’s great to stay in touch, but try to prioritize the people you’re actually with and have a better connection with them.  Try the following:

Treat your date or outing like a job interview, and keep your phone in your purse or pocket until you’re leaving.  Try leaving it in your car’s glove compartment.  That’s right.  Turn it off and put it in a box.  It’s not your friend.

Try logging out of Facebook, so when you do decide to check it, you have to log back in to see how many people liked your cat picture.  It’ll make you more aware of how often you just check in, and are able to consider how often is really necessary.

At the very least, pop into Airplane Mode to silence the delicious little buzzes and bells that let you know someone somewhere has done something.  Try to live in the moment, and pay attention to the person you like doing that with.

Recipes for Making Up, Shacking Up and Getting It On

It is a cliche for a reason, the idea that the way to our hearts is through our stomachs. When someone cooks for you, it is a sign of nurturing that indicates we care.

The first boyfriend I ever lived with had a fridge was stocked with a stale half eaten box of pastries, and half a bottle of old wine when we met. As it turned out, his parents had fixated so much on directing his focus to his studies, that he never learned to care for himself at all. No laundry, no meals. At 28, he had a pile of laundry the size of king kong and ordered from restaurants for literally every meal that wasn’t prepared by his mother.

When I accidentally burned his eggs doused in maple syrup, he raved with incredulity that you “couldn’t get this in any restaurant,” scarfing it down in seconds. His favorite meal happened to be the first I ever learned to cook that my parents fell in love over and had dueling recipes for; spaghetti bolognese. He delighted in learning each step and insisted on preparing all the ingredients as he watched them all come together in the pot. He covered all of the chopping, dicing, ralphing from eating raw onion skin… the works. In gratitude, he would even graciously insist on doing the dishes; resulting in a lovingly chipped collection of dishware that we shared together. It was one of my favorite parts of our entire relationship.

happy couple have a romantic date in a fine dining restaurant th

Years later, I found myself travelling across the continent in a heroic attempt to save a relationship. When I arrived, I presented my White Bean Dream, a recipe I had been given from a food blogger when I had been tasked with writing about food for a lifestyle website. It included hand pressed white bean patties with diced jalapeno pepper and home-made pico de gallo; it had been his favorite meal that I once nearly lost a finger preparing. He thought the gesture of kicking him out of his kitchen and bleeding on his chopping blocks to be endearing. So naturally it was my go-to joint for a love-saving mission. I followed it with his favorite chocolate pretzels and sliced fruit in Greek yogurt in mugs covered in whipped cream.

I Didn’t Die: How Love Might Finally Find You

For once, I had been completely honest on a date, put myself out there and hold on for this revelation: I DIDN’T DIE!


Fear is an interesting instinct. The best description I have heard has compared fear to an alarm clock. When it goes off, we have the choice to wake up and deal with what’s next, or to hit the snooze button and ignore it, especially when it comes to fear felt on a date. Let’s talk about it.

It is 2012. I am moving and shaking and feeling life, like really feelin’ it. I had good friends I would visit in Montreal every other weekend, I was living in my favorite neighborhood in Toronto I had grown up wishing to one day live in, and I was finally in what felt like the right lane with my ambitions. I think the key factor to make note of is that I was present. I woke up and felt life and interacted with it.

I had recently got up the gumption to confront a peer that I’d had a crush on. We had a fleeting connection that I had become consumed by. At a work conference, we formed a unit of colleagues that would hold court while others came and went about their days and stopped in to say hello. While waiting on the friend who I’d been staying with, I was caught off guard with an offer to stay with the object of my “Are-you-kidding-me? Never-going-to-happen-in-your-teenage-loins’-dreams” affection in his hotel room above the bar we’d been ruling.

The phrase “C’mon, you wanna get out of here?” was uttered. I stammered out something about how the hotel has trundle bed style cots you can have delivered to the room.

“It’s ok, I have a really big bed, you can just stay with me” he responded, kindly, without assumption. I must have been having an out of body experience. You must understand, this is the equivalent to a Backstreet Boy, the middle Hanson brother and/or Steven Tyler of Aerosmith asking me to the prom. Why yes, I did grow up in the 90s with some questionable musical influences. How could you tell?

Back at the conference; I bargain that we should check at the front desk for the trundle bed option. He complies in a most gentlemanly fashion, and meanders around the elevators while I inquire. After a brief interaction with the receptionist, I pivot around to see him, rather nonchalantly, asking for the outcome.

“They say they’re out of cots” I report, trying to mask the re-awakening of my adolescence. He nods and turns for the elevators. I almost blacked out on the way to his room. Then with trepidation crawled onto the very edge of the bed, fully clothed, with the TV on; and fell asleep as frigid as a flagpole in January. I wanted something more than whatever a confusing end of night rendezvous could provide. The next morning, he graciously offered to have me stay with him any other night. I returned two nights later, but it was even less eventful, if even a bit awkward. I felt myself losing my window.

Following this encounter, I would be out of town for several weeks. I would try to create work opportunities to keep in touch while I was away. My crush only grew stronger as the time away pressed on. When I returned, we made plans that later evolved into a party and it was increasingly apparent that the window of opportunity I had mentioned, was now in another building altogether by now. Still, that fear-based alarm clock was now on it’s fifth cycle and I couldn’t keep hitting snooze.

Finally, we shared a cab ride home. In a way, what I was working up to, was making up for every crush I’d stowed away for the last 20 years. Throw in as far back as my summer camp counselor crush, Neal; who liked Vanilla Ice. When of course I learned every word to ‘Ice, Ice, Baby’ (still permanently imprinted on my memory); and negged him (is this mooned or danced naked??) from a swimming pool. From Neal until now, there was a boatload of suppressed hormones to contend with so this became my moment to unburden myself.

“I have to confess something to you.” I blurted out.

I steeled myself and poured my heart out with my confession of the crush I’d been holding onto since he had me, before we had met, to be perfectly truthful. I could feel him bracing himself, which was obviously not a great sign. I poured my heart out. My crush very politely collected my heart in an imaginary glass bowl and handed it back to me. I had clearly colored the back the cab in a particular shade of awkward. He acknowledged that there was perhaps a moment between us, but for all I know, he was just being kind. He insisted on paying for the whole cab fare and dropped me off on the way to his apartment.

As I stepped out of the cab and walked up to my place, I had a slight sense of being embarrassed and crestfallen; however that was quickly overshadowed by a feeling of being ALIVE. I could feel myself vibrating with the electricity. For once, I had been completely honest, put myself out there and hold on for this revelation: I DIDN’T DIE!

Soon thereafter, one of the cool people who passed by us as we were holding court back at that first conference ended up being one of the people on my list of exciting new friends to visit on my next trip out of town. With this electric sense of self-confidence, I thought nothing of it when we made plans to meet up, other than sheer excitement to see a newly familiar and warm face. As the clock ticked away into well-past turning-into-a-pumpkin o’clock it began to occur to me that this was someone I had chemistry with. The window opened.

“Would you like me to kiss you?” He asked. I shut the window immediately with a fumble, clumsy yes-but-no. I managed to keep it open a crack, setting up plans together to meet again soon. By the next time I saw him, I wedged the window up and leaned out. I stuck my head out and opened my eyes wide and he stared right back. “Hi!” We both clicked.

I am confident I never would have fully made that connection and been open for it in such a complete way had I not woken myself up in the back of that cab.  It lifted a cloak of bleak, grey fear that held me down from making any real choices in my relationships. Until then, I just went with the flow of what made me feel least rejected and safest. It was terrifying, and invigorating. It was perhaps the first time I felt the raw truth with someone. I stopped hitting snooze.

My Interview with My Parents on Love, Sex and Intimacy

I sat down with my parents over some wine and nostalgia to see if I could decode, and hopefully recreate, the components of a good marriage someday.


I’m in my late 30’s and have yet to marry.  I am, conversely, a product of two wild, unique, and beautiful loving parents who have been happily married for 47 years.  I’ve always had a sneaky obsession with asking long-term couples what their secret is. As if, through magical osmosis, their wisdom will become a part of me and I can then find forever happiness in a mate. My parents, along with my brother, Tauno, and I immigrated to New York City from Copenhagen, Denmark in 1986. Before Denmark, we lived in Vancouver, Canada, where I was born. They met in Calgary in the winter of 1967 and married at July 28th, 1968 at City Hall in New York City.  My father purchased a $1 ring from St. Marks Place for my mother. It broke the next day. She threw it out. They never wore wedding rings again.  English is a second language for them both. They spent a total of four times together before they got married.  I can barely get a man to commit to storing my number and full legal name into his cell phone.  I sat down with my parents over some wine and nostalgia to see if I could decode, and hopefully recreate, the components of a good marriage someday.

FIRST IMPRESSIONS

The first time they met, my mother was stuck in the kitchen. She had been given the job of personal chef for a dinner that her older brother had planned.  According to legend, when my father came in the kitchen, my mother was in the middle of making a delicate roux. The sizzle she felt standing next to him ruined the sauce and her single life forever.  They met again at a party a few weeks later. This time, my mother was not relegated to the kitchen. When he saw her getting ready to leave the party he created a moment in a staircase and stole a kiss.  She kissed him back.

DAD: Yngve Biltsted – 72 years old, married mom at 25 – Danish: I didn’t want to let her go without making an impact

MOM: Leyla Biltsted – 68 years old, married dad at 21– Turkish: It was the smoochiest smooch I ever had! (Translation. It was really hot. )

He wanted to make an impact. I wonder if that’s what we all want. Someone to cast a ripple in our water.

Dad: Although we didn’t speak any words that first night, I already had chemistry with Leyla.

Mom: There are no words for it. I looked into your father’s eyes and that was it. And there’s no rhyme or reason for it. I have to say there’s a certain feeling. When I first met him, I felt emotionally safe.

GETTING TO KNOW EACH OTHER

They had only spent 3 nights together, mostly at parties and in groups, when my father moved from freezing Calgary to rainy Vancouver.

Dad: We started writing each other. That’s when the feelings really started to come out.

Mom: But we already knew each other. Intuitively.

Dad: We had already decided that it was pretty much it.

They already knew they were it? Without having sex?  Despite the fact that the subjects of this love-stigation are my parents, I needed to know more about how their initial attraction played out in the bedroom. I took a long terrifying breath, and pounced.  I asked them about their first time. He planned a visit to go see her, making it the fourth time they’d ever laid eyes on each other.

The Anniversary Letter

Do you ever wonder how your love effects your friends and family?
A deeper look from an astute daughter for her parents on their 25th Wedding Anniversary.


Dear Parents,

HAPPY ANNIVERSARY.

Indian Brides Hands Holding BouquetThank you so much for everything you both have done for me. I know I’m not good with expressing my emotions but I’m giving it a try today. You’ve provided me with everything I have ever wanted and much more. I am eternally grateful. I’ve been told about how humble and modest I am by my friends and quoting Jaju, “it is all because of your upbringing by your parents”, so well done both of you.

I’ve never seen a more stable couple, adjusting to each others needs and desires in a more healthier and more understanding manner. You fit together like two puzzle pieces. You compliment each other like no one else can. You make up for each others shortcomings, never leaving the other one’s side. Basically, I think you were ‘made for each other’. So thank you Chachu for bringing them together and providing me with the best set of parents anyone could ask for.

You have both always supported me through everything; my whining, my tantrums and my bad days. You have never forced me to do anything your way, letting me make my own decisions and still standing by my side through thick and thin. Thank you for trusting in me and shaping me into the young woman I am today. They say “you are a product of your parents”. So, I think it is safe to say you have created a pretty decent product. Wherever I am today, all my accomplishments have only been possible because of the two of you. If there is a bright future ahead of me, I only have you two to thank for it.

Cheating, if Your Marriage Is Good but Your Sex Life Isn’t?

Sex is many things: it can be a drug, it can be a connector, it can be an escape, it can be a distraction.


In 2001, a dating website designed for married people, and named after two popular children’s names of that year, was launched.  The CEO, Neil Biderman, appeared on every TV and radio outlet explaining and promoting the site, while audience members accused him of being morally reprehensible.  It was a pretty sexy idea that people liked to argue about, but Biderman maintained that he was just creating a product to serve a need, that he was not creating a market of cheaters, and that he himself is married and monogamous.

Fourteen years later, on July 15, that website was hacked by a group called The Impact Team.  The hackers said that if the website was not shut down, they would leak the information of all 50 million people who had ever used the service, many of whom were told that their information had been scrubbed when they left.  The Impact Team claimed that the hack, potentially violating the privacy of millions of people, had “ethical intentions.”

Facebook and Twitter exploded in a sanctimonious “YAYYY” and “GLORIOUS” and “HA HAAA” as users posted articles on the hack, commenting that cheaters would pay and it was just desserts for participating in a website designed to help people cheat on their marriages with other married people.  But why do we think it’s our business?

Noel Biderman claims that infidelity can help a marriage: if you have a good partnership and a nice life together but the sex is missing, you can use extramarital sex as a supplement to keep your marriage going and keep you, as an individual, more fulfilled.

We certainly equate sex only with romantic love and relationships, but sex is many things: it can be a drug, it can be a connector, it can be an escape, it can be a distraction.  It plays many different roles in a marriage, from procreation to pair bonding to stress relief.

True Love Can Overcome ANYTHING

Is true love more romantic than soulmate? I never knew what unconditional love was until I met her, but it didn’t come right away.  For most of my life, I considered “true love” to be the day you meet your “soulmate.”


When I came out as a transgender woman this year, I had no idea how my girlfriend would react to it.  I knew that I was potentially throwing my relationship away to be myself.  She is my everything, and coming out to her was the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do.

I never knew what unconditional love was until I met her, but it didn’t come right away.  For most of my life, I considered “true love” to be the day you meet your “soulmate.”  When she and I began dating, I felt a level of comfort and camaraderie that I’d never felt before, but it wasn’t the familiar feeling of turmoil that I’d always experienced in my past relationships.  Due to my dating history, my only frame of reference was to associate emotional pain with love.  I figured that she couldn’t be my soulmate.  I was too happy for this to be love.

As time went on, I let my guard down and allowed myself to open up to her.  We were so compatible.  Conversations came so easily.  We never got bored with one another.  We’d spend all our free time together and it still wasn’t enough.  It wasn’t long until we moved in together.  And in less than a year after meeting her, we said “I love you” to each other.

But our relationship didn’t come without fights, arguments, and disagreements.  We’ve had to partake in uncomfortable conversations where we set boundaries and spoke our truths, something that I’d always been afraid to do with my previous partners, and the feeling was mutual for her.  We felt like it was more important to endure a small amount of discomfort and anger in order to preserve our relationship in the long-run and minimize the chances of future resentment.

I agreed to meet her family, something I couldn’t fathom doing with my other partners, because I would’ve been too worried about what they thought of me.  But while meeting her parents, I wasn’t nervous about making a good impression because my initial concern was to make her comfortable.  She was my priority.  Our relationship was my priority.  My potential discomfort just seemed to pale in comparison.