I know it’s hard for people who know me to believe how much my way of thinking has changed in such a short time. One thing no one knows about me though is my secret struggle with my most dreaded holiday of the year. That would be Valentine’s Day. As long as I can remember every year in the back of my head I have alway expected what I call a Hollywood Valentine. You know the one. The man you love or a secret admirer surprises you with an over-the-top Valentine’s Day. They send you hundreds of roses always some chocolates and a special date usually in a surprise super romantic location. They tell you how much they love you. You dance. Slow dance of course, and at the moment you least expect it you get a really great gift.
Unfortunately my actual Valentine Days turned out nothing like this. In fact my Valentine Days consisted of nothing when I was alone. No secret admirer with surprise revelations. Every time I was in a relationship they consisted of phone calls with excuses of some kind. No Continue reading Valentine’s Day Mentality Makeover
It seems to appear every now and then. Just when you think you don’t have to worry about it anymore it pops up or something or someone reminds you that it is still there. I’m talking about regret. And if you are thirty something as I am then you can spit out a thirty something page list of regrets. I have not lived the most fascinating life. Oh wait. That sounds like a regret. It’s true that I wish I had done more, seen more, or said more lived more or tried more. In love I wish that I had been more patient. I wish I had taken my time. Clearly I had plenty of it. If I could go back and do things differently I would.
When I find myself having those moments of regret I try to reel myself back in by reminding myself that it is not over. My life is not over and I still have time to do all the things I wish I had done. I have decided to turn my regrets into goals. Instead of sitting around feeling sorry for myself Continue reading Regret
As a thirty something year old single woman you learn to learn things about yourself, about love, and about life. You begin to figure out who you are and what you want. That is if you are introspective like I am. I have spent years of my life overanalyzing things. I tend to put them into two categories. Things that make sense and things that don’t. I reflect on my past. I think about the things that I have done, the things I wish I had done, and the things that I will never do again. In this context I am thinking of romantic relationships.
Growing up I was sure that I would be married by the time I was 21. As I try to pinpoint where this belief came from. I blame movies, TV, romance novels, and society. I had visions of love, romance, and happily ever after before I had any real ambition in life. For some reason I was under the distorted impression that once I locked down a man and got married everything in life would make sense. Everything would magically be what I wanted it to be. I would be blisfully happy, and nothing else would matter as long as I had love. The more cynical thirty something me now rolls my eyes at such thoughts.
I love to write more than anything else I can think of. The crazy thing is the idea of someone reading the things I write sometimes make me cringe. I feel vulnerable. I feel anxious. I get nervous. Every insecurity I have sits on the edge of my brain. When people read my novel He’s Mine Not Hers I am skeptical about people that I know personally reading it, but I proudly tell them about my accomplishment of even writing a book, amd encourage them to buy a copy. When people I meet ask me about my novel I proudly tell them about my work and of course encourage them to buy a copy.
When someone inevitably begins to read the novel they always contact me. I always know the question I dread the most is coming. “Is this about you?” They always ask. I try to control my eyes rolling. I try to be understanding. I know people are curious, but it always gets to me. I always manage to get my emotions under control to answer the question. That question lets me know how far the reader has gotten in the book by the way. It also lets me know how much of an impact the first chapter makes on women. Then I wonder, are they proud of how well I was able to convey those emotions, or do they think I’m pathetic. I guess I’ve never had the guts to ask that question.