May My Inspiration For Writing Settling Down Inspire Your (Single) New Year's Resolutions

"I'm always with him, because:  That. Is. What He Is. There. For."

As with all revolutions, this one started with a proverbial shot. Only this one emanated from a childhood friend's mouth. Someone that I had literally grown up with. 

Or so I thought.

Truth is, what started as a convo about friendship (ours), free time (the majority of it spent with her boyfriend) and working on the balance of the two, her angry words said way more.

About herself. What she wanted in life. And more importantly, what she was willing to sacrifice to get there. Unfortunately, this wasn't a place that I could comfortably stand anymore.

Indeed. I believe in love. Passionately.

I believe in romance. Of relationships. Of marriages, partnering up, of finding someone who will help you grow into your best self. In fact, the growth that I've experienced being married to my husband is something that I know I would have never experienced on my own.

I am IN love. Someone asked me that, quite randomly (and kinda frantically) at a nightclub a few years back. The answer is yes. Twenty-four years and counting (17 of them married), and I can honestly say that I did a surprisingly good job picking my mate.

It's what my husband 'is there for', that's a little different. His job is to challenge me to evolve into a better person, something he accomplishes on the daily -- instead of being a physical symbol that I am lovable. And there's a huge difference there. Because in order to get to this healthy place at all, I had to learn how to love myself first, instead of aimlessly looking for someone to complete me.

'Cause that never works.

The thing about settling, especially if you don't know yourself, is it won't even register at first. It's the long game where you'll miss out. Because, instead of waiting for Mr. Amaze-balls, someone who will help make you a better person, settlers desperately choose the wrong partner, simply because they don't want to be alone.

You don't want this life.

So how about you make it your New Year's resolution. To rejoice in being single. To embrace the fact that you're really okay being alone. Instead of being alone until the next guy shows up. Because, there's a difference.

If you need some help, a fictional guidebook if you will, I wrote Settling Down as my gift to you.

And while it was initially inspired by real life events, I was intent on writing a better ending.

Happy New Year

Today, I am overwhelmed by peaceful love. Indeed, it could have a bit to do with the fact that I went to bed at 11:20pm last night, minus any alcohol pulsing through my veins, and woke up completely clear headed and well rested at 8am on New Year's Day.

(Don't judge; I don't plan on making it a lifelong habit. My husband Andre and I are saving for something HUGELY EXCITING. Another truly magical blessing that defines our lives, for which we're both outstandingly grateful. (And no, it's not a pony.)

So, here, in the quiet of my cozy home, as the rest of the world sleeps off their hangover, (like my drunk dialing, 12:30am girlfriend to end all girlfriends, deep in the heart of Texas) or their ulcers, I've been engaged in my annual tradition of prepping my hot pink, patent leather, Kate Spade planner for another year of service.

Out with the old. In with the new.

Someday (maybe) I'll stop dreading what I initially view as a completely clerical task of transferring appointments from their sad paperstock cards to a more proper calendar form, and embrace it as a beautiful exercise that it always becomes. 

Because, once again, as I flip through the pages of 2013, I'm able to see not only the highlight reel of the year (EARLY morning college tour with my mentee, D'Angelo, Rebirth, Jose James and Ms. Emily King all killing it live, the wine and truffle tasting in some dude's basement, a vacation to paradise), but also the major defining moments of my life.

And 2013, you had many....

Some crowning moments that completely changed me as a person: I learned how to dance salsa, the beautiful start of not only symbolically dancing through life, but also courageously and systematically killing off the first of many long standing falsehoods about myself that really had nothing to do with me.

Boo-yah.

I celebrated with my favorite non-paying client, yeah, that'd be Andre, trust, I've got more than one, whose year of photography sales included, among others, a piece featured on the Boston WGBH PBS Fine Arts Auction. (Mystery buyer. You got good taste.) 

And last, but certainly not least, our diet overhaul, of completely cutting out the processed, helped us shed, drum roll please, SEVENTY POUNDS, which today is currently split right down the middle at 34.5 lbs each. (How did that work? Dunno. Guess we're equal partners like that.) 

So what's on tap for 2014? Hopefully more beauty, light, love and growth. (And a published book would work out a-ok too.) And while we'll have to wait another year, to see the whole picture properly flush out, I leave you with the (perhaps wine-soaked) wise words of my best friend Shelly, slurred, I mean, spoken, to a year only a half hour old: "The end of 2013 went out with a bang; I hope we just continue to trend." 

Amen.

xo

New Year's Resolution: Adios Passive-Aggressives

The BEST thing that ever happened to me (besides discovering Ouidad)? Having my boyfriend, now husband, call out my fighting style. 

Back in the day, I met any sort of conflict or difference of opinion with stone cold, painful silence. A zipping of the lips. An 'I'll Show You' mentality. When we got together, twenty plus years ago, Andre had every frustrated right to kick me to the curb. 

I would have been really pissed about that. 

And he SHOULD have known why. 

Crazy, right? Indeed it was. The idea that you can disagree with someone, not engage in ANY discussion and somehow the other party should not only just KNOW why you're angry, but instinctively know how to fix it. 

And while my communication skills have vastly improved since those days, the last remaining bastion of the past, has been my willingness to be verbally assaulted by passive-aggressives. Case in point. A recent conversation, if you can even call it that:

"Dawn. I didn't even know you were here."

"Yeah. I was at the kids' table for a while."

"Stranger." Pause. "Strange."

 "Ah, yeah. Do you know who my parents are? You'd be strange too."

Now, I don't know about you, but I'm not really in the habit of calling people 'strange'. Especially outloud. Especially during holiday celebrations. In my (mentally sound/balanced) world, not only does that classify as socially unacceptable behavior, but 'them sort of seem like fighting words'.

Yet, instead of busting out with a perfectly well deserved, 'what's with the word association?' or 'um, why exactly are you insulting me to my face'. Or even, 'hmm, you seem a little angry; what are you really trying to say', I opted for my standard coping mechanism:  deflection by humor. You know, so no one feels uncomfortable, or anything.

Seriously? No. More.

Don't worry. I'm not giving up my insight or understanding of the pained person actually hurling the insults. I will still realize that these quick, mean spirited digs have much more to do with repressed years of deep hurt of their own doing, and really nothing to do with me. At all. 

But this year, I've actively decided not to play along. Nope. Sorry. Not only am I refusing to accept blame for anyone's personal failures, other than my own, I am no longer going to believe that somehow this is my penance to pay for having the gift of self-awareness. Or for choosing to be happy. Or for having a solid marriage, loving relationships, the ability to make good financial decisions, being committed to health, learning more about the world around me, enjoying a good lip gloss or whatever it is about my life that seems to make it okay for you, to hate on me.

So, passive-aggressives, in 2013, you can continue to hurl your most angry fastball my way, but be aware that this chick is ready to play. And if you don't want me to go all Dr. Phil on your ass, how about we just agree to the most simple of adages:  If you don't have anything nice to say, don't say anything at all.