Table Negotiations: How Much Do You Bring to the Relationship?

This year seems to be all about clean breaks.
Some of them, such as my lay-off, were thrust upon me. Others, such as the decision to end a long-time relationship that wasn't working, were completely of my making.

Unfortunately, endings aren't necessrily the same thing as beginnings.

For months, my friends have been telling me it's time to get back into the dating game, to get out there and find the person that I'm supposed to spend the rest of my life with.

But I've hesitated.

When I worked as a secretary for a local non-profit in my early-twenties, I got to talking about relationships with a guy who worked in the department. He'd been married a couple of times, but had definite ideas about the male-female dynamic.

Him: It's all about what you bring to the table.
Me: What do you mean?
Him: A lot of times, women come talking about what they want a man to have - a good job making good money, bills paid, a car. But it matters what she brings too. So before you go asking what he's got, be sure that you also have something to offer.

Now that I think back, that guy seemed kinda like a poor-man's Steve Harvey. And while it's been almost 20 years since I had that conversation, the simple logic behind his thoughts has stuck with me: don't ask for what you don't have to give.

I'm feeling good about my efforts to re-shape my career and life, in general, I wonder, though, how I would react if a guy that was interested in me said he was doing the same.

It probably wouldn't be good.

For all you single women out there saying you'd be cool with it, get real. Being on your own is fine, even great, most of the time, because it usually means that you've made mostly good decisions that have made it possible for you to thrive on your own. The thought of taking on someone who isn't there yet or no longer there can feel like a threat to your own accomplishments.After Hypothetical Guy explained his situation and plans to strike out and do something different with his life, you'd probably nod and say how nice it sounded, while secretly wondering when he was gonna start trying to borrow money. I don't expect men to be much different. 

They're already paranoid about what a woman wants from them almost from the moment she speaks, and both sexes usually set about getting as much as they can before they decide to announce how little they plan to give.

That may sound cynical, but it's also a pretty fair description of the atmosphere out here.

I've been told not to underestimate the intangibles I bring to a relationshhip - humor, compassion, openness and positivity. But in order for those qualities to have designated value, the other person has to fairly and accurately assess their worth.  If they're thought to be worth little by the other person, then he obviously isn't the right guy.

And that leaves me where I am now: working on me, but postponing the establishment of a new "we."

For now, I'm going to do what my mother advises: "Get into yourself," and believe when it's the right person, everything I have to give will be all he wants.

What do you think?  Feel free to leave comments and feedback below.

Space Invaders: Natural Hair & the Erosion of the Three-Foot Rule

Full Disclosure: I've never been a super touchy-feely person. But before you get to analyzing the why of it, I'll tell you that, according to my mother, I've always kind of been that way.

"You know how alot of kids cry to be picked up? You used to cry to be put down," she once recalled.  "You would get up in a chair and rock yourself to sleep."

Through the years, my twin cousins have run up and touched me to tick me off (GRRR!!) and my admonishment "Don't be huggin' on me," is a running, loving family joke. I've also had to explain my policy to the natural huggers in my life, those who have to hug hello, good-bye, when something is funny, when they think I'm upset, because it's Tuesday. You know the type.

I've come to realize that for me, it's about controling who I let into my space. Tthat feeling flies in the face of a society that believes that boundaries are really no more than suggested guidelines.

And while I like to think I've mellowed over time - I now just go with the flow and let my favorite huggers have at it - I have a new challenge that I've chosen to meet with a mixture of annoyance and amusement.

People have now taken to touching my hair.

Within the past few months, I've had my hair touched at social events, the unemployment office, in Chicago at a conference and at a rehearsal.  It's not the end of the world; all of the events happened in connection with a compliment and I REALLY appreciate that.

But consider the following exchange:

While at a wine-tasting event in March, I was really enjoying the night - great music, laid-back atmosphere, fun people, good conversation. As I approached the bar to get another glass of wine, I wasn't sure which kind to try next and was musing over what I'd liked best thus far.

As I leaned on the bar trying to get the attention of the bartender, I could feel something on the right side of head. I turned and a guy was petting my hair. He didn't even take his hand right away when I looked at him.

Me: Annd....why are you petting me like a dog?
Him: I had to. I couldn't help it. I love your hair.
Me: Thanks. But petting me? Really?

I didn't make a scene. He was a pretty cool dude and I was still pretty new at dealing with that kind of intrusion.  I also didn't make a big deal out of it when the employee at the unemployment office asked "Can I touch your hair?". While her hand was in my hair. I didn't dig that. At all.

Three-foot rule, lady. Three-foot rule.

I've been working on handling these invasions tactfully. Not always with a lot of success.

For example, last week, I took my frustration out on a really nice guy who didn't mean mean to offend me at all. I'd just leaned in for a pic on his phone during rehearsal, and next thing I knew, I again felt something in my hair.

Me: Did I give you permission to touch my hair?
Him: No, but I love it. It's great.
Me: Thanks, but you were petting me like a dog. No, dude. You didn't even ask.
Him: Can I touch your hair?
Me: (joking) Hell no!

I think at the end of that exchange, he either thought I was a bit uptight, or a bit wack-a-doodle. Either way, I felt bad.

So, I'll continue working on being gracious in these situations. Baby steps.

Strangely, the people I wouldn't mind letting touch my hair never ask. Which, I guess, why I would mind. :) I also think half of the touchers are still fascinated by natural hair - the texture, the look, the behavior of the stuff. Still other think I'm wearing a wig or some weave or whatever. Just meddling.

Someone at rehearsal who overheard our exchange offered, "It's like walking up to a pregnant woman and putting your hand on her stomach."

Exactly. 

If you want to touch ask. And if I (or that random pregnant woman) say no, be cool about it.

In the meantime, I'll still get a kick outta incidents like this:

After realizing I'd left my USB cord at home, I stopped and hurriedly searched for a replacement in a shop at the O'Hare Airport in Chicago:

Woman: WOAH! (all caps doesn't exaggerate. She was pretty loud.) I LOVE your HAIR!
Me: (with a smile) Thanks.
After finding my grossly overpriced item, I stood at the counter with the clerk, waiting to be checked out.
Woman (on her way out): Love it! WHOO!
The clerk and I looked at each other and laughed.

Feel free to comment below. What do you think? Am I overreacting? Has something similar happened to you? How would/do you handle these types of situations?

Objects In This Mirror Are Larger Than They Appear

Soooo.....I'm 10 months into this lay-off thing.

When I first found myself jobless, I wasn't that freaked out. Strange, I know, but I really thought that I was on the cusp of a new chapter of my life and that the sky was the limit.

"God has something for me to do," I've been telling folks. "And I guess he felt that my job was getting in the way."

Almost immediately, I began making plans. (What can I say? I'm a planner.)

Finally gonna make a full-time go at my Mary Kay business, I said, get loads done around the house, lose the 50 lbs that I've been wearing like a fat suit for the past decade and run my first mini-marathon.

But last week, as I noted the  looming birthday of my unemployment, I was frustrated.

Status Update:

Mary Kay career: progressing, but not as fast as I'd hoped.
Home improvement: Ummm...yeah, there's been none of that happening. In fact, the list of to-do projects has actually grown.
Weight loss:  Stuck at the halfway mark and off the training wagon. I've missed - count
'em - TWO marathons since last summer.

After throughly enjoying my pity-party, I had to be a big girl and own my ish.  It would seem that, despite thinking that I was moving on, I have, in fact, been in a holding pattern.

Finally, I know now that at no time should I expect a movie-like scene to unfold where my old boss comes knocking at my door and, in the midst of sobs, explains that thousands of my sources and those touched by my work are picketing the paper.


"We've promised to give them free subscriptions, gift cards, even let them come inside to watch the Pegasus Parade from the fourth floor conference room. Nothing has worked. After all this time, we're afraid they're gonna tear the place down." he says. "We made a horrible mistake. Please come back."

Faith the Dog has always hated weepy displays. Embarrassed for him, she heads into the kitchen. The cats, Robert Earl and Mia, stay put, waiting to see how it all plays out.

I hesitate. "Well....."

"With a promotion and pay raise, of course!" he says.

"Let's try it out and see how it goes," I say.

And......scene.

Reality check: for all intent and purpose, my career as a traditional print journalist is over.
Done. Finished. Gone.

I loved what I did for a living. Okay, not always the environment or all the people I worked with, but the job itself. Most journalists worth their salt don't do the job to get rich. They do it because they're idealists who believe that being a watchdog for the public is a job that makes a difference.

I too believed that. Still do. Guess that's why I've been so nostalgic. It's hard to let go of that sense of purpose.

Another Reality Check: SCORES (and yes, I know how many people consitute a score) of people have commented on  how much better I look, sound and act since leaving the pressure-cooker that was my gig. Some people actually haven't recognized me. Some know I've left the job, some of them don't.

All of them see change - the future.

So now, I've decided to look forward too. Full-time.

It sounds cocky to say that I'm sure of my success, but oh well. I am sure of success.

As part of that effort, I will be a much more diligent blogger. I want to write more, in part, because it's cathartic. Also, because I want to share this journey with you.

How about it? You game?

Cool. I'm looking forward to telling my story. :)