Dinner for One

Being single has allowed me to discover the joys of food in a way that I don’t think I would have had time to were I in a relationship. When I was with my former boyfriend, we ate out a lot. He was constantly taking me to nice restaurants – I remember going to an exclusive Italian restaurant where he knew the owner, an exclusive French bistro… oh yeah, the eatin’ was good with him. It’s pretty much been a constant that when I’m dating someone, I can expect some nice meals.

But one of the things I love about being single is the delicious privilege of being able to treat myself to anything, anytime, wherever and whenever I want to. My priority is me, and I'm the one buying me roses. Or chicken parmigiana, as the case may be. One of the greatest things about my life right now is that I get to come home every night and cook for myself. And I don’t have to worry about whether my boyfriend likes it or not, or whether he is hogging the kitchen. Let’s get one thing clear: I love to cook. There’s something visceral and inspiring about creating an artistic work whose purpose is to titillate the senses and nourish the body. Both the process of creating it and the act of consuming it are sensual.

I’ve been researching and exploring recipes with gusto. I am both a chef and a baker, so I have been taking advantage of my lust for both dinner and dessert. A sample menu. Recently I prepared a delectable dinner of vegan chicken marsala with spicy sautéed spinach and a special brand of rice pilaf that beats all the others with a stick. I finished it off with a slice of this low-calorie, low-fat carrot cake that I swear tastes better than the real thing. The secret is applesauce instead of butter or oil and soy cream cheese icing. There’s this recipe book – Low-Calorie Desserts for Dummies, I think it’s called, or something like that. I got it a long time ago. It rocks. You can’t tell the difference for most of the desserts.

The vegan chicken marsala was made with vegan chicken cutlets that I got from Whole Foods, drenched in just a touch of flour and pan-fried in canola oil spray. After frying, I added white wine to the pan, then light butter, lemon juice, and salt. Finished it off with some parsley, made the rice pilaf, and BAM! Amazing. The sautéed spinach is always the real star, though, and made from a secret recipe passed down by my Nigerian roommate. She knows so many flavors and spices that we just don’t know here in our country, and her culinary skills should be canonized. She sexes up fresh spinach in a way that I, whom spinach normally makes vomit, eat whole bags of. She sautés it in some vegetable broth until it wilts, then adds Goya Sazon con Culantro y Achiote, half a cube of chicken bouillon, a couple of cubes of pureed garlic, onion powder, and a bit of salt. After sautéing it a bit, she adds a teaspoon or two of extra virgin olive oil, sautés it a bit more, and it is SO. GOOD.

I have been trying my hand at shrimp scampi, stir-fried Asian noodle dishes, penne in cream sauce with portobello mushrooms and peas, beefy Angus burgers dripping with melted cheese, high-quality lettuce and tomato and onion, and accompanied with a side of spicy fries, moist banana-walnut pancakes with sliced strawberries and real maple syrup… :-) And it’s not just home cookin’. I’ve been taking the liberty of treating myself to a flaky croissant or pastry when I pass a particularly exceptional-looking bakery wafting confectionary smells out towards helpless pedestrians, a salted caramel mocha every once in a while from the barista at my favorite Starbucks who does them EXCEPTIONALLY, a delectable grilled-to-perfection hot dog with onions, sauerkraut and mustard from Gray’s Papaya on 72^nd and Broadway, famous for their crisp-and-salty dogs.

Am I a shameless glutton? Not technically. I have restraint, of course. I am a mature and responsible adult, and I mind my health and my weight. But that’s no reason not to indulge whenever humanly possible. When I am faced with an exceptional culinary opportunity, I have no shame in wholeheartedly partaking in the festivities. I balance indulgence with regular healthy meals (which I make sure are culinary pleasures in and of themselves), and enjoy my life. You only go around once. And I can’t afford to wait for another boyfriend to take me out for lobster risotto.

Not when I have the pleasure of cooking it, and eating it by candlelight to the sounds of NPR, myself. :-)

Learning to Love Yourself

Being in a relationship takes up a lot of psychic energy. When I have been in relationships, I have often seen my boyfriend two or three nights in a week, with a couple of calls in between. Your body almost hums with the memory and presence of your partner, even when he isn't there. It's a great feeling, one of the best. But it saps your energy for other things.

For almost a decade, I felt deprived because I was missing that primal hum. Part of it was the simple fact of twentysomething hormones coursing through my body. When you're that age, you're ripe for partnership and love. Often, the presence or absence of it is a constant presence in your life. But then again, now that I'm almost 32, I should be hearing the ticking of my biological clock, which should be making me even more hormonal. There's no doubt that I long for companionship. But something's changed.

Living your best life gives your soul a spark that animates every aspect of your life. I think one of the biggest things that was holding me back as a twentysomething was that I simply wasn't following my bliss. God wants us to partake of the very best things in life, and when you are living a dream, not having a partner is not so much of a burden. At this point in my life, I follow my bliss in everything, from pursuing my dreams professionally to having a pistachio almond ice cream cone whenever I feel like it. I no longer diet to please men, no longer torture myself with the heels, no longer waste my money on the expensive makeup or the time shopping for clothing that will hide my "size."

Instead, I eat chicken parmigiana, shrimp pad thai, steak frites whenever I feel like it (and do Weight Watchers several times a year to take off the weight I put on). I allow myself to relax in my clothes, to just be a normal girl in jeans and a t-shirt like everyone else, chillin' and comfortable in my skin. I indulge myself by doing the things that inspire and refresh me, going to see live dance, visiting museums, volunteering. If I want to, I buy an extra pillow for my bed, just because.

Not being in a relationship still hurts. But, in some ways, I am the person I am in a relationship with now. I am making love to myself in so many ways, nurturing and caressing every aspect of my soul, from my passions to my dreams to my purpose. It's a great way to live.

Sex: Proceed With Caution

Today I wanted to talk a little bit about sex. I think modern women have been fed such a bum line about sex. We grow up watching shows and movies where women and men play each other like violins, listen to music by pop stars who strut around like strumpets, live in a world surrounded by advertisements filled with painted half-naked supermodels hanging open like barn doors.

Naturally, most of us grew up believing that we would not wait until marriage to have sex. We were all – I know I was – probably “sex-positive,” meaning that we thought that sex was a good thing... unlike our ancestors, who believed it was a sin. Being sex-positive, at least for me, meant viewing sex as a toy, one of my most cherished ones. It was a tool, a plaything, something for me to exercise at will, to use at my discretion.

There was only one problem with this. Sex is not a toy. It is not a tool. It is a powerful, mercurial force. Sex is not a toy that we control, or a tool that we manipulate. It comes into our lives on its terms, and leaves its presence as it pleases. I grew up believing that my sexuality would be at my beck and call, that I would engage man after man, flirting with some, establishing relationships with others, wielding my sexuality like a bludgeon. I believed that I had the power to exercise my sexuality at will.

This was unrealistic. I was a woman, a mortal human being. I didn’t have the power to “exercise my sexuality.” As I entered adolescence and then matured, it became patently obvious to me, to my dismay, that my “sexuality” was not following the master plan. Sex was not a toy. I was getting hurt. And so were my girlfriends. In my case, the men simply weren’t coming. My sexuality was there, and I was ready for love, but I just couldn’t find the right guy, and the guys who were coming were there for the wrong reasons. It hurt. I thought I could control who came into my life and when, but I didn't have any power over when or where I would find love, or what type of love it would be.

My girlfriends were faring a bit better, but not much. There were boyfriends who were distant, boyfriends who were indifferent, boyfriends who were downright abusive. Boyfriends who cheated, mooched or stole money, forgot anniversaries and birthdays, ditched date night for Monday Night Football with the boys. Those of us who experimented with one-night-stands discovered that, contrary to Erica Jong’s concept of the liberating “zipless fuck,” promiscuous sex was often an empty and unsatisfying mélange of foreign bodies melding together, hands groping erotic zones clumsily, a perfunctory caricature of foreplay, and a sweaty body thrusting between the thighs, indifferent to our rhythms, pushing robotically until climax.

Some of you have undoubtedly had much better luck than my friends and I have. And yet I think I speak for most of us when I say that many of us have discovered that sex is not a toy. And we can’t control it. We can’t control who comes into our lives, and when. We can’t control what happens when they get here. And throwing sex wantonly into the mix is like mud-wrestling with a barracuda. Reading this has probably made some of you think about the experiences you’ve had. If I would be allowed to offer you any advice at all, it would be to RESPECT SEX. Respect sexuality. Respect romance. Don’t be wanton. Or you’ll get hurt. Like all my friends and I did, and almost all of the women I know.

Why Good Is Good Enough

It’s interesting. I’ve just recently realized something that I think is very important, something that I hadn’t realized was influencing me so much until now. I’m glad it occurred to me, because I think it has changed my life.

Until now, I hadn’t realized that I didn’t believe that being a good person was good enough to be successful in the dating world. This is something that may seem so elemental to some people, but for me, since I had social difficulties as a child, it wasn’t obvious. Looking back, I think that my difficulties led me to believe that some of the other people, who had advantages that I didn’t have at the time, disliked me because of the fact that I didn’t have those advantages. Now, twenty years later, I’m still operating with those handicaps. Tragic.

I realize now that I truly believed, on some level, that a good person is not attractive to a prospective partner unless they are also pretty, or smart, or successful, or any other of the “accepted” shorthands for good-looking in our society. I believed that the dating world operated based on who was more “attractive,” meaning who met more of the qualifications for those shorthands of privilege. As bizarre as it sounds, I believed that a good person who did not meet those qualifications would not be attractive to many people at all.

In point of fact, I believed that good people were not seen as desirable at all – as friends, lovers or even coworkers – unless they had some other “status symbol” trait. I didn’t think that being good counted for much. I now see that this was a direct result of my adolescence, when I was morally more upright than all of the people who surrounded me, yet suffered from the most ostracization, rejection and humiliation.

I now understand that, while status symbols may get you attention, just being yourself will get you all the dates you need and deserve. Being a good person is a great aphrodisiac, both for you and for the prospective partners who are just the right fit. You don’t need all the bells and whistles to be successful in the dating world, so long as you understand that being successful in the dating world doesn’t mean having a date every Friday night, or even every month. All you need to do is shine your own unique starry light out into the world, and be your best you. That will be so attractive to the men you were meant to be with.

In the end, there are only going to be probably three or four guys, maybe six or seven, max (for those of us who get ridiculously lucky), who we really get serious about before we marry, if we do. For some of us, it’s 1 or 2 over the course of our entire lifetimes. For some of us, we’re serial daters until we’re 70. But my point is that for most of us, there will only be a few guys who really touch our hearts. I don’t know about you, but I don’t have time for the trophy boyfriend who is there only to hang out with on Friday and Saturday nights and have perfunctory sex with afterwards. I did at one point. But I got bored. I prefer my own company now. And, frankly, I could REALLY do without the perfunctory sex. I require a little more from my sex life now. ;)

Being a good person is enough. It’s enough to fulfill you as a person and make you very attractive to the people you were meant to be with. That’s enough for me. :)

Real Women Have Lives

I’m really loving my life lately. I’m tremendously busy with school, work, creating art, my friendships, nurturing my creativity and my intellect with art and ideas, and enjoying delicious food. My days are full, and for the most part I’m happy. Happier than I’ve ever been.

And one of the best victories I’ve had has been my choice to free myself from the tyranny of my looks obsessions. I spent my entire twenties preoccupied with my looks. While, as I got older, I loosened up a bit, especially in my early twenties I almost always had on high heels and foundation. I spent more money than I care to think about on clothing, designer make-up and expensive toiletries.

And we’ve been socialized to think that this is kind of normal for women, haven’t we? I mean, it’s not normal for ALL women. Many of us actually have quite a bit of perspective on this whole appearance issue. But at least as far as the media is concerned, we women are kind of fixated on the whole beauty thing. Bikini waxes, knee boots, lengthening mascara, mani-pedis… some of us take it to a whole other level.

I was one of those someones. The weird thing was I thought I was normal. I thought I needed to do all this stuff to catch up with all the other girls who were just naturally gorgeous, and I thought it was the only way I could make guys like me. Humph. Some mind game. I didn’t realize I was just fine the way I was.

I realize it now. I don’t have to be skinny or wear makeup. Just like, if I like a guy, it doesn’t matter if he’s twenty pounds overweight and in sweats or actor-thin and in an Armani suit, I can just relax and be myself and know that, when the right guy does finally come along, he’ll find me. I don’t need or want the attention any more. Frankly, it would distract me from writing my book and dreaming up my next big nonprofit marketing strategy and practicing my Mandarin on my commutes.

I am having way too much fun eating enchiladas verde and doing Krav Maga and going on long walks through the city while talking with my friends to waste my time dieting or wearing foundation or hobbling my feet in high-heeled boots. I encourage all of you to do the same. Life’s too short to spend your time and money contorting yourself into some arbitrary image of beauty and then waiting for someone to notice you. You’re fine the way you are. Eventually, the right guy will find you.

This Fish Needs A Bicycle

Recently I’ve been thinking about how my desire for a partner is an almost constant companion of mine. This is something that, up until now, I’ve been uncomfortable with. After all, our culture teaches us that women shouldn’t NEED men, that we should be independent, that we should be able to rely on ourselves for happiness and fulfillment and not have to depend on a man for anything.

Consequently, my preoccupation with having a partner has left me extremely confused. I used to be a lot more preoccupied, partially, I believe, because of raging twentysomething hormones and partially because of unresolved family of origin and childhood issues. But those have largely been dealt with, and I lead a satisfying, rich life full of professional fulfillment, creative satisfaction, hobbies and relaxation, friendships, and adventure.

So my continued sense of disembodied dissatisfaction is a mystery to me. In my heart, I still feel like something’s not quite right. I feel like something’s missing, some sense of deep connection, a profound intimacy. I long to be intimate in a way that friendships and mental stimulation, and even spiritual fulfillment, just can’t satisfy. I’ve tried everything to satisfy this inner urge – new projects, deeper connections with friends, a stronger relationship with God. While these things help, nothing ultimately soothes the burn.

After a lot of reflection, I have come to the conclusion that the women’s movement is simply wrong. While there are many notable exceptions, many women quite simply do need men. We don’t capital-N NEED men, and can be quite satisfied and fulfilled without them, but there is an aspect of us that is just not whole, is just not quite right, when we’re not in a relationship. Again, I recognize just what a revolutionary statement this is, and I qualify it with the absolute caveat that there are many exceptions. But, judging from my extensive experience with the many women who have passed through my life over the past 32 years, this statement is quite accurate.

Now, I would add another caveat emptor to this statement. Women’s need for relationships with men absolutely does not include the pathetic, miserable cases that currently pass for relationships in much of the world today. For many women, we’re better off alone than with the puerile, self-centered emotional midgets that some men, of all backgrounds and cultures, appear to be. When I say that women need intimacy, I’m talking about mature, reciprocal, egalitarian, passionate, respectful intimate relationships, the kind that relationships are supposed to be in the first place.

So what am I supposed to do with this knowledge? As a mature adult woman who is conscious of the fact that she is not quite right without a partner, I have choices. I can do what I am doing now, which is known as spiritual alchemy. I have done the same as a survivor of domestic violence. When one is the survivor of trauma, one has two choices as to what to do with the anger. One can turn it inwards, or one can turn it outwards. My work as a social worker allows me to ensure that the anger I feel about what happened to me keeps it from happening to anybody else.

The same can be true of the regrettable consequences of the sexual revolution. The loosening of sexual mores has left us with a generation of men who feel no need to commit to women. This leaves women lonely and bitter. We have two choices as to what we can do with the anger. We can stay bitter and resentful, or we can use our rage to take action towards helping other women in our situation by counseling our friends, writing, creating art, blogging, reading literature, starting a women’s group, mentoring a young woman or becoming a Big Sister, or doing anything else that influences women to listen to their hearts. Doing so gives us comfort as well.

I can also give myself space to grieve. A big part of why it’s been so hard for me to carry on without a partner has been because of my absolute need to reject my need for one. When you’re spending hours of every day denying an obvious fact of your existence, life tends to be miserable. Give yourself space to grieve. Admit you want a relationship, and admit how important it is to you. And keep affirming it, every time you’re tempted to give yourself the old feminist line about a woman needing a man like a fish needing a bicycle.

Also, admit what a beautiful thing it can be. When I really start obsessing about past ex-boyfriends, I’m going to give myself permission to watch a really emotional romantic film, like The English Patient, to remind myself how beautiful love can be, and to remind myself that I still have the potential to feel it, and to find it. It’s really important to remind yourself that you still have the potential to love. It’s when we get bitter and jaded, and when we shut ourselves off from our feelings, that they begin to mutate and deform and haunt us.

Make space in your life for the longing, in any way that feels comfortable to you. Talk to your mother about it. Read Janet Evanovich novels. Listen to love songs. Take boxing classes to channel your despair. Act in Shakespeare productions to channel your inner tart. Watch episodes of Bridezilla. Just don’t let denial and dejection pervert your soul. Not being paired hurts. I don’t want it to hurt any more than it has to.