Cooperation to Brooklyn

Picture it. Manhattan. October 9, 2011. A youngish man of 36 is driving his 2007 gray Hyundai Accent, that he has lovingly named Sophia, down the long stretch of Manhattan pavement officially called the FDR Drive, otherwise known as the eastside parking lot.

Although the man is late for a rehearsal on Staten Island, he enjoys the weather and sings along to the music that is never far from his mind. "I'm every woman - it's all in me...everything you want done baby...happens naturally." As he is about to sing Chakakan's name, he notices traffic ahead-two miles of cars in the right lane trying to get onto the Brooklyn Bridge.

He looks at the clock. He has forty minutes. He decides to stay on course and enjoy his alone time with Ms. Whitney Houston. Ten minutes go by—five hundred feet closer. Five more minutes go by—another few hundred feet closer. He looks at the time again. Twenty five minutes until rehearsal and still a mile away from the exit that is another seven miles away from his destination, which in New York means he could be on the road for another two days.

It has not gone unnoticed by the man that the cars to his left are moving with ease. In the first fifteen minutes alone, hundreds of cars speed past him. He envies them until he realizes they are why he is stuck in traffic. He thinks to himself, "Why do people do this? Why do people ignore the line of cars and then think it is all right to squeeze in at the last minute, making everyone who follows the signs pay for following directions? We don't tolerate line cutting at the grocery store; why should we tolerate it on the road?"

Just then, he notices a driver pass him on his left. He looks at the driver who is peering at him through her tinted BMW windows. He sees in the woman's eyes a look that says "Sucker." The young man replies with his eyes, "I'm not in this lane because I'm a sucker; I'm in this lane because I respect my fellow motorists." And with that, he stays in his lane....for another ten minutes until he finally realizes that his respect for others is going to make him REALLY late for rehearsal!!! Sorry fellow motorists.

The young man in the story was me and I tell this story because it highlights what I consider the difference between competition and cooperation and ultimately what is wrong with this country. 

We live in a competitive society. Whether in sports, education or even dating—you name it, we're competitive. Don't get me wrong; I don't think there's anything wrong with competition. But what happens when that competition leads to the Divided States of America rather than the United States of America—creating a pile up of cars going nowhere with only an entitled few whizzing by in their BMW's? Occupy Wall Street is what happens.

Occupy Wall Street protesters are the drivers who have decided to pull out of the slow lane to block any traffic from cutting the line. The challenge is, in terms of Wall Street, it seems as if every lane that is blocked opens up a new lane, leaving those of us who are playing by the rules frustrated and defeated as we watch others speed by.

You may say that everyone has the option to get out of the slow lane and cut the line like I did (which I'm not proud of by the way). But what about the drivers who don't even realize they are stuck because of the actions of a few? What about those who believe in following the rules regardless of the inconvenience? What about those whose cars have overheated because of the wait and now can't go anywhere? Are they suckers? No, they're the 99%.

This is where it gets tricky. I hate the idea of us vs. them; the 99% vs. 1%—especially since, in the case of cutting the line, all of us have probably been them at some point in our lives. But what if a car whizzing by noticed an overheated car and pulled over to help instead of cutting them off? What if all of the "BMW's" got in line earlier? Yes, the line to the bridge would be longer, but buy cooperating with their fellow drivers, everyone in that line would at least have the opportunity to get to the bridge. That is the cooperation I think is missing in the big picture of our democracy.

For those of you who say, "There will always be people who cut the line to the bridge. Why shouldn't I?" I say to you, be the change you want to see in the world. (Okay, Ghandi said that, but I second it.) Cooperation cannot be legislated, but every day, I can choose not to cut the line and respect my fellow motorists’ right to get on the bridge.

I believe three things:

1.    I believe that until we begin rewarding cooperation as much as competition, people will continue to cut the line, leaving the majority to sit and wonder why they aren’t moving.

2.    I believe that the power of one can lead to change that inspires others to follow.

3.    Most importantly, I believe that a deeper commitment to cooperation can lead to a more healthy competition; one where the players account for more than 1% of the team and those on the bench are looked at as teammates rather than suckers.

With that, from this day forward, I pledge not to cut the line. I pledge to cooperate with my fellow motorists on their journey to the bridge in any way I can and I pledge to smile peacefully at those in the fast lane who think I’m a sucker. Guess I’d better start leaving a little earlier for rehearsal.

Mirror, Mirror on the Wall

I have been struggling with this post for days trying to figure out how to judge rich people who don’t want to pay more taxes without really judging them. Can you judge someone a little? My gut says no. I sought the advice of my boyfriend. He asked, “What are you trying to say in the blog?” “I want to vent about rich people.” His response, “I think you should start by acknowledging that you are rich to most of the world.”

That would be what Oprah calls an ah-ha moment. And that would be why I love my boyfriend.

All of a sudden, instead of worrying about my frustration with other people, I am looking in a mirror. On the mirror (in red lipstick) are two words: wants and needs.

I want things. I want a 2,000 square foot apartment in a high rise doorman building that overlooks Central Park (I would want an even bigger place, but I have a hard enough time cleaning my 450 sq.ft. studio). I want to fill that apartment with vintage Mid-Century Modern furniture that will cost a fortune, but make me look like I live the life of Don Draper. I want a beige mini-cooper convertible with black leather interior that I can drive really fast to and from Connecticut so everyone who ever made fun of me in Newington will see me and say, "Is that Don Draper?"

Then there are the things I need. I need food. I need water. I need love. I need happiness.

Those are two very different lists. And to be honest, it's taken me almost thirty-six years to be able to recognize that there are two lists. I do budget workshops for high school students where I ask how much they need for clothes each month. Without fail, someone says, "Two thousand dollars." I clarify, "I'm not asking how much you want for clothes. I'm asking how much you need for clothes." Pause. “Two thousand dollars.” It is so easy to judge these students, but when I look in the mirror, I see those sixteen year old kids looking back at me.

Tom Shadyac, a big time movie director, went on Oprah last year to talk about the journey that led him to create the film I Am. After a bicycle accident left him with something like a permanent concussion, he decided to make a film in which he asks scientists, deep thinkers and spiritual leaders two questions:

1. What's wrong with the world?

2. What can we do about it?

“The more I studied the issue, the more I felt drawn to a simpler life. It was a gradual thing — I didn’t move from my 17,000 square-foot estate in one step. I sold my property and rented a 12,000-square-foot house. I was happy there. It opened me up to how simply we can live and still find life beautiful.”

Now Tom lives in a double-wide mobile home and says he has everything he needs. Granted, his double-wide is amazing, but what I took away was this; rich is relative.
My income has nearly doubled since starting my 9 to 5 two years ago. In that time, my needs haven’t changed. What’s changed are my wants. I want to eat out more. I want to go on more vacations. I want to get a trainer so I can look like Don Draper.

Looking in the mirror, I realize that those wants have quickly turned into what I perceive to be needs. If that’s happening now, what will happen when I make $1,000,000? Will I feel I need a new boat? Will I feel I need two vacation homes? Will I feel I need more money? I hope not.

I’m not saying there’s anything wrong with wants. Someday, I plan on living it up in the apartment of my dreams and sipping champagne on my small but tasteful yacht. But when that day comes, I hope I am willing to sacrifice a few of my wants to help others meet their needs.  

Shoes for Pooping

Have you ever gone into a bathroom and seen that someone was in a stall but not making a sound? It's creepy because you both know what they're doing yet the person sitting there thinks that if they play statue (one of my favorite games in college), you won't notice that they're there - as if them not breathing through their nose means you won't smell it either. One of my favorite things to do when this happens at work is to stay in the bathroom for a really long time and see how long they can hold it.
I know I'm horrible, but I think karma has finally caught up with me.

I love going to Just Salad for lunch. It's this crazy good place that is recommended by Oprah and Martha and gives you a huge chopped salad of your choice with a free piece of bread (which I'm not supposed to eat because of my gluten intolerance. Whatever.) On Monday, I decide to venture back to the buffalo chicken salad - an old favorite of sun dried tomatoes, celery, tortilla chips, cheddar cheese, and chicken all topped with a buttermilk ranch dressing that rocks! I have to poop just thinking about it.

I take this creation back to my desk and notice that instead of cheddar, they put pepperjack in the salad. I think, I could use a little pepperjack in my life. So I eat. I relax. I smile. Fast forward ten minutes, and I almost explode.

Now, because of my joy in making other colleagues suffer while they "drop the kids off at the pool," you can imagine how reticent I am about doing the deed in a shared bathroom. But this is no time to be shy. I walk casually to the bathroom so as not to alert any colleagues that my ass is on fire. Wouldn't you know, right before I get to the door, my regional director appears and darts into the bathroom. Without blinking, I wave, walk past, and do a circle back to my desk.

Five minutes later, beads of sweat on my forehead, I try again. I nod at my colleagues in hope that my smile will disguise the effort to clench my ass. I get in the bathroom and am about to get in a stall when someone comes in. ABORT! I make pretend I just came out of the stall and wash my hands while we have a conversation until I finally give up and leave. Back to my desk.

I make one more attempt a few minutes later with no success. I even walk upstairs to try the other bathroom which two guys enter as I walk in. I wash my hands again and leave. (I'm surprised security doesn't come and question me about why I keep walking around the office just smiling and washing my hands!)

Finally, on my way downstairs, I decide I can't hold it anymore. I go into the bathroom, run into the farthest stall and have an out of body experience. Luckily no one is there because all attempts of "calm and collected" go out the window once I make the decision that this is the moment.

After the initial release, I hear the door open and I think, REALLY!!! There is nothing I can do except play statue and not breathe through my nose. Side note: it's interesting to me that I don't breathe through my nose so I won't smell it, but tasting it as I breathe through my mouth is fine. Anyway, I think this person likes to play "Let's See How Long He Can Hold It" because I sit there motionless for at least three minutes while he washes his hands. That's when I have a brilliant idea.

The biggest issue for me about pooping at work isn't that it smells or that I may leave skid marks in the bowl; the issue for me is that if someone comes in, they will know it's me by looking at my shoes! I don't want to be known as the guy in the office who can't hold his pepperjack! I can imagine the guy going back to his cubicle and telling everyone on the way that Jason just destroyed the bathroom, leaving me to walk back to my desk amid smirks and giggles. (I recognize that I may be projecting here since I would definitely tell my colleagues who laid one out in the men's room.)

Anyway, here is my brilliant idea. POOPING SHOES. What if I had a pair of shoes in my drawer that I put on just to go to the bathroom - shoes that no one would ever expect me to wear. Then any guy who comes in would leave the bathroom and be stumped. He'd say to his colleagues:

"I just came from the bathroom and someone was cracking a couple of bricks. Whew!!!"
"Who was it?" they would ask.
"I don't know ... I couldn't tell."
"Well, what kind of shoes were they wearing?"
"Combat boots."
"Hmmm ... I guess it wasn't Jason."

Hey, maybe I could finally get those pumps!

No ... they'd definitely know it was me.

The Long Road to Ruby Bootstraps

Growing up, I was taught that all you had to do to make it in America was work hard; and if you run into obstacles, just pull yourself up by your bootstraps and try again.

My whole life, I have had the privilege of options. When I wanted to take ballet, my parents signed me up. When I wanted to go to the theatre, my parents took me. When I needed a role model, my parents and teachers showed the way. When I chose to go to college, my parents helped pay for it. Those options paved the way for other options, especially when dealing with work. When I was an actor, if I wasn't performing, I used my computer skills to temp. If I didn't have temp work, I could be an acting/vocal coach, or a pianist, or a motivational speaker or a rehearsal pianist or a church organist. Whatever it was, I had options. That's not to say the options always panned out, but I knew that I had the social and professional skills combined with a college degree that would help me find some way to make money. And if worse came to worse, I knew I had the support of my very generous family. All in all, my circumstances put me on a path down a paved road with very sturdy bootstraps with which I was able to pull myself up when times got hard.

The problem with having these options is that they led me to believe everyone had these options which meant that anyone who wasn't as successful as me or anyone who couldn't find work must be lazy. But does everyone have the same options? What about people who can't afford college or don't have special skills that make them marketable in today's job market? What about people who don't have role models or family that can help them in their time of need? What bootstraps are they supposed to pull themselves up with? Is it fair to blame individuals for their circumstances? Does everyone in our country have the same opportunities available to them?

This summer, I had the privilege of working with "Ruby', one of the most inspiring young women I have ever had the pleasure of meeting. She wasn't the smartest; she wasn't the prettiest; she wasn't the most appropriate, but she WAS the most honest and her honesty taught me a lot about my assumptions. Here's what I learned:

1. Rehab is difficult not only for the addict, but for their family too.
Ruby came to work one day without her signature smile. When I saw her in the hallway, I asked if everything was okay. She told me her mom left for rehab that morning and she wouldn't see her for three weeks. I asked how she was doing with that and she said she was happy her mom was getting help again because she worries when she doesn't come home at night. In later conversations, I found out that most of Ruby's family is struggling with drug addiction.

2. Low expectations lead to low performance.
On the first day of the internship, every intern got a folder of information. Somehow, we got on the topic of notebooks and Ruby admitted to never having a notebook at school. I asked her how she takes notes and she said she didn't. I asked her how she studied and she kind of laughed. Fast forward to the end of the internship when she came to my desk to proudly show me her latest report card. Mostly B's and a few C's. Really?! How is she getting B's and C's without taking notes or studying, I thought? She was quick to say that all of her friend's tease her for getting such good grades. After congratulating her, I asked her if she thought she was capable of A's. She hesitated. I don't think anyone ever asked her that before.

3. Everyone has to be taught.
One of the challenges with Ruby was her wardrobe. "Business Casual" was expected but their was little evidence of the "Business" in Ruby's outfits. The problem was, I didn't want to embarrass her or put her in an awkward position of not having the resources to buy more appropriate clothes. Finally, my boss called Ruby into her office. As she passed by my desk on her way to the office, she said she felt like she was being sent to the principal's office. I played dumb and acted like I didn't know why my boss wanted to see her. On her way back, she confided in me that the meeting was about her 'attire'. When I acknowledged that many of her skirts were short, this is what she said, (and I quote) "But Jason, when I put the skirt on at home, it's down to my knees, but when I get to work, it's up to my thighs!" To which I asked, "Why do you think that is?" She responded tentatively, "Because they're too tight?" HELLO!! But what stuck with me the most was when she said, "I'll work it out. It's just that no one ever told me before."

I am so grateful for meeting Ruby this summer. Because of her, more of my baggage has been unpacked. I no longer assume that everyone has had the same expectations presented to them and because of that, I no longer assume that young people who have poor social and professional skills are purposefully disrespectful and obnoxious. Most importantly, I no longer assume that everyone has had the same privilege of options that were presented to me in my life.

I am not trying to make excuses for anyone. There are obviously many people who have struggled through there circumstances to become some of the most successful and influential leaders in the world just like there are many people who use their circumstances as an excuse to sit back and feed off of the system. But I do believe these are the exceptions.

My gut tells me that a majority of people want the opportunity to work and aspire to a life that will make the world a better place - if not for everyone, at least their children. And I do think there is a certain amount of responsibility that everyone must take for the road they travel. BUT, I think we do ourselves a disservice if we believe that everyone is born on the same road. I was born on a road paved with opportunity and with this road came a map to help me navigate the potholes along the way.

Ruby's road is different. With all due respect to her family, Ruby was born on a dirt road filled with never ending obstacles and potholes and no real map to guide her. To expect her to arrive at the same destination as me is, in my opinion, ludicrous.

I hope this summer provided a fork in the road for Ruby where she can choose the new path of higher expectations that will lead her to realizing her complete potential. I also hope she chooses the path that leads to longer skirts! Whichever path she chooses, though, I will always be there to lend her my bootstraps until hers are nice and strong.

Self Actualized in Red Gingham

It was a red gingham skirt. It twirled up when I spun around, and it was my favorite thing to wear. The only problem was, it wasn't mine. It was my sister's. The other problem was, I was a boy and boys aren't supposed to wear skirts, let alone red gingham ones.

I've never really told anyone about the red gingham skirt before. I've also never really told anyone about how I mastered draping my bed sheet into an exact replica of Anna's gown in the King and I when no one was home (I project runwayed that shit out!) While I'm at it, I've never told anyone how much I used to loved going over to my aunt's house when I was young to try on her awesome 80's heels (I could teach a few things about walking in heels....just saying.)

I think the biggest thing I've never told anyone is that I've always been afraid of admitting all of this. What would people think of me if they knew I had enjoyed a good spin in a full skirt or enjoyed strutting my stuff in heels? Would they think I am less of a man? Probably. The sad thing is, somehow, at three years old when I was twirling in my sister's red gingham, I knew this and consequently spent the next twenty years trying to be the man my parents could be proud of.

I tried little league. I tried cub scouts. I even tried archery. The problem was that while I was failing at the masculine stuff, I was excelling at the feminine things. I could crochet an outfit for my cabbage patch kid, french braid my sister's hair for school, and pirouette until the cows came home. These were things i couldn't be proud of though because what I was good at was girly and I didn't want to be a girl. I was a boy, goddammit!

It wasn't until I understood the difference between biological sex and gender that I was able to start unpacking the shame I had packed away in my gender baggage. Here's the thing. I grew up ashamed of who I was. Even with parents who recognized and supported my talents, I was still made to feel as less of a man because of society's definition of what it means to be a man. But that is the key to understanding gender - the recognition that gender is socially constructed.

Think about colors. In our culture, we typically think of baby boys in blue and baby girls in pink. I grew up thinking that was the law until I learned that prior to World War II, baby boys were put in pink and baby girls were dressed in blue. Why? Pink was considered a diluted red which was a power color while blue was considered soft and feminine. It wasn't until the Nazi's started using pink triangles to identify gay men that we made the switch. What was once masculine became feminine almost overnight.

That got me thinking; what if we could alter other gender stereotypes? What if instead of worrying about raising good "boys" and "girls", we focused on raising good "human beings"?

In my work, we ask people to come up with a list of words that describe someone who is self actualized. The list usually includes Happy, Fulfilled, Confident, Peaceful, and Strong. The words that never show up on the list are masculine, feminine, or straight. What would happen if we focused on raising children who are more concerned with becoming self actualized as opposed to becoming masculine or feminine? I'll tell you what would happen; we would have happy, confident, fulfilled, peaceful, and strong children who would grow into adults that would have one less bag to unpack - a bag that is full of gender stereotypes and norms.

As someone who has never really fit into society's gender norms, I can tell you that that bag can be one of the heaviest bags you'll ever carry. The only solution I see to keep from passing that baggage on is to challenge gender stereotypes. A boy wants to take ballet? Fine. A girls wants to play football? Awesome. A boy wants to grow up and be a stay at home dad? Good for him. A girl wants to be president? Go for it!

I long for the day when boys won't be afraid to cry and every girl will recognize their true potential - a day where colors are genderless and talent is talent. Until that day, I will continue to unpack my gender baggage and hope to get to a place where I believe in my gut that I am a human being my parents can be proud of. And who knows, maybe when that day comes, I'll be self-actualized enough to buy a red gingham skirt and matching pumps to celebrate.

The One Part II: For Better or Worse

Since posting about The One last week, I have been doing a lot of thinking. First thing I have to admit is this; As hard as I try to be in the moment and be modern by not labeling things, I can not seem to get rid of the idea of finding The One from my mind. I guess it is part of my collection of baggage that I may need to unpack.

The second thing I have to admit is; I can't tell the difference between the challenges in a relationship that should lead to communication and growth and those challenges that should spell the end of the relationship. That whole idea of for better or worse; what is the gauge that tells you when you are past worse? I've seen people give up too soon and I've seen people hang on too long. But even saying that makes me realize that it is all about perspective and to make judgment calls about anyone else's relationship is silly.

I have a friend who has been in a relationship for over a year with a man she adores. They are about to move in together, but after reading my post last week, she kind of freaked out. Her boyfriend, who always teases her about wanting to get married, is sure that she is The One. She has always gone along with that idea, but all of a sudden she found herself wondering if she was ready to put her head outside of the car window and exclaim it to the world (see last post for reference). What if she meets someone in a few years and finds out that she has settled? What if she moves in to this apartment and realizes that he's not The One at all?

In a panic, she asked her boyfriend these questions at 5:00 AM on Wednesday morning. He listened. She asked, How do you know? He said, I just know. She continued, But what if I meet someone else? He said, Well, I can't compete with an imaginary man. With all of her doubt, he assured her of his confidence in their relationship. It wasn't until he was driving home later that morning that he started freaking out himself. What if he makes the commitment for better or worse and gets dumped four years down the road? Was his confidence in their relationship based on the assumed confidence she had?

They had a rough couple of days. Even though she called later Wednesday afternoon to say that she had over reacted, he was now not so confident. He expressed his hurt and fears and they both decided to take it one day at a time. They talked. They listened. They didn't accuse. They didn't blame. And by the weekend, he started to feel the confidence return and she was able to reveal that even with her fears, she wanted to move forward together.

That brings me back to the question How do you know when you are past worse? In an ideal world, I guess you know when you've been able to talk through your feelings with your partner without blame or accusations and decide that the relationship is no longer working for either one or both of you. If that is the case, how can you ever believe in The One when there is always the threat of the relationship ending?

Well, as a reader commented last week, The One is more of a choice rather than a happening. There can be many One's throughout a person's life that were the right One at that time, but deciding that someone is the LAST One is a choice. That is certainly true for me. I would not be the man I am today without my experiences with two men who were the right Ones at the time.

I guess this week has brought me closer to understanding the importance of marriage vows. There are no guarantees. There is no way to compare relationships. There can only be a promise to listen to, support, and love one another. A promise to understand that what works for some will not necessarily work for you. And most importantly, a promise to let each other be authentic and grow into the person they are meant to be.

For those of you who freaked out reading last week's post, sorry. That was not my intention. But if it brought you closer to understanding the truth of your relationship as it did for my friend, then great! I myself have found a man that I can imagine choosing to be the LAST One, and if we decide one day that we are in fact on the same page with that and are ready to make that commitment to each other, I will not hesitate to scream it out the passenger side window, for better or worse.

The One?

There is a lot of debate out there whether there is such a thing as The One. I have stopped debating this issue because really, I don't care. If you feel like you have found The One, awesome! If you have twenty The Ones in your lifetime, good for you! This is less about whether The One exists as it is about not being afraid to say The One if you find someone who fits that title.

I was the kind of kid who liked my parents; I actually hung out with my parents which is probably why when I would be hanging out with kids my age and they would say "What's up?", I'd be like, "Well.....ummmm....I went to the store and now I'm going to do my homework."  I didn't know how to answer the question. A simple what's up? threw me for a loop. It wasn't until college when I met my friend Amy and instead of saying "Hi",she would say "What's up, Brotha?" that I realized, Oh, I don't actually have to answer. It's a rhetorical question. A simple "Nuttin'" will suffice. I think that's when I learned what rhetorical meant.

Anyway, so I used to hang out with my parents and this one time, we were at my parents' friends' house and we were leaving and I'm sitting in the backseat of our maroon Grand Marquis boat of a car with gray interior (that was a big thing back then because you used to see a lot of gray cars with maroon interiors, but never maroon cars with gray interiors. We were very proud of that) So, I had my eleven year old head sticking out the back seat window to say goodbye and all of a sudden the window started going up. My dad was by the driver's seat saying goodbye so I was like, "Dad, stop it!" 'cause he was the kind of guy who would think it was funny to get his kid's head stuck in the car window. And then the window started going up again and I was like, "Dad, it's not funny!" and the window started choking me. My Dad was like, "Jason, it's not me.", and I was yelling, "Stop it! It's choking me!" So he turned off the car 'cause obviously there was something wrong with the electrical system.
All of a sudden, I see my dad's friend coming out of the garage with a shovel to break the window. And at the very moment that I start to see my short life flash before my eyes, I feel something beneath my hand. I yell at my dad to start the car but he won't do it. After he hears the desperation in my voice, he starts it and I move my hand to the right a little and the window starts to go down. Here I was thinking my dad was trying to kill me and come to find out, I was the one trying to kill me. My hand was leaning on the power window button and I was making it go up.

This week, I had drinks with a friend. She just broke up with her boyfriend after living together for almost a year. I remember it being a big deal that they were moving in together, especially since she said she would never move in with someone unless they were The One. I heard nothing but great things about this man. After the move, I was impressed every time she talked about how she was learning to compromise (not her strongest suit) and I was so happy that I had someone in my life that was so confident that she had met The One. Who am I kidding...I was JEALOUS!

You can imagine how surprised I was to hear that they had broken up and the first thing she admitted to me was that she hadn't trusted her gut. Although things were good before the move, things had changed once they were living together. But what was she supposed to do? Move out and look like a fool for telling everyone he was The One? No. It was better for her to ignore her gut and save face than to recognize the truth and face the criticism.

So we were having a drink and I was listening to her story as a good friend should until she said, "I will never use 'ultimates' again. I am never going to say, 'Oh, he's The One'. I don't believe in that anymore. I thought he was The One and look what happened." Without hesitation I said, "Wait a minute...you just said that your gut was telling you he wasn't The One but you ignored it. Just because it didn't work out with him doesn't mean you can't use 'ultimates' in the future. It means before you use them, you need to listen to your gut."

I usually try not to be preachy like that with friends unless they ask, but I think I was saying it for my own benefit. I kind of had an "Ah, ha!" moment. Okay, imagine your relationship is a car. Now you want to stick your head out the window to tell everyone that the person driving is The One, but your gut is telling you to get out of the car. You ignore your gut and in your effort to ignore your gut, you unconsiously put your hand on the power window button by rationalizing everything that doesn't feel right in the relationship in hopes that things will change. Before you know it, the window is closing and you don't know why. He is probably messing with the controls on the driver's side. Bitch! It's everyone's fault but yours, until you take a minute to evaluate your situation and realize that you have been pushing the power window button all along. You were so good at ignoring your gut that you ended up ignoring your hand on the power window button that was raising a window of rationalizations until you began to suffocate.

Okay, maybe the analogy is a stretch. My point is this; I was raised to believe in The One. I spent my twenties and early thirties looking for The One and thought I found him. Twice. But low and behold, those relationships ended, so I stopped believing there was such a thing as The One. I mean, what are the chances of finding The One three times? But this is where my gut comes in. If I'm honest with myself, I have to admit that I knew they weren't The One way before I ever declared they were. So why did I do it? Because it was easier to lie than to be single and as a result, I kept my hand on that power window button until I felt suffocated enough that I had no choice but to listen to my gut.

The question is always, "How will I know they are The One?" and the answer is usually, "You'll just know." When I heard someone say that when I was single, I wanted to strangle them. Why couldn't there be a checklist of things to look for in The One? But now I get it. You will know when someone is The One IF you listen to your gut. Just make sure it's your gut your listening to and not your insecurities.

I don't know why my friend ignored her gut but I hope this experience doesn't keep her from sticking her head out the window some day and proclaiming that the man she's with is The One. If you can't do that, you should probably get out of the car.