An Open Letter to the CEO of Shaadi.com

Dear Mr. Rakshit, 

Congratulations on being appointed CEO of Shaadi.com. As the saying goes, “with great power, comes great responsibility.”

 Like many of my friends, I joined Shaadi.com years ago with a bit of hesitation but a heart full of hope. Admittedly, I was reluctant initially because Bollywood always led me to believe that great love stories began in classrooms or on the Eurail to Paris. However, after being a student for nearly 20 years and traveling across dozens of countries, I conceded that perhaps my love story was not going to be written by the likes of Yash Chopra; it was going to have to be written by Anupam Mittal.

To my delight, Shaadi.com did indeed help write a new chapter in the lives of many around me. If it hadn’t been for you, Nimit and Sakshi would not have met and be the proud parents of two today. Nor would Shaefali and Ankur, born continents apart, have been married. Ditto for Shreya and Dhaval, born in India and reunited in New Jersey nearly 25 years later, thanks to Shaadi.com. While optimistic, none of these people thought love – let alone marriage – would be waiting on the other side of their screens. Countless happy endings like theirs eventually made me a believer.   

Unfortunately, I can no longer continue advocating for Shaadi.com. As part of your company’s mission statement, you claim to “understand the needs and concerns of singles all over the world through tireless research and analysis,” but I’m disappointed that Shaadi.com has failed to understand or uncover one of the most basic fundamentals of love: love has no boundaries. As you’re aware, Shaadi.com prevents users from searching for a match of the same gender, which suggests your company’s sentiments towards marriage equality.

For a site that literally translates to Marriage.com, the implicit meaning that marriage is between two individuals – irrespective of nationality, creed, religion or sexual persuasion – is sadly, completely lost on you. For a site that boasts helping 3.2 million people worldwide find their match, you’ve alienated an entire population that supports gay marriages. You have a momentous responsibility and an opportunity to impact – and write – the love stories of so many more. For a site that’s committed to helping people “meet the right person,” the least you can do is not be on the wrong side of history. 

Sincerely,
A Heterosexual in an Omni-sexual World

Dear 30

Dear Thirty,

You’re supposed to be just a number.  An even, two-digit number that just so happens to rhyme with “dirty” -- nothing more.  So why do I continue to look at you with such trepidation and disdain?  Oh right, because once upon a time when I was hanging out with your younger siblings, Twenty and Twenty-Five, I had this naive notion that by the time we met, I would have everything figured out.  At the time, I don’t think I realized what “everything” even entailed, or what needed to be “figured out.”  I just had this rose-tinted vision of the life I was supposed to be living.  I thought by the time we met, I would share tales about the way my husband looked at me on our wedding, the first moment I felt my baby kick inside, or the promotion that finally got me that proverbial corner office.  Only tall tales here my friend.  

Don’t get me wrong -- I’ve been rooting for you for years.  Just ask Twenty-Five or even Twenty-Seven.  Twenty-Five introduced me to a nice fellow that introduced me to his entire extended family at a BBQ -- on our second date!  (Lovely family, by the way.)  Surely, I would have had “everything figured out” by now had I not ended that courtship.  Looking back, I can’t recall the nuances that led to the demise of our three-month-long relationship, but I suspect the desire to be with the right person overshadowed the desire to be married.  Even Twenty-Seven was kind enough to bring along another promising prospect.  I thought, “Great, I’m back on track!”  Yet, I find myself here at the brink of a quarter-plus life crisis because Twenty-Nine has thus far been a disappointment.  My love life – much like my career – are both at a standstill.  Yes, a standstill – as in, the completely opposite direction of my internal alarm clock.  I am literally so close to you – you-monstrosity-of-a-milestone – yet so far from the life I had envisioned having with you.  At a time when I thought I would be a wife and mother of one with a white picket fence, I'm single and living in a condo.  Cue the violins.  

More than anything, what makes coming to terms with this epic failure so difficult is seeing my peers live the life I so desperately desire.  I’m reminded of it almost every time I log onto Facebook and see yet another post about some Twenty-odd year old getting engaged, hitched or knocked up.  Let’s not confuse my emotions as jealousy or envy – I am jaded though.  Through college, we live our lives in parallel with our peers; we share the same experiences (e.g., SATs, internships, tailgating, etc.).  Then we’re suddenly thrust into the "real world" and we're off to the races to secure the best job, spouse and home (preferably in that order). And yes, while I do subscribe to “in the end, the race is only with yourself” theory, perhaps it takes a higher degree of maturity to truly adopt it and internalize it.      
Of course, it doesn’t help that you -- you-dreaded-new-decade -- keep whispering not-so-sweet nothings into my Mom’s ears.  She is well aware that by the time she was this age, she had already had three kids.  Must you keep reminding her that I’m inching towards you day by day -- and, sans-husband?  Between you, my ovaries and my Mom, trust me, I get the message loud and clear: it’s time to hatch some eggs.

I know, I know -- I place undue pressure on you to give me answers to questions like, “are you really the new Twenty?” or “are you going to be kind to my skin elasticity?”  That’s only because scary thoughts have started creeping in:

• What if I'm writing the same letter this time next year to Thirty-One?  (Oh dear God, I will cry… again.  And this time, it won’t be pretty.)  Or even worse, at Thirty-Two?  We all assume change is a constant, but the status quo is just as likely a possibility.  
• What if this deep longing for someone -- and something -- to come home to everyday remains unrequited? 
• What if I'm not meant to have that trifecta of family, career and home?  Society’s subliminal pressures have convinced me this is the sum of true happiness. Society - 1, Me - 0. 
• What if it's no longer a matter of when, but rather if?

So many of us tend to grow up assuming these things are a given (as if they're the least common denominators in “being settled”), when in fact, the only certainty in life is death.

Despite the fact studies have shown marriage and kids don’t necessarily improve the quality of life for women, I still truly believe grass is greener on the other side of a white picket fence.  After all, the heart has its reasons which reason knows nothing of.  Then there are articles like this and this that challenge me to find gratitude in every single element of this world -- from the sunrise to oxygen.  Really?  I may be spiraling into existential depression but I am not crazy enough to thank the moon and the stars for brightening up the sky.  Why is everyone so eager to convince themselves that “hey, it’s not so bad”?  Granted, there are FAR bigger issues to be dealt with in countries where stories about gang rape and car bombs make recurring headlines.  But I’ve realized that in trying to pretend I’m content with my achievements thus far, the only person I’ve been fooling is myself.

Maybe I’m destined to continue filling my passport with stamps rather than filling my home with children’s toys.  Maybe the lifelong companionship I seek in a husband is meant to be found in helping refugees in Syria.  Maybe, but I doubt it.  A passport will bring me to new places but the best journeys always take me home.  Sunrises will shed light on a new day but the best wake-up call is a heartbeat next to mine.  At the end of the day, we collect memories -- not things.

Whether I’ve been hardwired to obsess over achieving this so-called American Dream, or I've developed a growing sense of acute self-awareness, I know that nothing will quite fill the void of a fulfilling career and family.  Well, except for Greece – that country may not have the solution to its debt crisis, but it can cure my quarter-plus life crisis.  Of that much, I am sure.  
       
When I was friends with your comrades Five and Six, you were just a number, hidden in the beads of an abacus.  Somewhere along the way, you morphed from being an answer to a simple calculation to a complex equation that had to be solved.  With so many unknown variables and so few knowns, you’ve proven to be the root of my indeterminate expression.  

Until we meet,
29 Going on Denial 

The Unspoken Phobia

The English language is full of idiosyncrasies -- there's no plural form for "deer", the past and future tense for "read" are the same, and there are far too many silent letters for a non-native speaker to keep track. We even have a list of over hundreds of phobias people possess, but not a single one of them addresses the most widespread fear of all: losing your parents.  Ironically enough, we have a word for children who lose their parents at a young age, but there's no parallel for it when adults do.   

My family's fears came to fruition last Sunday. 

"Baa just passed away."

Four words that had been lingering in midair for a month.  The inevitable four words we were all dreading to hear.  There they were, uttered in cold hard truth.  When I first found out she was diagnosed with Parkinson's disease, my immediate instinct was to believe it was all unreal and that everything will be alright.  But like a bad dream, thoughts haunt you.

Admittedly, I hadn't been the best grand-daughter ever since I moved to America 20 years ago.  Trips back home were even more sparse than the phone calls.  I had only a handful of memories I could vividly recall, but each time the thought of her on her death bed filled my mind, my eyes glistened as I bit back tears.  But on Sunday night, I finally let go and sobbed until my eyes ached more than my heart.

When asked why I was so disturbed by the news -- given my lack of effort in keeping touch with her over the years -- I was deeply offended.  I felt like I was being asked to justify my feelings, and articulate my unspoken love for her.  "How dare you ask me that?", I thought.  But when I asked myself that question, I was unsure myself.  Did I really need a reason to feel a massive sense of loss? No, I didn't think so either.  But my manager said something interesting to me which seemed to answer the elusive question.  

It was because of my Mom; she was the eldest of seven kids so she had naturally formed an indescribable bond with my grandmother over the past 58 years.  Seeing your own parent in such a state of vulnerability makes you subconsciously realize that with the eldest generation now gone forever, your parents are now that generation, and thus a step closer to the same inevitable path in their destiny.    

When I spoke to my Mom when the news broke, her first words to me were, "I lost my mother."  My heart sank to my feet like an anchor paralyzing me.  Hearing my Mom sound almost child-like was a stark reminder that no matter how old you get, how many kids (or grandkids) you have, you are still someone's child.  And maybe that's why no matter at what age you lose both your parents, you are still just called an orphan.

Whereabouts and Thanksgiving

Hello fellow "For the Masses & the Asses" readers... yes, I'm talking to the five remaining ones I have: you, you, you, you and you.  I guess I owe you guys an apology for being MIA for the past few months.  It's not that I've forgotten about this blog (don't even dare think such a thing) -- it's just that, well, I have quite a few excuses.  To start off:

1) I blame the dreaded four letter L word.  Yes, you know the one that affects (and infects) almost all of us at various points in our lives.  It spreads like a disease and before you know it, you're held hostage by it.  I got l-a-z-y.  Of course, that's no excuse for someone who claims to be a writer and takes pride in her blog, but today's a new (sleepless jetlagged) day, so here I am.  Ta-daaa.

2) Life happened.  To be more precise:

• I moved to the city.  Two things worth noting about that sentence:
• 1)  Yes, finally.  It only took me 27 years but better late that never, right?  It wasn't easy trying to convince my overprotective (read: loving) mother -- who, by the way, six months into my lease, is still questioning my decision -- to allow her little girl to move out.  Move out on her own that is -- had I been moving in with my nonexistant husband... well, that's a different story and a topic for another blog.      
• 2)  For those of you living outside the tri-state area, the "city" generally refers to New York City.  Also know as, quite possibly the greatest city on earth.  Granted, that opinion is somewhat biased and near-sighted considering I've only visited a handful of other major cities, but someone had the right idea when they created those I <3 NY t-shirts.   

   

• I met a guy.  Yes, all those previous blogs about fate, dating, mating and whatever else rhymes with those words suddenly came to a screeching halt.  For someone who grew up fantasizing about telling family, friends and future children a cute DDLJ-esque how-we-met story, ironically enough, our story was anything but that.  We met online.  I'll give you two guesses which site.  Quite cliched in this day and age, but as a friend once told me, "the important thing isn't how you met... it's the fact that you met."
  
  Now, this said guy, had given me plenty of "inspirations" for blogging, but I suddenly felt impersonal, sharing the ups and downs of my relationship on the same page, where not too long ago, I was pining for just that: a relationship.  Not that I particularly care to paint a pefect rosy picture for the world to see and envy, I just didn't think any good would come from it.  And let me tell you, I got 99 problems, so I don't need another one.

• My job.  This often contributes to the aforementioned laziness, because like most other people, I too have a demanding work schedule and a wretched commute that sucks me dry on most weeknights.  But despite the grueling days (and sometimes nights), I do love my job (mostly).  When I started working here 2.5 years ago, I distinctly remember being told that "there might be some opportunities for travel... maybe to Europe, but definitely not Asia."  Since then, I have traveled to London, Paris, Zurich, Singapore and Hong Kong, among other cities.  Although international business trips are becoming increasingly the norm for my cohorts (at least, judging by their Facebook statuses), I would just like to state that I am grateful for these opportunities.  Nothing quite gives me satisfaction as much as the Immigration Officer when he/she adds another stamp on my beloved passport. 

• House hunting.  Yes, I did just move into an apartment in the city, which is the very thing that led me to the realization that I could instead put my rent money towards a mortgage.  So far that so-called realization has materialized into a Trulia account, few open houses, viewings, and far too many calls/emails with Brokers.  I can see why so many people choose to continue renting -- who needs the hassle?  For those of you who have already treaded down this path will agree that buying a house is practically a second full-time job.  But unlike my primary full-time job, this one is not so fun, because it's forcing me to consider grown up questions like, "Are you pre-approved?" and "Are you willing to consider a short sale?"  If it hadn't been for TV shows like Property Virgins and House Hunters, I would be even more clueless about this whole process.  Thank you, HGTV.         

• Ever After Proposals.  That's the name of my new baby.  Baby, as in my new business venture -- not as in Ivy Blue Carter.  Official website to follow but let me take this moment to tell the five of you (or, the two, assuming the other three lost interest about four paragraphs ago) about it.  Ever After Proposals is a boutique agency offering proposal consulting and planning services, which specializes in creating personalized engagement experiences.
  
  That was the salesy bit.  Here's the real deal: I do believe that everyone has some calling in life... whether it's making people laugh, putting together a chic outfit effortlessly, or baking the best moist brownies.  My calling is somewhere between writing and watching people profess their love... or at least, so I like to think, until I discover another hidden talent. I mostly blame Hollywood and Bollywood and its abundance of chick flicks (DDLJ practically ruined me). But what's even more "aww-ing" is seeing these stories play out in the real world. I guess I just love love, and am in awe of everyday couples that find (or want to find) ways of showing and cementing their committment.

While on the topic of starting business ventures, I'd like to acknowledge a few people that have inadvertently inspired me to foray into the world of entrepreneurs.  Granted, they're probably not reading this blog, nor do I intend to email them seperately, but suffice to say that the founders of businesses like Suhaag Garden, Classtivity, DJ Scarlett88, Elite Event Management, Annotto Studio and Laly Designs have all played a small role in encouraging me to do something I love.  All of them have a few things in common:  they're young, followed their passion and took a chance.  Thank you for inspiring me and filling my newsfeed with endless updates. 

Since these aren't the Oscars and I'm not restricted to curtailing my "thank you speech" to under 1 minute, I'd also like to take this moment to thank another random person -- the only difference is, I've never met this woman.  Not sure how I stumbled upon her blog (no, it wasn't through Stumble Upon), but I'm glad I did, because something about her sheer raw natural banter, inspired me to pick up right where I had left off 11 months ago.  So here I am. 

And baby, it's good to be back.      

Moral Compass

I recently started driving my brother’s car, which has a built-in GPS, so one day -- just for the hell of it -- I decided to test it out and intentionally made multiple wrong turns to see if it would be able to put me back on track.  I was fascinated by how quickly it was able to automatically recalculate the route when I missed a turn.  More so, it even had insight into my surrounding areas, such as, if I was crossing over a body of water.  What a handy little helper, I thought.  If only we were born with a built-in GPS ourselves, so we could confidently traverse through life with a companion to point us in the right direction.

So in lieu of a GPS, we rely on other things to help guide us… things like our instinct, sixth sense, or just a “gut feeling.” But in spite of that, we sometimes mess up – either because that little voice inside of our head failed us, didn’t speak up, or was simply muffled by us. Like anyone else, I’ve made some bad choices in life – even some really you-saw-that-coming type of dumb mistakes. Last night was no exception. The scene: a swanky hotel bar. The cast: an old crush -- smart, suave, handsome, and successful. Oh, the problem, you ask? He’s now newly married. Three drinks into the night, both of our moral compasses were pointing about 10 degrees off of north. Before your minds completely get flushed down the gutter, let me pause and say: nothing happened. Ahh – the timeless proverbial phrase. How do I exactly define “nothing?” Well, that might be a blog for another day. Suffice it to say, I’m neither proud nor ashamed of the “nothing” that happened.

The night’s turn of events got me thinking about marriage and fidelity. While not all of us are subjected to recite our wedding vows in front of 25 million viewers, like our royal highnesses William and Kate, we do make a private commitment to our spouse to be forever loving, honest, and respectful. Or at least, we should. But if even Prince Charles and Princess Di can get divorced after a public grand ceremony, then we “common folks” are really no different. We’re all humans at the end of the day, brought together by the same temptations that surround us. And whether that temptress comes in the form of a pool boy, an intern (as our former President can attest), an escort, a nanny, or a colleague, it all boils down to one question: what do you do?

“Nothing,” in my case.  Why?  Aside from the obvious reasons, the fear of karma fought back any desires I had to do “something.”  I’ve met and heard about guys like him before, and quite frankly, it scares me to know that there’s no sensor or radar that’s going to warn me whether my Prince Charming may be susceptible to cheating or lying -- nor is there a GPS device that's going to put us back on track if either one of us takes a turn for the worse.  Granted, I have many preconceived notions of what marriage is like – or is supposed to be like – and I may be naïve in my thinking.  Maybe all marriages aren’t built on mutual love, trust and respect.  Maybe at some point you stop loving your spouse as much as you did the day you married them.  Maybe your vows become nothing more than mere rehearsed spoken words.  Maybe.  All we can hope for is that, no matter who ends up in the driver’s seat, we never steer away from our ultimate destination of “’till death do us part.”

Project Plus One

Lately my 3.5 year old niece has started going through the girly phase, where she rummages my room as if she were at a sample sale in NYC. She meticulously looks through my closet for hats, shoes, belts and purses, jewelry boxes for necklaces, bracelets, rings, and the dresser for head bands and makeup. Then she proceeds to put all of it on… at once. But that’s just the beginning. She then walks around the house as if the kitchen and living room were her own private runway. In a way, she almost looks like a younger, cuter, untainted (dare I say, virgin) version of Madonna from the 80’s. Well, the reason why I bring this is up is because I was looking for my chapstick, which I knew went missing after my niece’s latest fashion show. I emptied out all of the purses she stuffs with my stuff, and looked in all her hiding spots but to no avail. For a moment, I even grew frustrated and thought, “Geez, why is she in such a rush to play grown up, anyway?” And then it hit me, as it usually does in times of mild frustration: was I guilty of the same thing? Perhaps. Ok, make that definitely.

Lately I’ve begun questioning my marital status – not as to what it is (because that is abundantly clear), but as to how I can quickly change it. It wasn’t my Mom’s nagging that prompted this pursuit of a ‘plus one,’ rather, it was that subliminal group of people we refer to as our peers. In the age of Facebook when declaring your love via the ‘relationship status’ field is the epitome of all-things-official, I’m reminded with each update, photo, and newsfeed that there’s someone missing in my life. Now don’t get me wrong – I’m not saying I want to be in a relationship for the sake of “keeping up with the Jonese” (or is it the Kardashians, now?). Nor do I want it for the mere sake of wearing a diamond on my finger, ensuring plans for Valentine’s Day, or even professing my love to my nearest and dearest 493 “friends” on Facebook.

No, what I really want is to be able to come home and curl up on the couch with a book (or a remote, or a glass of wine), and share the peaks and pits of my day with “him” as we debate over pizza delivery or Chinese takeout. Now I realize that lately my blog has turned into somewhat of an extended uncut version of a personals ad, but that’s the thing about me, you see… when I become fixated on something, I tend to talk about the topic A LOT (remember Cosmopolitan?). Unlike my niece, this isn’t a phase I’m going through where today I’m “Team Married With Children” and tomorrow I’ll be rooting for “Team Living Single.”

Call it what you will – the biological clock, peer pressure, or the fear of dying an old maid with ten cats – but I’ve reached a point in my life where a committed relationship feels like natural progression rather than an item on my bucket list. I know what many of you must be thinking: “you can’t look for it because it will happen when you least expect it.” Yes, I’ve heard that and countless other clichés but like most things in life, if you want something to happen, you usually have to work at it. If you were unemployed, you wouldn’t sit idly in the hopes of a job magically landing in your lap. If you were looking for an apartment, you wouldn’t patiently wait to get evicted or a realtor to come knocking on your door. So is my situation any different? My heart has a vacancy and I’m looking for applicants (serious inquiries only).

I know one day I’ll look back and laugh at all this, but you never quite realize how silly you look until you get older. Now, if only Aunt Avani could knock some sense into Single Avani.

All I Want for Christmas...

Dear Santa,

Long time no see – hope all is well up there. To be perfectly honest, I stopped believing in you many years ago. In fact, I’m not even sure if I ever truly believed in you growing up, since Christmas at home was treated as more of a financial crisis than a cause for celebration. In any case, apologies for not writing sooner, and more so, for writing to you in a public forum. (Besides, you don’t really expect me to mail you a letter to the North Pole, do you?)

Earlier today, as I was helping my nephew write a letter to you (by the way, he wants a video game and a car), I thought why not send you a note myself as well? I’ve been a good girl – ok fine, except for that incident in Paris this year – but mostly, I’ve been good. And since I’m a bit too old for dolls and toys (well, most toys) I wanted to ask you for something I can’t find in stores. This Christmas, I want to meet a guy. Allow me to elaborate: a guy that’s strong yet vulnerable, (really) funny yet profound, knowledgeable yet blissfully ignorant, confident yet modest, modern yet traditional, cute yet oblivious, ambitious yet rational, established yet humble, outgoing yet comfortable in his solitude, and simply genuine. Oh, and someone 5’10” or above preferably. Of course, chemistry goes without saying but I’ll say it anyway so we’re perfectly clear. No chemistry is a no-go. I’m sure Mrs. Claus is nodding her head in unison right now – I mean, ultimately, who doesn’t want these qualities in their significant other?

So do me a favor, will ya? As you’re ho-ho-ho’ing your way across the sky and squeezing your way down people’s chimneys, keep an eye out for my gift. And you can skip the bow and wrapping paper – after all, all that matters is what’s on the inside.

Sincerely,
Searching in the Wrong Aisle

Homecoming

From the day I interviewed for my current company, I had made one thing clear: the job must require me to travel, preferably internationally. A year and seven days later, I crossed the Atlantic. Sure, everyone loves to travel – no surprises there. In fact, if I had a dollar for every time I read that on someone’s Facebook or dating profile, let’s just say I wouldn’t need to interview for a job. Whether people’s reason for wanting to travel is to explore new cities, try new cuisines, immerse themselves in new cultures, or simply get away from the mundane, we all share one reason in common: for the sheer experience.

“Experience” is one of those all encompassing words that says something yet means nothing at all. It’s hard to describe the joy I felt when I ate french fries for dinner at 1am after a night of drinking with coworkers that live by the liquid diet. (Those Brits mean business). You wouldn’t believe it if I told you I stole “proprietary goods” from a restaurant in Zurich because my manager dared me to (ahem, see photo). And I couldn’t begin to explain the irony of being back in Paris, roaming the very streets I traveled last year as a tourist. I can try but my words wouldn’t do justice to my feelings.

Fast forward to two weeks later, and I’m back to where my journey began: the airport. As I was waiting in the US Customs line, with my laptop bag crushing my right shoulder, and my carry-on bag the left side, I looked down and realized that it was my passport that carried the most weight of all. I started looking through all of the stamps I had amassed in my passport over the years (there aren’t too many so it was a quick browse). I stared at each one intently as if any moment, the stamps would transform into a photo montage and begin parading through the pages. But all I saw was ink on paper that validated my presence in some place at some time. Strange concept, I thought, these stamps… we get them on our birth certificate to tell the world: I have arrived. We get them on our marriage certificate to tell the world: we are legally binded. Do we really need ink to leave a mark in this world?

Just as I thought I was onto something profound, my thoughts were interrupted by one of the Customs officer prompting “Next!” After the usual round of obligatory questions, he handed me back my passport, and I suddenly noticed an unassuming sign that read, “Welcome to the United States.” It was probably the same sign I saw as an eight year old when I first moved to America, but ignored it because, 1) I didn’t understand English at the time, and 2) nothing about the airport — or “Amereeka” as I called it back then — felt welcoming. Little did I know then about the proverbial saying, “home is where the heart is,” but twelve countries and eighteen stamps later, I understand it all too well. Despite my yearning to travel, I’ve realized that sometimes the best part of going somewhere is coming home.

Forever Young

Those of you who keep tabs on me via Facebook might have recently seen that I read “Green Eggs & Ham” by Dr. Seuss to my MBA class, as part of an assignment. For those of you that don’t, well, now you know. It was for a class called “Creativity in Business Decision Making” but week after week, as I watched other students present on their respectively chosen books and articles, I wondered if we were even in the same class. While they were busy presenting intricate charts and complex theories on topics like “the neuroscience of genius,” I was sitting in front of the classroom with a Dr. Seuss hat on my head. I kid you not.

My message to the class was simple: embrace the kid in you because the seeds of creativity are planted at a young age. Do you remember the first time you were given crayons? (The correct answer is “no”). But let’s for a second, imagine what we did with them: tried to eat them, bang on anything around you with them, hid them somewhere for safekeeping, or maybe you eyed the wall with them. It wasn’t until we were given coloring books with neatly drawn designs and characters were we taught of its “proper” use. You see where I’m going with this, don’t you?

Aside from the proverbial, “draw (way) outside the lines” lesson, there are many other things we abandon as we grow up. I’ve been fortunate enough to witness my niece and nephew grow up over the past six years, and in the midst of being their aunt/babysitter/play date/chauffer, I’ve actually learned a thing or two from them.

So I present to you, an adult’s guide to being a kid again:

• The magic of these three little words: “I like you.” One evening I was helping my niece put her shoes on and she suddenly – and quite randomly – said, “I like you Fee” (Fee, being my nickname for my niece and nephew). Talk about instant gratification. One of the most endearing qualities about kids is their raw honesty. They haven’t mastered the art of diplomacy, nor do they care about hurting your feelings. Yes, there are times we’ll need to fib and sugarcoat, but don’t suppress the good stuff. A smile is the easiest thing you can give to someone. 
• Almost anyone that has had to handle an “unruly” or an upset child, knows that distraction is the key to pacification. For example, a perfectly valid response to a kid whining about wanting candy or to “play” with your iPad/iPhone/iWhatever is, “Oh, look outside – what is that??” For an instant, they put their unreasonable request on pause to gaze outside in search of that something. The same rule applies to us as adults: if you’re mending a broken heart or even just steaming over a bad day, go out and take your mind off of it.  
• Every Friday when I come home (on time), I’m greeted by my two little ones with a big “Aahhhh Fee’s home! You’re home early!” And during that moment, I forget about the meetings I had, the projects due, or even that Saturday night hot date. During that moment, I’m there, and all theirs. Learn to be present.  
• The other day, my nephew accidently kicked his beach ball outside the house and onto the street. Being fully aware that he is not allowed to cross the street on his own, he looked at the ball with trepidation and feared for its safety. What if a car ran over it? What if it kept rolling out of sight? What if another kid took it? I recognized the look on his face – it was the same “oh no!” look I had on my face last week when I realized I had an overdue paper for the aforementioned class. The level of complexity of our worries undoubtedly grows over time, but sometimes it really isn’t all that bad, so relax :-)
• No matter what, at the end of it all, kids always want to go back to their Mommy. I recently took them to a carnival and was convinced I had been elevated to cooler-than-Mommy status, but on the way back home, they insisted to be dropped off home. I guess there is something soothing about a mother’s love, but as we get older, we need it less. That doesn’t mean you should show it any less – so give her a hug, or even just a call.  
• One of the most fascinating (and sometimes, annoying) things about kids is their ability to remember the most minute detail and side conversations. They remember your promise to take them to Chuck-E-Cheese, how they broke the lamp in your room, and how you have a Blackberry Curve – not the Pearl. As we age into this era of information overload, with constant meeting reminders and newsfeeds, don’t forget the little things.

Whether as a mother, an aunt, a mentor, or a teacher, we teach kids the difference between right and wrong, the in’s and out’s, and venture to fill their world with knowledge. What we fail to see is how much there is to be learned from them as well. Go to the park, catch fireflies, and throw a tantrum, because "forever young is in your mind."

My two fave "teachers"

Laws of Attraction

A few weeks ago, I was reminded of why I hate driving: I got a ticket for a moving violation. My crime? Code 4-1444: failure to stop or yield. Apparently the crime rate in NJ has plummeted enough that cops can spare time to catch the true diving menaces to the society. All sarcasm aside, I was (still am) pretty upset about it because I really can do without points on my license, hiked insurance rates, or a trip to the courthouse. No good ever comes from it.

Then something happened the following weekend, and I realized that maybe I really am guilty of failing to stop or yield. That Saturday night, I ran into an old friend that’s newly single and comes packed with enough drama to feed NBC studios. After skipping past small talk, we caught up over drinks and acknowledged the rising palpable sexual tension between us. As often is the case, when chemistry enters the room, logic usually flies out the window. Despite his attempts, I practiced good judgment and ended the night with a platonic kiss on the cheek. Had I not, I knew no good would have came of it.

After scouring the dating scene for nearly a (gasp) decade, I’ve finally (finally) learned to stop myself from pursuing the guys carrying red flags – you know, those rooting for their home country of Douchebag. I may not be the prototype driver, but when it comes to maneuvering around my heart, no one else knows the way better than I do. Admittedly, I have been reckless with my heart in the past by giving it to the wrong guys, but I’ve already paid the fine for that.

Just when I thought I was ready to buckle up and settle down, I’ve realized that I’m not quite there yet. I thought I was done kissing frogs in the pursuit of my happily ever after, but I need to ask time to pause and slow down… for just a bit more. I’ve learned not to rush into things because obviously no good ever comes from it.