Sex And The City Binges, Dating Apps, & Eviction Notices

Welcome newcomers, vets and everyone in between.

I know what you’re thinking; and you’re right. Beneath all of the psychospiritual this and karmic that, I am completely neurotic. And guess what else? I learned that term from ‘Sex And The City’; a new/old series that I’ve been binging like crazy amidst a series of crises induced by my own impulsivity and desire for instant gratification. I’m no better than the average Instagram junkie.

One of many reasons that I was inspired to start this column is because I think I’m finally coming around to accept that people enjoy my perspective (even if they completely disagree with it), the way I process the world around me and my bizarre life shifts that somehow, never completely ruin me. And despite being publicly humiliated, slandered and having my life being put under a magnifying glass by complete strangers, I can’t seem to escape this fatal attraction that people have to me no matter how much I try to delete it, repackage it or rename it; so this is me embracing it.

Before all of this online stuff, I was merely a writer; a phenomenal one at that. And after years prostituting my most sacred gift for sales, I’ve decided to reel it back in and get back to the basics and the core of who I am.

As you continue to read, sentence by sentence, you will begin to feel silly for putting me on any sort of mystical pedestal if you ever did because I’m still a raggedy human. The moment that I decided to strip my Instagram, throw my 6 year old business model away with no back up plan and write everyone with a social media account off as weird, my life fell apart. But at least I could breathe again.

But I obviously forgot where I was and what I had agreed to. I was enjoying spending quality time with my child (+ step children), my partner and leading my day with my whimsical desires so much that I hadn’t realized that the world was not going to stop because I needed a break or had changed my mind. And after being a mere 3 days late for rent, I had an eviction notice on my door. What a buzz killer.

As someone who had never missed rent, it was extremely inhumane and insulting to be receiving an eviction notice with no leniency whatsoever. I began to time travel back to the day that I decided to throw my life away, sell all of my things and move to Costa Rica with $80 in my pocket. Was it time to do that again? Could I just jump up and run away like I always have? The only thing was, my son wasn’t a baby anymore; he had full awareness of his life, his step-siblings and his own singularity. And if I ripped him away from the life he had grown accustomed to, I feared he’d never forgive me and I will have proved his father right: that I’m actually the unstable parent.

I began to spiral, per usual. I had to take out a few loans; and as my debts piled over my head, in the pits of my own impulse induced darkness, I searched for someone else to blame. Maybe it was my partner. Maybe it was social media. Maybe it was this condescending landlord I had. Maybe it was this snooty neighborhood full of wealthy folk that I was once proud to be apart of. Maybe it was the United States of America as a whole. Maybe we were onto something with the back to nature movement and our conspiracies about the government. But then, the reality around my lack of practicality set in…another buzz kill.

I realized that my neurotic tendencies had evolved with my age; and at 31, I finally was able to accept that it was not acceptable to blame everything/everyone and run. I had to sit in my shit and stew. I was not on another level with everyone beneath me. My partner’s habits weren’t stopping me from greatness. I didn’t have bad luck when it came to acquiring land or anything else sovereignty related, I just wasn’t willing to learn anything that took more than a week to master and apply. Reality was, despite how brilliant, articulate, creative and authentic I am, I have a real issue with being able to see things through from start to finish and sticking to my commitments. And if I couldn’t impulsively sever my commitment, I threw a fit like a spoiled brat…how dare any of you force me to be impeccable with my word!? I always felt like having the freedom to change my mind was liberating; but at this age, it was seeming more trashy than it did back when I was 24 with no kids.

While I was in the throws of self-pity, I decided that I was going to start exploring dating apps. And to my surprise, whatever transformations I’d undergone in the last few months must have been paying off. I attracted men with money, great networks, that were attractive and funny even. But as I laid next to my partner questioning if our relationship would get better once we got out of this hellish arrangement with our soulless landlord, I also discovered something else: men, no matter how poised, successful or tasteful in their approach, are still governed by their desire for sex.

Now this isn’t my inner-dyke speaking, nor am I a feminist; but when dating a woman, I feel that there is more sensuality, devotion, commitment and unconditional love. There is more loyalty that I can trust and rely on that isn’t fleeting the moment I choose to no longer be at the mercy of her desires and lifestyles of choice. And while the art of unconditional love is still a very new phenomena for me, I was certainly warming up to home cooked meals, cuddling, sensual body rubs and the laughter of children in the background. And despite occasional dick cravings, I had everything that most people wanted and craved; even if it wasn’t packaged the way most people, including myself, would expect.

But I found myself in a pickle when it came to my lover. Was I blaming her for not choosing myself and having poor boundaries? Was I blaming her for the consequences of being impulsive? Was I blaming her because I couldn’t see anything through? Was I blaming her because neither of us were rich for simply existing? Was I blaming her because she couldn’t fix the money problems that stem from my poor budgeting habits? How shallow of me to put that all on her. And she’s played the shit out of her role in our dynamic; better than all of the man children I’ve let fuck my lights out over the years. But what really frightened me was this: I couldn’t tell if I was settling or not because deep down, maybe I was just as delusional and unrealistic as the traditional women in my family that I loathed. I wanted all of this acceptance for who I was, but the moment the shoe was on the other foot, everything she did became a non-negotiable. Maybe I was being led by more unnatural influences than I could consciously account for and my conscious beliefs didn’t stand a chance in the face of adversity.

I had to take accountability for my actions without shaming who I know myself to be. I tend to bite off way more than I can chew, I require lots of space to revel in my singularity, I’m easily influenced by whomever I share space with and restriction makes me feel like hostage; even if it’s temporary. And let’s not forget to mention, I had lost what I always believed were my super powers: the ability to hustle and make money fast, the ability to pick up and leave someone when I was no longer satisfied with them, the ability to think of a goal and attain it almost instantly…what happened to that? Had I lost my luster?

But with deeper introspection, I realize a few harsh truths: I was growing up, I now had to consider more people than just myself and some of my failures had really took a hit at my confidence. I started to wonder, is my run over?

Amidst these thoughts, I binged ‘Sex And The City’ to revive my passion and receptivity for the humanity of making mistakes, vulnerability and overall imperfection. And then I realized, where is my group of gal friends? That’s probably what’s wrong with me!

Of course I had a few friends, but they were all spread across the U.S. and some of them, I had written off as mediocre the moment their decisions didn’t align with my own ethics and requirements for being apart of my inner-circle. However, I did have one friend who I was getting incredibly close to and I adore our bond. We checked in multiple times a day, were were both neurotic, freaky, manic creatives, absurd and loved to explore the depths of pleasure. This friendship had become the anecdote to my social isolation. And as I watched Carrie, Miranda, Samantha and Charlotte toast on my TV screen, I wished upon a star that we could find others like us to meet up with, drink with, vent to, make money with and go on fun dates alongside of in real life.

Maybe motherhood, social media, companionship and money weren’t my problems after all. Maybe it was my well concealed self-sabotage disguised as honoring myself. Maybe it was my harsh judgement and shallow outlook on humans as if I were exempt. Maybe it was the drug addict/drug dealer mentality that I genetically inherited from my father; moving fast before you could ever get nestled into a place because you don’t want your karma to catch up with you. Maybe despite my potential, I knew nothing about success, love, loyalty and wasn’t as decent of an individual as I thought. Maybe I was never a woman of principle either.

And maybe, despite the delusional liberation speech I’d been giving myself since I was 23 or so, I was actually in the middle of chasing away every good thing that has ever happened to me at the first sign of inconvenience because deep down, I didn’t feel like I deserved any of it. I didn’t feel that I deserved shit tons of money, expensive dates from wealthy men, a committed, sexy lover or a big happy family who loved me for who I am. Maybe my heart was a little black and it was sucking the life out of anybody that came my way; unhealthily intrigued by the magick I seemed to generate via my otherwise isolated, self-righteous lifestyle. Maybe these dysfunctional ways of mine were coming to a head and I was being forced to sink or swim:

SWIM: Take accountability for being someone who conceals their emotional masochism and self-sabotage very well and release the story I’ve subconsciously been telling myself; which is that that sticking around when things don’t go my way is a mistake and a detriment to my freedom. Because the reality is, I’ve always wanted family, a passionate partner who loves me unconditionally and the freedom to explore men without the daunting fear of having to trust them with any facet of my life or at the expense of my own body. And maybe all of the trauma I’ve internalized keeps this old, outdated story on repeat so that it can continue to reinforce it’s validity; even if there isn’t matching evidence in my immediate reality. If I sink, I will affirm that that’s my story…and it’s not.

SINK: Commit to the idea that love and loyalty is a trap, having to rely on others equates struggle and when someone isn’t growing, operating or functioning in a way that matches my idea of what it takes to be successful, they’re mediocre. I can repeat my pattern of throwing everything away, moving to another area and starting over in hopes that my dream of only being surrounded by “higher caliber individuals” will be waiting for me in some hidden land of opportunity that won’t require me to change. But by now, I should know better; and that story will only leave me in more struggle, isolation, desperation and dissociation because I’m moving from a pain-point, not the sacred density of my own humanity.

Original Publishing Date: June 6th, 2024