lessons in love

I was having a discussion with a girlfriend over the weekend that had a similar theme to a part of Sister Louise’s last blog entry.

I was telling her how I sometimes feel tired and overwhelmed when I think that I have been dating for ten or more years and still haven’t found the right person. But as I was talking to her I realised that in one way I wouldn’t swap those years for anything.

You see I realised that I am who I am today because of all of those men along the way. Despite the fact that none of these relationships turned out to be what I was looking for I have learned from every single one of them. There was Tom who taught me that some things are better regretted than done. Jamie, with whom I learned to laugh at myself and did a lot of growing-up, Ben, who left me on the Isle of Wight where I learned how to hitch a lift across the Solent (via 3 boats). Tim who, by no good deed of his own, taught me that broken hearts can be survived and how to cook Thai curry. Matt made me realise that you can’t always rescue everyone. With Chris I learned to surf and that no one will love you for being anyone else but yourself. Sam taught me the importance of decent stock in cooking and that moving to another country doesn’t always save a relationship. And even my last boyfriend, who I am still angry with, taught me how to cook a mean dahl and that being with someone for the sake of it is much worse than being on your own.

So this potted history of my more important relationships (names have been changed to protect the innocent!) shows that these years have been teaching me and moulding me into a resourceful, confident, experienced girl who can now cook really quite well and is now ready to meet my ideal man. So thank to all of you boys and here’s to more learning!

Parallel Universes

So KP found the blog. Not entirely surprising I guess, as there’s been various chit chat about Sisters In The City on Facebook. I got a message at 4pm today… “Are you Sister Louise?” Heart in mouth, I denied it… and then asked him not to read any more, (to which he agreed). It seemed to be a cruel twist of fate that he should find it just as I’m starting to write something positive and just as we (KP and I) have finally, in the last couple of weeks, achieved an unaffected if somewhat distant friendship. I had always wanted to maintain a friendship. Closure had been difficult, our break-up had come out of the blue for me, it rattled me, challenged my sense of security. I gave up any hope of getting back together with him very soon after we broke up, but I needed him to need me as a friend, because I couldn’t understand the great big gaping hole between living together, cosy, coupledom… and nothing. In my head, if there was nothing, then he never really loved me. And if he never really loved me and I believed that he had, then how was I meant to believe anyone who might portend to love me in the future?

But then a few weeks ago, I stopped caring, I gave up. Since then (as always seems to happen when you stop caring) we’ve had several unaffected friendly chit-chats via messenger. Maybe he sensed the pressure lift, that it was now his choice. I don’t know. But the conversations were different, I no longer felt like prey being ripped apart by the predator. We had reached level ground.

But you see, I’ve maybe learnt a lot these last few weeks. The start of my year was dismal as I’ve mentioned before, the ‘thing’ I couldn’t mention was a disciplinary procedure at work, which seemed huge at the time but was actually systematic of a male dominated, cut throat, working environment, with no procedures for performance review and people management. When I started talking to girls at work, I found others going through the same thing, someone far more superior than me had been offered her ‘references’ for daring to suggest that the culture in our work place was ‘diseased’. This on top of burglary, towings, uncertainty about getting into a new relationship had led to me becoming anxious, jumpy and unable to cope.

And then I spoke to someone. My first love. I was with him for four years and on and off for a fifth. It didn’t work out, we were young, like a couple of lion cubs intermittently playing and fighting. We needed to grow up separately from each other and find our own pathways. And when I rang, tired and stressed and coming down off some awful tablets the doctor had given me which had made me feel ten times worse - he told me this. He said that everyone is the centre of their own Universe. That no matter how much we care about others, we are all pre-occupied with our own world. That if someone doesn’t do what you expect them to, it’s not because they don’t care necessarily, it’s just that they’re trying to deal with their own life first. He told me, because he knows me, that I’ve always been too hard on myself, that I put too much pressure on myself, that I need to start celebrating what I do right and not what I don’t. He told me he didn’t like hearing me in a state. I know I worried him. We split up six years ago and yet he still drove five hours and came to see me, hugged me, talked to me and said if I ever get in another state to ring him, not to be alone. And I guess what I’m trying to say is that people are different; some friends have more time for you than others. Some love interests will declare you’re ‘the one’ within five minutes of meeting you and then five months later, declare you’re not. Some will be in your life for years and then exit it suddenly. But every once in a lifetime, someone (lover or friend) makes your heart sing because their love for you burns to the very core of their being and, despite risking exposure to old wounds, they’ll extend their Universe just wide enough to let you in for a while… just when you really, really need to be let in.

Happy Birthday Sisters!

How could we forget our one year birthday?! It was the 14th April! So Happy Birthday to us! What a year it has been! Here's to the next year, living in the big smoke!

Pimms anyone?

London is a fantastic place to be in the sun. As sister Louise was out enjoying the sun at the boat race I was also making the most of our first taste of summer.

I first moved to London last summer and instantly fell in love with the place. Being a country girl I was not sure how I would cope with the big smoke when I first made the move. But that summer, working in Soho, I was taken with the party like atmosphere that you get at 5.30pm as you leave the office behind you. The idea that millions of people are leaving work to go to a million pubs, bars and parties never fails to make my blood quicken. I feel sure that had I moved to London in the winter the transition would have been harder.

London in the winter is a very different place. It is easy to let the stress of it all get to you when the freezing weather and rain mean you have to catch a crowded bus. The same tree lined streets that seem so grand and alluring in the summer, seem sinister and grey in the winter. You only need to look at people’s faces in this warm weather to see that everyone is so much happier.

So I was raising a glass to London this Easter weekend in a rather empty London. Everyone seems to disappear off to the country at weekends and holidays during the summer. But not me, I’ll be here whenever I can making the most of London at its very best.

Pimms anyone?

Pre-Drinking Precautions

I have deleted Chatterbox's number from my phone. I have also deleted all of his texts and his number from my call logs (as in the past I've just deleted the deserter's number and then even in dunken stupor managed to re-find it from call log and go on to commit drunken text crimes, see http://sistersinthecity.blogspot.com/search?q=dont+drink+and+text). This is a first for me. I usually keep all emails/numbers/texts for days, weeks, months, even years. But I'm feeling slightly cocky at the moment. I have forced myself to do exactly the opposite to what my natural instincts tell me to do and it's working. I feel light, free and happy. Having now taken every precaution against making a fool of myself in a drunken moment, I can look forward to going out on the town in Cheltenham with my oldest, closest friend and not worry that the hangover may bring that sinking realisation that one has made a tit of oneself with the ex-boyfriend. And if anyone is wondering why I started the story last week of meeting KP and didn't finish it, it's because I can't be bothered, it does make a good story, but it's in the past and right now, I'm all about the present!

Irreverent Information

I'm afraid this is a very irreverent post. But it seems perfect for a Friday afternoon. Sister Bridget has had me giggling at my desk. She emailed me earlier, very seriously, to say that she has a very bad cough but as if that isn't bad enough she also has an aching boob from coughing so much. So can everyone please extend get well wishes to Bridget, Her Cough and Her Aching Boob. I still can't stop chuckling!

Facebook

Hi all. We now have a group on Facebook for women in their 20s and 30s living in London (sorry Huw, would you like to be an honourary woman?) You won't be able to find it by browsing as we have made it a private group, this is just to keep unwanted comments at bay... However if you would like to join us, we would like to have you! Please email us at sistersinthecity@googlemail.com and we will send you an invite. Sisters In The City Events will be starting soon and will be publicised via Facebook as well as on this blog.
Cheers! Louise x

The Race

My housemate and I went to the Oxford and Cambridge boat race today. We walked from Parsons Green to Putney to Hammersmith, pulling on jumpers and taking them off again as the sun slid from blue sky to grey cloud and back into blue sky. There was a strange mixture of tourists, unashamed teenage rahs and arty people, all relaxing in a boozy, balmy afternoon by the river. I met a new friend, through a friend and we talked marketing, buying houses (or rather not being able to afford to buy houses) and music gigs - groups that I’ve never even heard of. I’m not very cool like that. There was a collective group decision to cheer for Cambridge. Someone’s friend had attended Cambridge and I plumped for them purely through childish revenge. My Chatterbox went to Oxford and indeed used to row for his house. But as he dumped me on Thursday, I felt it a fabulous idea to cheer for Cambridge. Which I did, wholeheartedly…and they won. A few hours and a few bottles of Pinot Grigio later, we walked back home, through Hammersmith, Putney and Parsons Green. And yes… I was making the most of the bank holiday weekend despite feeling a little sad and distracted. But I ended up having a pretty good time. You see, usually at the end of a relationship, I spend a lot of time wishing that I hadn’t said this and I hadn’t done that. And I convince myself it’s all my fault and I get myself into a horrible, sad, lonely place. But it’s such a complete waste of my time. So I decided that this time, I’ll go against all my natural instincts and do the opposite. So when he texted me this morning with an affectionate text, I ignored it. No analysis, no long thought out painful reply. Nothing. He told me it’s over, in an immensely confusing way, announcing that I was beautiful, that we really talked, that he fancied me ridiculously but that his gut instinct said I’m not the one, he then proceeded to snog me, before walking away. So I could analyse that until the cows come home. But I’m not going to. He said it’s over and I am just going to accept it’s over and walk away myself.

I live in London. It’s a stressful, tiring place. It’s taken a lot out of me recently. But it’s also immensely exciting, been coined the capital of Europe for its culture and business merits and is wonderfully diverse. I am privileged to be young with no ties and able to walk out of my front door, to watch a race that the rest of the country is watching on the television. So no matter how difficult it is to go against my over anxious, over analytical instincts, that’s what I’m going to do. Hurrah for Cambridge!!