I Love You, But I Love Myself More

My friends think I’m mad. Not for leaving — that, they’ve been encouraging me to do for a long time — but for having stayed with you for so long. They could see that you were smart, intelligent and charming enough in conversation. Everyone could see the superficial qualities you possessed. But for me to have given so much of myself to you over such an important chunk of my youth, that was insane. When I told them that I was finally going to cut it off, my friends jumped with joy.

You’ll ask me if I love you, and I do. You’ll give me all of these big, overdone speeches about how much I mean to you and that I am so important to you that if we happen to stop talking to each other you’d die- and that’s probably true, actually. People won’t love me the same. They will love me more wholly, more healthily, more meaningfully. Our love will become an unfortunate phase on a timeline, something that I look back on and shake my head. You will be a cautionary tale, and you know it. Even as you throw a dish and tell me that I am the one to blame, that I am the crazy one here.

The truth is that I do love you. I am consumed by you, and partially by how badly you treated me. I have grown accustomed to always being told how other girls were far better than I am, that what I do is wrong, that I should be doing this instead. It’s almost comforting to have someone there to dictate your life, like your mother laying out your school clothes the night before so you don’t have to think about it. But there is only so far I can get with that kind of love, so much I can allow it to take over my life before I realize that I am only doing myself a disservice. My parents would have never embraced you. My girlfriends would have never forgiven you. And I am not interested in torturing myself with questions relating to you and your girlfriend, whether you love her or not? I’m sure you will. And maybe you’ll manage to fool her for even longer than you did me.

Because I know that my love for you is something fundamentally unhealthy, something that chips away at my ego and saps at my self-confidence in order to grow something which we all know isn’t going to last. It is an addiction like any other, something that I am paying for with my personality and autonomy and future. The relation with you came at a high cost. I picture myself staying in this relationship for another year, another three years, the rest of my life — I hate what I see. I hate how many parts of me I allow you to take with you when you walk out of the room, how many opportunities I give up on so that you will believe I really love you.

I love me more. I love the idea of growing into someone who has her own apartment, her own career, her own future that only she dictates. I want to meet the woman I become when I free myself of shitty men like you, when I allow myself to make mistakes and do all of the things that I would never be able to do with you. You compared me with every single girl on earth because I think you are afraid of what I’ll be without you. Maybe you think I’ll realize that I could do better, or that I simply deserve better. Maybe you think I’ll look in the mirror and notice that I’m beautiful.

I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but that is already the case. Goodbye. 

Dating A Journalist?

So, you’ve been eyeing that smart, attractive journalist you’re lucky enough to know personally. You’re intrigued. Your journalist is smart, funny, confident. 

I cant can blame you. Journalism is a sexy occupation.

A word of caution- journalists aren’t like bimbos men usually pick up at the bar. Nor are they the assholes the ladies continually fall for. No, journalists are different beings, and you should realize — before jumping in — that this isn’t going to be the same old boring, mushy, hopelessly romantic, lame relationship you’re used to.

Here’s what you should know:

 1) We can figure things out. Understand,it is our job to dig deep, find the secrets and see through bullshit. We can pick up on subtleties, so what you think you are hiding from us won’t be hidden for long. So if you are lying you are insulting us and wasting our time. Sure, we’ll act surprised when you eventually tell us — but we already knew.

 We don’t take shit from anyone. We spend all day separating fact from fiction, listening to PR cronies, angry cops, interviewing fake celebrities and dealing with slimy politicians. If you make us do the same with you, you’re just going to piss us off. And don’t think we’ll be quiet about it. We’ll respond with the vengeance of an Op-Ed page railing against society’s injustices — and we’ll enjoy doing it.

 Just tell us the truth. We can handle it.

 2) At some point, you will be a topic. Either through a feature story or an opinion column, something you do or say will be a subject. Consider it a compliment, even if we’re arguing against you in print.

 Think about it: we live our lives writing about life. If you’re a part of our life, we’re going to write about you, your thoughts or a subject springing from one of the two.

 Don’t be upset when an argument against your adoration of Rahul Gandhi turns up on page A4. We’re not directing the writing at you, personally — your ignorance was just our inspiration (there, doesn’t that make you feel better?).

 3) Yes, we know we’re smarter than you. Does that sound arrogant? Absolutely — but that confidence is what attracted you to us.

 We have a strong, working knowledge of how the world works. That makes us great in conversation. We can talk about anything and everything under the sun, delve into the intricacies of laws, local and national politics, where to find the good restaurants, what’s happening with pop culture, where the good bands are playing and more.

But there are pitfalls.

Guaranteed, when you say “towards,” we will automatically say “toward” — “towards” is not a word. We’re not trying to call you dumb, it’s habit. The same will happen when you say “anxious” when you mean “eager” and when you answer “good” when someone asks how you are doing.

 We carry ourselves with a certain arrogant air. Embrace it (that’s what attracted you to us in the first place, after all). Don’t be surprised if we’re not impressed when you say, “I’m a writer, too.” No, you are not. The fact that you sit in a coffee shop wearing black while scribbling in your journal does not make you a writer. Nor does the fact that you “wrote some poems in high school” or that one day you want to pen “the great American novel.” We’re paid to write. What’s more, our writing matters. It changes opinions, affects decisions and connects people with the world around them. We’re trying to fabricate an aura of creativity. We write about the real world — with real consequences.

 Our words go through three or four cranky and stubborn editors who make us rewrite before it’s printed and distributed all over town. You don’t do that unless you’re confident, even egotistical.

 You may have some great journal entries, poems and rudimentary short stories — good for you. Just don’t assume we’ll accept that as on par with what we do (unless you’re really hot, then hell, you’re a better writer than I).

 4) You’re not less important than the job — the job is just more important than anything else. One doesn’t become a journalist to sit in an office from 9 to 5 Monday through Friday.

 We do take our work home. If news is happening, we’ll drop whatever we’re doing — even if it’s with you — to cover it. We’re always looking for stories, so yes, we’ll stop on the street to write something down, interview a passer-by or gather information for a lead.

 On that same note, don’t get upset if you call us on deadline suggesting some romantic date and we say, “I’ve got to put the paper to bed first.” That could mean hours from now, but we’ll have plenty of time to put you in bed later.

 5) You won’t be disappointed. Journalists are intense, driven, passionate folk. We carry those same attributes into our relationships, making it an extremely fun. Our lives are never boring and each day is different.

If the pitfalls are scaring you away, consider this:

The fact that we’re inquisitive means we’ll listen to you. Even if it does seem like an interview, we’re paying attention to what you have to say (see rule No. 1).

We’ll write about you or your thoughts because you’re an important part of our life and we care about you (see rule No. 2).

Our brains are a great resource. Ever go on a date with an attractive person and wind up wishing you hadn’t because everything they say is just, well, stupid? That’s not going to happen here (see rule No. 3).

 Yes, it may seem that we put the job ahead of you, but we’re passionate and hard working. You’re not with that loser whose life is going nowhere and who’s completely content being mediocre (see rule No. 4).

There you go, five things you should know before dating a journalist. Feel free to add to the list, point out where I’ve missed something or leave a comment. And yes, gentlemen, I’m single (see rule No. 5).