First Love, Last Love, Self Love...

I'm pretty sure the first time I found that in a fortune cookie all I could think about was masturbation. Which is unfortunate, because like so many truisms and life lessons, this is really one you need to learn the first time around. And while I guess I'm a bit of a protege, a precocious genius in many ways, in others I'm a late bloomer and something of a retard. I used to think that my special olympics was restricted to the love event, but I've recently realized that it extends far beyond that, and in spite of or because of my lack of luck in love, I've neglected something else, something far more important: me. When I had the idea to start this blog I was at rock bottom; the most recent love of my life, my longest, deepest, most valuable relationship ended and all I could think about was "goddamn it to hell, I really thought this was IT! I NEEDED it to be it! I can't do this anymore!! I'm tired!! WHERE IS HE???" But I've realized something much worse is wrong with my life than I can't find Mr. Right: I don't know who I am or what I really want out of a career. I spent a lifetime of misery in medicine and I just don't know where to go from there. I've read every career book known to man or woman, from What Color is Your Parachute, to How to Fly Without a Parachute, to I Could Do Anything if I Only Knew What it Was (that's a real book), to I Know What Color Your Parachute is But I'm Not Going to Tell You (ok, that's not a real book). I stood dumbfounded, at the expansive wall of Self Help at Barnes and Noble yesterday, paralyzed with fear, thinking: There are so many books. There is so much wrong with me. Where do I start? Is there even any point? It's too late anyway! I'll just be a psycho old New York lady with cats (I hate cats, there will be no cats).
So, I've got a shrink, and at one point last week I had a life coach AND a career coach. I know. I've never been one to do things halfway. I ditched the life coach and spent the last week doing my "homework" - exercise after exercise listing my strengths, my talents, my likes, dislikes. SIGH. I still don't have any answers other than absolute, rock solid confirmation that medicine was just about the worst career choice for me. Ever. So, sans answers, seeking inspiration, I drifted to the creative non-fiction section and grabbed Julie & Julia - I had never heard of the book nor the project, but am dying to see the film. So far, the book more than delivers; it's witty, humble, and, yes, inspiring. I do take comfort in the "my life is spiraling the drain, now what? Time for something heroic" antics of Eat. Pray. Love and the like, and I do think that my life could be one of those stories. A cautionary tale to little girls playing doctor everywhere. Until then, I'll have to keep seeking my fortune, put love on the back burner and focus on what the cookie's been trying to tell me...

Now, Meet Jonathan...

That's a tough act to follow...but then again, that's always been Jonathan's MO. We met when he was a 17-year-old, scrawny, knock-kneed teenager, but even then he had a big, big heart, that was always prominently displayed on his sleeve. But more than that, he had an earnestness, and a sense of determination in his reedy tenor and soft gray eyes. He was always bound for bigger and better things, so went off to journalism school, followed swiftly by law school, and Big Firm after Big Firm a la Michael Creighton. He always seemed to know exactly what he wanted and exactly what he needed to do to get it. Which was my approach to life as well: I wanted to go to Harvard (I did). I wanted to become a doctor (I did). Academically speaking, I met with triumph after triumph, but on the personal front always seemed destined for failure. In fact, I was so convinced at age 16 that I was "all washed up" and would never find love, never marry, and hence never get to walk down that aisle, that I actually wore a big, white, lace-trimmed ballgown to my prom. I would wear the white dress if it killed me. So, now, in my mid-thirties, as I watch friend after friend marry, have children, and find happiness (ok, some of them are miserable and now divorced, but still; they once were happy, and at least had a family, if only for a while) I can't help but wonder where I took a wrong turn and got off that road that everyone else seems to be on. J was one of them. Married, 2.5 kids, white picket fence, success, stability, a house, a minivan, the whole nine yards. And somehow he bounded back into my life post-domestic fast-track, while I was mid-professional meltdown. I had just abandoned my medical career, was unemployed, dating one more guy in a long, long, long line of WMITIWMs (Wrong Man I Thought I Would Marry; I know, I know, but she said she'd never get married, that little teenage liar! I thought that then, but I'm more hopeful now; Hopelessly hopeful). And somewhere along the way, while J honed his career and legal acumen to razor sharpness, became a loving husband and no doubt a stellar father (iPhone display of his beaming little girl is a testament to that), he gained weight. Not just a few pounds of pudge some men put on as they hit 30; a LOT of weight. So much so that I almost didn't recognize him when we first met, after all those long years. I recognized the voice, the dry wit that sneaks up at you because he's such a mensch! and the eyes, of course, but wow, had he gained weight. And who am I to say how people should treat themselves? After all, I abuse myself on a daily basis, dating WM (wrong man) after WM, getting my heart battered into almost certain cardiac arrest. But while I do know there is a real medical condition known as Broken Heart Syndrome that can actually be fatal, good ol' cardiac risk factors like obesity, hypertension, hyperlipidemia and diabetes kill more people every single day. And I worry about my friend I love so much. Hence, the pact. The blog was born. He dared me to change my life, and I dared him to change his. And being overachieving emotional daredevils, we can't pass up a good offer. So, can the man who took me to Le Bernardin when WM#234758 broke my heart last month go on a low-carb diet? Can the woman who drowned her tears by choking back one or two bites of chocolate ganache and foie gras regain her appetite for life? Join us and find out...