The Art Of Algorithms

Alright, let's talk about this dating thing.

First and foremost, I completely and totally dislike the act of dating.  It's complicated, it's stressful, it's full of games and puzzles and misinterpreted texts and over-thought headaches, and I want it to die in a firey car crash.  Moving on.

I somehow see it necessary to date in order to try out a variety of different people and experiences.  How do you know what you want or what you like if you don't try a little bit of everything?  You don't just eat a piece of Swiss cheese without ever eating a piece of any other kind of cheese and think "Swiss cheese is my favorite cheese in the world" - because you couldn't possibly know that without trying all the other cheeses that are out there.  What a silly assumption, guy.  Also, while Swiss is delicious, it is not the best.  Keep that in mind next time you're at the cheese counter.

This all seems an odd conundrum to me, because I love meeting new people.  I love exploring new things, and finding new connections with people I maybe have everything in common with, and maybe have nothing in common with.  Perfect example: my roommate.  She and I could not be more different, and yet, I find her completely inspiring and intriguing (another topic all together, but you get the point).  She's incredible, and I may never have gotten to know her had I restricted myself to my little comfort bubble.  I pride myself on being able to be thrown into a situation or setting where I know no one, and walk out with at least one new acquaintance.  I grew up as a shy kid, but have since learned (and I think maybe even mastered) the art of socializing.  I have a big personality which can sometimes come off as intimidating, but I know who I am and am damn proud of it.  This confidence is supposed to come in handy, but seems to be slightly aggressive to those I end up on dates with.  What the hell, OK Cupid?  Get your computer statistical algorithms correct already and stop showing me the same 40 people.  I don't listen to top 40 radio stations, I don't want top 40 dating bros.

See, I thought that by moving to New York City (side bar: meeting a dude was in no way a motivational spark in that decision, as I moved here while dating someone), I would meet a million new, different, and exciting people.  I thought friends would just ooze out of the woodwork and I wouldn't know what to do with myself.  This?  Is a big, giant lie.  New York City is, by far, one of the toughest places to live - for a variety of reasons - one main factor being how insanely hard it is to meet people here, and I have a few theories as to why.  One, people move to the city to live this incredible life they dreamed of, and to focus on one thing: themselves.  People here can be really selfish into just themselves.  Now don't get me wrong, I get it - it's important to learn about yourself and "do you", as they say.  But at some point?  Let go of you, and move on to something else.  Like signing up for a social co-ed sport (best thing I've ever done, ps), go on a scavenger hunt, or try finding the best pizza joint in your hood.  Two, everyone here has some sort of guard up.  People are so worried about letting other people in that they tend to put up brick walls, only broken down by dynamite - and excuse me for not carrying around a match.  Three, there are over 8 million people in this city, and I always tend to run into the handful I already know.  The world is just not as big as it seems.  At this point, I'm rambling.

My point here?  I'm not sure anyone would classify "dating" as an extra curricular activity, or even an activity they enjoy spending time doing.  It's work.  It's like searching for a job while working a job.  It's time consuming, it's nauseating, it's filled with ups and downs, ins and outs, awkward goodbye hugs with the occasional fist bump (and in some instances, the "Hey, thanks for the great conversation...".  Really?), and at the end of a date (or a day filled with job searching)?  You sometimes want to kill yourself.  But you don't.  You go home, you go online, and you sift through the piles of online dating profiles that take up so much space on the internet, it would blow your mind grapes.  And you hope that one magical little profile will pop itself out of the millions (parallel: resumes) and be exactly what you want: tall, dark, handsome, and maybe even has a quality credit score and a decent one-bedroom somewhere in Manhattan.  Location is key.  Side bit of sound advice?  Date outside your zip code.

Do I wish we still lived in the world of hand written love letters, courtship, and long-distance-never-met-you-but-I-can't-live-my-life-without-you romances?  Who wouldn't.  Do I have the hopes for an organic meeting?  Absolutely.  Things tend to find you when you least expect them, and I fully intend on believing in that and the universe not screwing me over too badly.  So maybe it will magically happen.  And maybe it won't.  And maybe I'll grow a third arm.  It's a numbers game.  It's love in the time of algorithms, and it's a damn battlefield.  Somehow?  I'm still incredibly optimistic.  I'm still hoping for that magical little spark I really haven't felt since I was 19.  So as pessimistic and sardonic this post may seem?  I am oddly hopeful and not yet entirely jaded.  Somewhat jaded, but not completely.  

Coming up next: adventures in dating, the files of Hilary.  Stay tuned, loyal readers.  Every day is a new adventure here!

Grandpa

My Grandpa was a great man.  Standing tall at 6'3", he always had a smile on his face and a joke in his pocket.  Filled with sarcasm and wit, bravery and love, my Grandpa was one of the sweetest and most genuine men I have ever had the pleasure of knowing.  This past Thursday, January 17th, he had a sudden stroke and passed away - without suffering, quickly and painlessly.  He was surround by friends and my Bubbe, his adoring wife of 68 years, ending a life-long companionship.

My Grandpa always lived far away from me, so we weren't as close as we may have been otherwise - though that never stunted the love and adoration I always had for him.  I distinctly remember him taking me to Sea World down in Florida when I was a kid, and making funny voices for the dolphins as they swam by - a perfect window into his humor and sweet personality.  He was loving and warm, always fun to be around, kind and giving, and for some reason, always seemed to have an endless supply of root beer and grape soda on his outside patio.  I was terrible at keeping up with calling him, and he always gave me well-deserved grief for it.  He simply wanted to be in touch, hear my voice, and know about me, and my life.  I will always regret that I didn't call enough; That I never got to hear his voice before he passed, or that he got to hear mine.  However, I can rest easy knowing that he never suffered, and I am thankful that I will always remember him as a strong, healthy, and smiling person - because that is how he would have liked to be remembered.  If nothing else, this can remind us all that we truly only get one life, and that every moment, and every person, is special - especially those who mean the most.

I will always carry my Grandpa with me.  I will find him popping up in my sarcasm and wit, my appreciation for music, my ability to keep any rhythm, and my slightly curved nose that is, no doubt, from him.  I will hold nothing but wonderful memories and a heart full of love.  Though I may not have gotten his height, I certainly got his heart.  Thank you, Grandpa.  I will always and forever love you just as you were.

Just this past weekend, I learned the story of how they had met - a story I had never heard before.  The amount of joy it has brought to my family is just so beautiful that I had to share it with whoever would listen.  

In 1943, Al (my grandfather) was stationed at an air force base in Nebraska.  His cousin, Mary, was in New Jersey at the time, and asked her friend, Selma (my grandmother), if she would write him a simple note to keep his spirits up during the war.  A letter was written, as she felt it was the least she could do to support the war effort, and sent out to Nebraska.  Al responded, and soon after, letters were flying between them across the country - a romance had begun.  Sentiments, emotions, and pictures were exchanged, but Al could no longer contain his feelings in simple correspondence.  On a small scrap of paper, a song was composed - lyrics and notes, music and love, all from the deepest part of his heart were placed on this tiny piece of paper, forever dictating the rest of their relationship.  In July, 1944, with a fortunate two-week furlough, he is in New Jersey - with Selma there, waiting for him.  Four months later, Al and Selma were married.

When the war ended in 1946, Al was handed his discharge papers and packed up his belongings.  His uniforms and papers were packed up in a box and sent back to his family in Chicago, but the little scrap containing his song was no where to be found.  He paid it little mind, as the lyrics and melody were forever with him.  He moved to New Jersey to be with Selma, and his box of belongings soon followed.  When the two moved down to Florida, the dusty box of papers made it's way along with them, and again when they moved back to Chicago.  In December, Al decided to begin cleaning out excess clutter, and stumbled upon the box that traveled along side him for so long.  When looking through it, he discovered a small scrap of paper at the bottom - the music and lyrics to the song he wrote for Selma 68 years prior.  Shortly after, at a holiday concert where they lived, Al sang the song to Selma one last time.  You can watch the video here.  In the meantime, the lyrics are below.

"You are my dream, 

A vision out of the blue

A lovely song coming true,

A morning flower, in spring.

You are my dream

A picture here by my side,

No cloak of darkness can hide,

You're heaven sent to me.

A silhouette, 

An angel drifting down from above,

I reach to you, my guiding light, to love,

Someday we'll meet.

I'll hold you close to my heart,

Because I've known from the start

How lovely you seem,

You are my dream."

-Albert Goldman, 

What Do You See?

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

If you said two whales kissing, we're best buds forever.

They All Sort Of Start The Same

 

I was extremely fortunate to spend New Years Eve with some of my favorite people, in one of my favorite places, with one of my favorite families (aside from my own), even though the fact remains:

I very much dislike New Years.

I can't  put an exact reason to why New Years and I have a rocky relationship, but we've never really gotten along.  I believe it started when I was two (so this goes way back).  My parents threw a New Years Eve party, and had small glasses of sweet champagne on various tables.  Supposedly, I was able to get my tiny hands on one and drank it.  There is actual video of me walking down the hallway later that evening, swaying back and forth and falling down.  Two years old and drunk?  Not a good start, New Years.

In middle school and high school, I remember my mom would let me have friends come sleep over.  She would buy french onion dip and chips, ice cream and toppings for sundaes, sparkling cider, and those little popper-things that smell like burning when you shoot them off.  Those nights were always fun, but I always ended up staying up too late and ending up sick for when we went back to school.  NYE: 2, Hilary: 0.

College always proved interesting, as I would generally want to spend New Years with my boyfriend of the time.  We sort of ended up alternating which friends we would spent it with - one year mine,  the next years his - and they were always so anti-climactic.  I think that's where it all comes from - we have this build up and picturesque idea of what New Years should be like; These crazy expectations of some insane party, booze flying through the air, hot dudes serving drinks and making out with you on the bar, when in reality?  New Years is, statistically, one of the most depressing and over-hyped holidays of the year.

I swear I'm not a Debbie Downer come New Years time.  I go into it every year with an upbeat, positive disposition and attitude.  I always try to make some sort of fun plans that aren't too insane, but involve me doing something great with great people.  Yet, every year, without fail, I end up waking up the next morning totally bummed out.  Not refreshed or recharged, but exhausted and hung over, and sometimes a little sad - none of which is, to me, the right way to start a fresh, new year.

Next year, I think I'll try and get some friends together and do the midnight 5k run in Central Park.  Now that's a way to start a year - who's with me?

Since that was sort of a bummer post, I will leave you with a picture of my cat smoking a cigarette:

A Letter to 2012

Dear 2012,

What can I say that hasn't already been said?  You have dropped more knowledge on me than I knew what to do with.  You have filled me with so many ups and downs, ins and outs, overs and unders - you name it, you threw it at me.  While one might think that I should be angry with you and despise your very existence, I am here to tell you that I could not be more thankful. 

I have learned how strong I can be.  

I have learned to put myself out there, and be more fearless.  

I have had my heart broken, and learned how quickly I can repair myself.  

I have improved who I am, and how I feel.  

I have learned not to give too much of myself, period.

I have challenged myself in ways I never thought I would be able to, and come out successful. 

I have made new friendships, and rekindled old ones. 

I have learned that the people who matter the most make themselves known, just by being there for you - quality over quantity could not be more on point.  

I have learned that being a good friend can sometimes be the most important role.  

I have learned that I need to let go more often - of myself, of people, of past experiences - in order to move on and make room for new experiences, and new people.  

I have learned that a heart has no end to how much it can hold.  

I have learned that knowing what you need and needing what you want are two very different things.  

I have learned that standing up for yourself and who you are is the most empowering thing you can do for yourself.

I have learned that you can not lose yourself in any one person or any one thing - keeping yourself balanced is key.

I have realized how important fun is, and sometimes, you have to remind yourself that having it is so important.

I have realized that I deserve to be happy.  I deserve love, hope, friends, family, and all the good things in the world (and you do, too!).

I have learned that every experience is a learning experience.

And I will continue to believe that things happen for a reason - even if you can't see it at the time, even if it sucks more than anything, even if it feels like the end of the world and maybe the worst thing that could ever happen to you?  It will all work out in the end, and you will come out a stronger person on the other side.  It's amazing what happens when you least expect it, and what incredible things can come out of those you once thought might destroy you.

2013, I'm not sure what you have in store for me - but I know that no matter what it is, I will embrace it with open arms.  I will head into the new year with an adventurous spirit and positive attitude.  With so many plans in the works, it's hard not to be excited!

To all of you out there who have kept up with me here, thank you.  Thank you for staying active and reading, reaching out, and being you.  I look forward to sharing a new year full of stories, adventures, and long trains of thought that inevitably end up on this cute little site here.  Have a healthy, safe, and most importantly happy New Year!

-Hilary

It's All So Magical

“Happiness depends more on the inward disposition of mind than on outward circumstances.” - Benjamin Franklin

I spent a majority of my life wanting, yearning, dreaming of living in  
New York City.  

When I was 3 years old, I saw The Rockettes on TV performing at the Macy's Thanksgiving Day parade.  When I was 4, my mom enrolled me in my first tap class so that I could, one day, become one of those professional long-legged chorus-line kickers.  When I was 5, my parents took me to my very first Broadway show (to be fair, I saw two that year, and I can't remember which one was first - Peter Pan or The Secret Garden - either way, lucky kid, right?).  I very clearly remember that while we were standing in line to get in to the theatre, a homeless man was walking up and down the mass begging for food.  I insisted we give him money, and my father gave me a $5 bill to hand to him, which I did, with the firm grasp of my mothers hand on mine.  I don't remember what we ate for dinner, I don't remember the train ride, and I don't remember much of the shows (except the flying and the garden set and the cast of The Secret Garden saying a teary eyed "farewell since it was their closing performance).  Yet I can still picture the cool breath in the air, the lights of Time Square, and being in awe of the enormity and magnitude that was this giant place, this cement playground, this city of lights.

When I was 6, my mom took me in to the city for a special Mommy-Daughter day.  This may have been around the time she was pregnant with my brother (as I distinctly remember purchasing a pregnant Barbie Doll, where you could take a baby out of her springy-plastic belly - so strange).  We went ice skating at Rockefeller Center, had hot chocolate and soup at the Plaza, then went and played in F.A.O. Schwartz (where knocked-up Barbie was obtained), the coolest toy store at the time.  I remember riding home with my mom on the train, opening some of my new toys, and feeling really lucky to have gotten to spend an entire day with just my mom.  It was one of my favorite days of all time.

When I was 16, my Dad got remarried and moved to New York City - 97th and Broadway, to be exact.  My only thoughts at the time?  How stinkin' cool!  Now, I'd be spending every other weekend in the greatest city in the world.  Every weekend became an adventure.  My Dad and Step mom would take us to museums, parks, restaurants with foods I had never tried, street fairs, shows, and flea markets.  We spent one summer searching for all the NYC Cows (check it out: cowparade), and found most of them.  It was a massive culture shock, and one of the best things to ever happen to me.  It was also when I decided that no matter what, New York was where I needed to be.

It took me until I was 24 to get there - it took college, money, strength, support of my wonderful friends and family, a new job, and finally building up my own courage to pack my life into a U-Haul, cram 8 friends (and one mini Caraline jumping on my mattress) into a minivan, and drive the 60.3 miles to my new home in Brooklyn.  It was probably one of the toughest, greatest things I have ever done, and my life will be forever changed because of it.

("So I crammed my life in a U-Haul, to find my part of it all")

There are moments, late at night (or morning 2am-ers, in this case) that thoughts start racing.  The air is still and calm, my breath slowly releasing in the cool winters night, the bass line blasting through the wall of the apartment next door - it is now that I am able to take a step back and realize:

 I'm here.
Sometimes I simply can't believe it.

I look at my life - at what it is now, and what it was before - and I can't always understand how it came to be - how I got here.  I have grown so much, transitioned so many times, and learned so many lessons, good and bad.  I know I am a constant work in progress, and I am only now becoming the adult I had always envisioned myself being.  I am finally focused on what I am and what I want to be - what I'm capable of - versus what I should be,what I always imagined I was supposed to be, or what people expected of me.  I now understand none of that matters.  Was matters is being me, for better or for worse.  And at the end of the day, I think it's important that I remember this point:

I am really proud of myself.  

I don't say this to toot my own horn.  I don't say this to pat myself on the back, or imply that I've done something no one else has ever done.  I say this to remind myself that I have come a really long way since that scared little 17 year old girl, frightened of leaving home for college, or the teenager, scared to ever speak up for herself or fight for herself, all the way down to the 8 year old, who didn't even want to walk to school alone.  I spent years dreaming of living in what I believed to be the big, scary, magical New York City.  Now that I live here, I can assure you: it is, in fact, magical.  As far as the big and scary part?  Well sure.  That's there too.  But it's a really fun adventure.

A Time Holder

At this very moment in time, no truer words have been spoken.

Many apologies for the lack of postings - things have been a little hectic over here on my end.  Fear not, loyal followers!  Things should be returning to normal soon.  Thanks for hanging on :)