So, I’m writing this on a day that a reputable yet schlocky and unoriginal card-making company decided to pronounce as the day to celebrate love in a monetary way with, preferably, someone you bump parts with or on.

No I’m not thinking about love and how I don’t seem to be the master of it. I’m certainly not thinking about resorting to online dating, which, personally, seems like the most terrifying and baffling activity a person can partake in. Perhaps it’s because I have a sincere fear of appearing desperate and putting yourself out there to that extent means you take dating very seriously, which I clearly don’t. Not at this point in my life anyway. Anyhow, I recently asked a friend to take me through her online dating profile and was completely sucked in for a few hours. What I found most intriguing were the questions they ask you. They all seemed to be generic and unoriginal, which I guess reflects a large portion of the population. Regardless, I decided to see how I would answer some of them, stream of consciousness-style. So here you have it, the closest I’ll ever come to online dating.

If you decided to stay at home for the evening would you tend to:
A: watch TV
B: clean
C: talk on the phone
D: read

Okay, I’m going to answer this one honestly, ‘cause that’s kind of what I do. I’m honest. And therefore, not terribly polite. Or tactful. Or ladylike for that matter. But yes, I’m going to answer this one with a pure honest heart: All of the above. It’s not really a matter of IF I decide to stay at home, it’s more like WHEN. Which is precisely all the time. Or to be more precise, 97 per cent of the time. And that includes the time I leave my house to walk an average of three blocks to do one of the following: walk my dog, get groceries, pick up mooshoo pork. All that is within cart-wheeling distance of my actual house, so I still consider it my home. Which I never leave. I’m always there. Talking on the phone. Cleaning. Wishing I had a TV to watch. Cuddling my dog in the fetal position on the floor. Staring out the window.

I spend a lot of time at home.

*

If you were taken by your date to a party where you knew no one, how would you respond?
A: stay close to my date, letting him/her introduce me
B: find a spot at the back bar and relax alone, letting him/her work the room
C: strike out on my own, introducing myself and making friends
D: I would ask my partner if I could skip this particular event

Hmmmm. This one depends. Is my date more famous than me? If so, I’m totally okay with being a trophy date. If not, and my date is or looks like a model, the roles would be reversed. I have a thing for men who are or look like models. Preferably ones who model for  high end luxury brands like Gucci, and not herpes medication or Phoenix University.

*

When in a relationship, how much personal space do you generally find you need?
A: I don’t have a great need for “personal space.” I like lots of together time.
B: I find my time spent working is enough personal time, the rest I like to spend with my partner.
C: As long as I can get one night a week to myself, my personal space needs are met.
D: When I’m with my partner I’m completely there, but I do need considerable time for personal reflection.

You know, I’ve been called “needy” before. That’s pretty much the most commonly used adjective to describe me by anyone who’s known me intimately.  Although I mostly identify with “A”, my reality is “D”, minus the first part of the sentence, because I’m rarely there. I’m usually somewhere else. In my head.

*

What best describes your parents’ relationship towards each other:
A: married and loving
B: married but distant
C: divorced and civil
D: divorced and abusive

My parents have been married for more than 40 years. They say the secret to making it work is trust, compromise, and acceptance. So my dad accepts the fact that my mom needs her space for a good portion of the day, so she can read her 700 page book about the opium poppy cultivation in Afghanistan while my mom accepts the fact that my dad is very social and needs to be surrounded by lots of friends, particularly if these friends are young, female and Brazilian.

On a related note, though I appreciate the idea of it, I often question monogamy.

*

Your idea of adventure is:
A: whitewater rafting
B: karaoke singing
C: trying a different route to work
D: ordering a dish you’ve never tried before

Not washing my hands after riding the subway.

*

Which of the following quirks would bother you most about your partner?
A: uses poor grammar
B: tends to cling to you in social situations
C: is not familiar with current events
D: superstitious

Quirky is too cute a word. I want people who use clichés and write “your” instead of “you’re” to die. Unless they’re dyslexic. Or a model. Or a dyslexic model.

*

How do you feel about premarital sex?
A: I am completely opposed to it
B: as long as marriage is imminent, it is okay
C: in the context of a loving relationship, it is okay
D: I accept sex as a natural part of dating

It usually feels really good.

*

How would you assess your verbal intimacy skills?
A: I am extremely comfortable talking about my innermost needs and desires.
B: With the exception of a couple areas, I’m comfortable being verbally intimate.
C: I’m still learning to be verbally intimate, but my skills are improving.

D: It’s hard work for me to discuss my intimate feelings.

As in talking dirty? I’m pretty good at that. My safe word is “Bananarama”

*

How do you feel about food?
A: I consider myself a gourmand and love to dine on elaborate meals as often as possible.
B: I just eat to live, trying to be healthy and consume little.
C: I like to eat and occasionally enjoy large meals.
D: I eat three regular meals a day without much additional thought.

Sometimes, when I’m having a downer day, I’ll eat a box of Celebration cookies. The ones with the caramel in the middle. Then it usually fills me up so I don’t have to cook dinner. Which is good because all that’s in the freezer is soup my mother made me back in July, and a bag of butcher bones intended for my dog.

*

How often do you find yourself laughing?
A: I crack myself up!
B: I try to laugh all the time and get serious only when it’s needed.
C: Most of my time is spent being serious but I like an occasional good laugh.
D: I’m generally a pretty serious person.

I crack myself up! Oh wait, A.

*

Do you enjoy debating the issues of the day with your partner?
A: I hate to debate about anything.
B: Occasionally I don’t mind a friendly debate, but I don’t really enjoy it.
C: As long as we don’t get too intense, I enjoy a good discussion about general issues.
D: I find it stimulating to debate various “issues of the day” with my partner and love it.

If the issues of the day include “Why are you getting inside my head in such an unhealthy manner” then, yeah, I enjoy debating the issues of the day.

*

Which of the following indoor activities sounds like the most fun to you?
A: cooking
B: shopping
C: bowling
D: watching a video

I thought we covered this in the first question. I stay home a lot. By myself. Alone.

*

Hey fellas! How about that? I want to hear about your online dating stories. Please email me at write@eliannalev.com or leave a comment below. Because seriously…I don’t know how people do it. Convince me otherwise!

My mother recently attended the baby shower for a family friend who used to be my roommate years ago. (Hi Maya!)  The mother-to-be approached my mum to tell her she read my stuff online and was a fan but was concerned about my well-being. She said I seemed really depressed.

I asked my mother how she responded.

“Well,” she said, “I told her you are single…”

Before my mother got any further, I quickly interrupted her with a loud “ack!” because if she was single-handedly trying to morph me from an independent, hard working freelance lady who uses her writing as a form of release for her underlying depression into a Cathy comic, she sure as hell succeeded.

For those of you unfamiliar with the iconic comic (not in a good way) I’ll set it up for you: Cathy followed the life of a single working lady and was syndicated in thousands of daily papers for about 30 years. Like many things published in daily newspapers, it was sanitized, eyeball-rollingly lame, and meant to appease a broad, vanilla audience, who obviously had a terrible sense of humour. Think Marmaduke for single women.

The themes of Cathy comics were usually the same: she couldn’t resist food, she couldn’t fit into a bikini, she couldn’t tell her mom to fuck off when she kept nagging her about marriage. (Ack! was her catchphrase). My mother doesn’t do this, thank fucking goodness, but I was still surprised to hear her credit my depression to being single.

“It’s just that you always seem a lot happier when you’re in a relationship,” she said.

I guess she has a point but now that I’ve been out of a “serious” relationship for nearly a year, I’ve come to understand something very important: Being in a relationship often only suppresses the real issues going on inside. Sure, you’ve got something to raise your serotonin levels more often but that doesn’t mean your darker issues are going to go away.

And I know for certain this isn’t only me. Some examples?

*A lot of people I know in relationships regularly cheat. Whether it’s on Casual Encounters or Chatroulette or on a work trip, they secretly step out of their relationship to acquire something they can’t get – or at least can’t attempt to communicate on getting – within it. This isn’t news, right?

* A friend of mine who just ended a seven-year marriage, only to jump into another mostly sex-based relationship, convinced me he’s thrilled with the way things were working out for him. I totally believed him until he called me up last night completely shitfaced, blubbering about how he couldn’t stop listening to “I want you” by Elvis Costello, and that he was so completely obsessed with his new lady friend that he was doing all he could to refrain from calling her and telling her how much he was in love with her. It was icky.

* An older, wise woman who I occasionally talk to about my personal troubles recently told me that I’m lucky to be single. When I asked why, she said that when you’re depressed and in a relationship, not only do you have to worry about yourself but also the chance of bringing the other person down with you. Being single made things less complicated, which helps when you’re depressed.

It’s so easy to lose yourself in someone else and maybe that’s why I have not even the slightest desire to be in a relationship right now. I’m far too lost in myself. On the happy side, at least I have the (desperately strong) desire to be found again, and you know, start making my mother happy too.

Last week I met a warm-hearted, successful and handsome fellow at a concert who I immediately took a liking to. Over the course of the night, we established that we’re both hyper-communicators, super in tune with our emotions, and completely committed to the craft of writing. In other words, he was a candidate to be my new dream man.

He walked me home and we sat on my patio with my dog Dutchie snuggled in between us.  I knew by the end of the night he would express how he felt about me.

We continued to bond over things like our vices (his: women, mine: men) and the fact that we’re both neurotic Jews, in our own special way. He told me how he dates all the time and I asked him where he meets these lucky ladies.

“Everywhere. The bus stop, the grocery store,” he said. “Guys in this city don’t ask out girls so when I put myself out there like that, it’s really not hard to get a date.”

I told him about a recent trip to LA, where men do double takes at you with sincere admiration every time you leave the house. I can’t remember a time when I felt so noticed, and in turn, beautiful.  It simply doesn’t happen like that here in Vancouver.

I commended my new friend on his tactics and told him I too am the one who usually is the pursuer, though I was starting to consider taking a different approach. Usually, when I know what I want, I know how to get it. But the pursuit was starting to get exhausting and if my track record says anything, my approach rarely produces long-term results. I told him the bottom line is that I’m not scared of the possibility of love. Then I leaned in and kissed him.

It was getting late and he called a cab. I took his number. He looked at me and smiled.

“I’m really interested in you but –”

*

A year ago, I sat my close friend Sarah down with a bottle of wine and a digital recorder and told her to tell me her secret. Sarah is intoxicatingly beautiful. She is also enchanting, charming, warm, funny, smart, witty, and intriguing. In other words, for men, she is the ultimate pursuit.

I have seen it countless times when I’m out with her. Men falling all over themselves to catch her attention, even if it’s just for a quick chat. One time that stands out particularly, was when a grey-haired, pony-tailed, washed up bohemian-type man ran out from a restaurant to ask us if we were lost. I watched as Sarah politely talked to this man, who said he was a photographer and that he really liked her “unique style.” (She was wearing jeans and a t-shirt.) I stood and watched in disgust and pity at this ridiculous old yam. I wondered where on earth he had the gall. I wanted to tell him that we are all blinded by our delusions but please, let’s get real.

What equally impresses and baffles me is that Sarah will always give her time to these men, which in turn, makes them feel like they have a chance. I view her actions as being philanthropic, a way to give back to men for expressing interest and in turn, make them feel good about themselves. Because Sarah is a better person than I ever will be.

When a man who clearly doesn’t have a chance with me starts to chat me up, I quickly tell him where to go. But that’s a story for another time.

It goes without saying that Sarah doesn’t have a problem getting not only what she wants, but getting what she wants to fall deeply, deeply in love with her. She just has a way with love.

So, that night when we sat down with a bottle of wine and my digital recorder, I asked her to tell me how she does it.

“There’s no real secret or anything,” she shrugged. “I’m simply put off when a man isn’t interested in me.”

*

“I’m really interested in you but –“

I honestly can’t remember what my new friend said after that because I totally tuned it out. Had this been a year ago, I would have overanalyzed his statement, agonized about it for days, then beat myself up for not being good enough. After I’d done that, I also would have probably pursued him anyway, in an attempt to make him realize that his initial feelings were wrong and that I am amazing and that he totally wants to date me.

Instead, I went inside, locked the door and deleted his number from my phone. I felt like shit, but it was a start.

The next morning, I took Dutchie out for a walk. An older woman and her black and white Shih Tzu walked towards us. The only thing my dog cares about in this world is me, so when other dogs approach her she generally ignores them. But something different happened this time. I watched in amazement as, after sniffing the Shih Tzu’s butt, Dutchie started to bounce around with sheer excitement.  I’d never seen her like this before. She pawed at the Shih Tzu’s face, waved her butt to his nose and bounced around some more. She was completely taken. I tried to walk away but she didn’t want to leave and neither did her new boyfriend. When we finally did, the Shih Tzu ran after Dutchie. They did more pawing, bouncing, tail wagging and sniffing and finally, the Shih Tzu’s owner called her dog, Teddy, and they parted ways. Within seconds, Dutchie was back in her zone, marching ahead, in tune with her step, as if nothing had even happened. I looked down at my dog lovingly and shook my head in amazement. I truly admired her approach.

Confidential to MM: I really look forward to reading your stories on love when you finally feel inspired. For whatever it’s worth, you inspired me.

A couple of drunken nights rolling on the floor
Is just the kind of mess I’m looking for.
“I Want to See the Bright Lights Tonight” by Linda and Richard Thompson

You know that I could be in love with almost everyone
“Alone Again Or” by Love

*

Recently, I met an exceptionally attractive and intriguing fellow at a party and seduced him back to my apartment. It was all done with some thought and intention. We had an interesting night of intense power dynamics that left me feeling both thrilled and vulnerable (I’ll spare the details). I woke up the next morning smiling, wondering about this particular fellow and what his story was. I realized I hadn’t asked him one question about himself.

I spent the next week not only researching this guy (What? What do you think Google is for?), but also spiralling into a place of severe anxiety and self-doubt. What on earth were my intentions? What kind of impression did I leave? And what the fuck was I looking for from all of this? I think I knew the answer but I couldn’t quite own up to it.

A few days after the encounter, I was on the couch with my dog Dutchie, trying to figure out if I should send this stranger an email. It was the longest day of the year so I went to my patio to watch the sky. I wanted a sign. Crows were cawing at each other. I struggled to see the symbolism. Then my neighbour rolled up on her bike. I invited her up and unloaded my anxiety on her. I asked her what I should do.

“Just be yourself,” she said.

I told her that myself would send him an honest, heartfelt note that would probably weird him out. I am so bad at games. She assured me that I should follow my heart and I felt like it was the sign I was looking for, though it probably wasn’t going to produce optimal results.

I found his email online and sent him a note. I told him our night made me happy and that there was something special about him. I told him I looked forward to seeing him again.

The next morning I went to the dog park. My favourite dog park friends were there: Bret, a mopey, down on his luck but affable Seth Rogen type and Svetlana, a regal and stunning Russian lady with expensive taste and a huge, warm heart. Bret is clearly in a difficult place at the moment and his demeanour shows it, while Svetlana is one of those people who just seems so content with her life, so long as the sun is shining and there are people around to talk to.

Bret was joking about how his sister’s wedding was coming up and the rules she’d set up for him.

“I’m not allowed to hit on any of the bridesmaids,” he said. “But if they talk to me, it’s fair game.”

We laughed and he continued. “But I know how to play it. If they talk to me, I’m just going to ignore them. That’ll throw them off.”

I stopped for a second and looked at him.

“Why don’t you just be yourself?” I asked. I was sincere.

Svetlana laughed.

“You know nothing?” she said to me. “That’s not how you do it. Men are stupid. You play them.”

My heart sank. I admired Svetlana for her strong sense of self and the way people were so drawn to her as a result. I looked up to her. If this was the truth, I was going to have to change.

*

Throughout the week, I found myself asking the following questions, over and over again: How do I accept myself? Is it a long, drawn out process?

It certainly felt that way.

*

While getting ready for the Cheaper Show, I called my shaman for advice. (Yes, I have a shaman.) I was about to attend one of the biggest social gatherings of the year (for my social circle anyways) after experiencing a week of severe anxiety. I was probably going to see this guy, who I had spent a night with, found on the internet and wrote a heartfelt email to, who, in turn, had not responded. I just needed someone to tell me it was going to be okay.

My shaman told me to keep doing what I was doing. Just be myself.

“But it doesn’t seem to be working,” I said.

“Give it time,” he said. “It’s a numbers game. Keep doing what you’re doing and eventually you’ll find someone who will accept you.”

I told him I don’t have the patience for that. It felt like it would take forever.

“So long as you’re aware,” he said.

*

The Cheaper Show was crowded and the energy, infectious. I toured the room a few times and eventually saw the man of intrigue. My heart started to race and I ducked into an installation by the artist Devitt Brown. It was a small, dark room with a wall of red lasers shooting across. Two young women giggled as they swiped their hands through the lasers. I walked through it without much thought. They asked a tall man standing in the corner, who I assumed was the artist, what his art represented.

“Everything,” he replied. “What’s your greatest fear?”

“I dunno,” one giggled. “These lasers.”

“Well, it’s all a figment of your imagination,” he said and walked out of the room.

I stood there for one stunned moment and took a breath.

Then I walked back out into the crowded art show, found the man of intrigue and said hello.

Last week, I got to cross something off my bucket list. But before I get to that, let me stress that every time I hear this particular idiom, I think of that movie from a few years ago starring Jack Nicholson and Morgan Freeman. You might remember it. It was called “The Bucket List” and it was about two veteran actors who once had dignity and an impressive body of work, and the journey they took to temporarily nullify all that.

Here’s the poster. It looks like Morgan is sitting on Jack’s knee.

The film was distributed around the world in many different languages.  In Turkey, the film’s title was translated to: “Now or Never,” and in Korea it was a little more literal: “Things you Want to do Before Dying.” My personal favourite was Japan’s translation: “How to Find the Greatest Life.” The Japanese are such cheery people.

So yeah. Last week I got to experience something big that I wanted to do at least once before dying.

I’ve been compiling these kinds of lists and goals since a very young age. My first list had three points on it: 1. Learn how to tie my shoelaces the adult way (not the bunny ears way)
2. Learn how to ride a two-wheeler
3. Go on a rollercoaster.

I made that list when I was seven. It took me about five years to cross them all off.

Into my late teens and early twenties, these lists took a different turn. They started focusing on the types of guys I wanted to date or bed. It started with a musician. A successful one. It took a few months, but eventually I met, and fell in love with a musician. About two months after we started dating, he got signed to a popular indie label and went on to be quite popular.

Thinking back to what compelled me to want to date a musician, I realize now that I was more drawn to the lifestyle than to the partnership. It feels good to be with someone who’s adored by people all around the world, being interviewed for high profile magazines and TV shows, getting free shit, going to amazing parties, and generally living a life that most normal people would never get a taste of.  But I realized early on that while I was attached to this person, I didn’t have that much access to his lifestyle.

I found myself longing to live like him, though I had very few means to do so. I was starting my career as a writer working at a community paper. I wrote about things like board of education budget meetings and the annual citywide palm tree count

Meanwhile, he was going to Grammy parties and opening for No Doubt. He was so clearly living his bucket list. I was so desperately envious.

After we broke up, my list continued to focus on the type of guy I wanted to date, always based on his career. And so, I dated (in this order) an animator, an artist, a (retired) professional skateboarder, a comedian, a comedian, and a comedian. None of them have worked out.

After the last comedian, I decided to shift the focus of my lists back to goals that involved me and my life. The very first thing on that list was to fly first class.

Flying is exciting to me. It’s also incredibly uncomfortable. I desperately wanted to experience what it was like to fly in style some time before I died.

Last week, I was flown to Toronto for an assignment. My flight was first class both ways. On the way there, it was pod seating, where your chair reclines and you don’t sit next to anyone. It was really incredible. I slept comfortably for the first time on a plane. They addressed me as Ms. Lev and fed me warm cookies and ice cream. I had the option between an omelet and banana bread French toast (I choose the omelet, which tasted like upscale airplane food.) There were full-length mirrors in the bathrooms. I felt like I’d arrived. I had somehow found the way, as the Japanese would say, to have the greatest life. It felt really good.

However, my return flight was quite different. There were no pods, just seats, which were only slightly bigger than coach. I wasn’t hungry but ate my dinner and the warm cookies and ice cream they served me on principle – I wanted to take advantage of every aspect of first class.  The plane had terrible turbulence that made me vomit in the first class bathroom. I sheepishly told the stewards that I’d clogged the sink. That feeling that I’d arrived at? It didn’t take too long to disappear.

Coming off the plane, nauseous and sticky, I realized that while there might be something significant to having the dream, there’s definitely something more to living the reality.

—

I want to know what’s on your list of things you want to do before you die. Please email me at write@eliannalev.com or leave a comment below.

If any of my last columns are any indication, I think about things a lot. But lately I’ve been trying really hard to get off that. So I’m learning all I can learn about being in the moment.

It started with yoga, five years ago. I signed up at Open Door because 1. it was a block away 2. they were cheap and 3. I kept hearing about how great yoga was for your mind, body and soul ohm shanti etc. (In that order.)

I didn’t start doing yoga to learn about being in the moment but that’s inevitably what was taught. They spend a lot of time teaching you about the breath and the different ways to breath. You learn about how the breath is the one consistent thing you have, always, until you die. Until then, you can always go back to your breath.

Even though I’ve been practicing yoga for five years, my mind still races throughout my class. Sometimes I wonder if I’m trying hard enough to be present. Often, I wonder if I really want to be.

So lately, I’ve been trying harder. It started with a book on Buddhism. Then I read “The Power of Now” (which I felt was poorly written.) That was followed by many sessions with my therapist, where I would go off on tangents about countless things I’d overanalyze and she’d gently urge me to just “be there.” Be in the moment. It was and is, really, really hard to do.

But sometimes, I experience a moment that’s just too hard to ignore. I’m going to share two I had recently, both which involve the beach.

Moment number one: On May 14^th, it was my friend Katie’s late mother’s birthday. Katie wanted to go to the beach to commemorate the day. I told her I wanted to join her because she is a very dear friend to me.

My week hadn’t been running smoothly, in terms of my stability. I was overwhelmed with deadlines, completely flustered from running into someone I was once crazily in love with, and running on little sleep. My apartment was a mess, which is usually the first indication that I’m losing my mind. (A tidy house equals a tidy mind in my world.) An hour before I was suppose to head to the beach, I started cleaning. I became focused on dusting and knew I would only feel better once my apartment was spotless. I just wanted to feel sane again. When Katie called, I asked her if she really wanted me to join her. She said yes. I stopped cleaning and got ready to go to the beach. I reminded myself that the world didn’t revolve around me.

Katie bought a burrito and a can of Coke on the way over. The burrito was her dinner, the Coke was for her mom— her favourite drink.

We sat at the beach and caught up on each other’s weeks. It was sunny and warm and the beach was full of people. I told Katie what I loved about her mom (her warmth, kindness, and enormous heart) and recounted my favourite memory of her (the time she took us to see “Bad Santa,” which was embarrassingly bad. Not mom appropriate at all.)

Katie got up and walked to the water. I walked with her. She opened the Coke and took a sip. Then she said a few words to her mother and poured it out. We both started to cry.  I stepped away so Katie could be alone.  I watched as the Coke mixed with the ocean and lapped against our feet. There was something about the water that struck me at that moment. It felt like I was looking at it with new eyes.

Moment number two: Last Sunday, one of my closest friends called to ask if I’d be the witness at her wedding—the  next day. Her and her fiancé (who I had introduced to one another) were eloping to a warm, tropical place, as they didn’t want the stress of a big wedding. However, my friend had found out, somewhat last minute, that they legally needed to be married in BC before they could do so elsewhere. So a shotgun ceremony was organized at the beach. My friend didn’t want to make it a big deal, so we called it a “signing of legally binding official documents beach party.”

On Monday, we arrived at the concession stand where we told the commissioner, Moona, we’d be waiting. He got very lost so we had a smoke and a glass of wine while he made his way over. Moona was a jovial and cynical man full of hilarious stories. He was wearing socks and sandals, which was appropriate since all but one of us was wearing jeans.

We walked over to a log and Moona did his thing. In the background, a wedding party from the nearby tennis club, was taking photos on the beach. The bride was wearing a dress that looked like a meringue. I marvelled at how beautiful my bride friend looked, in her jean shorts, sweater, and Aviators.

The couple smirked and giggled their way through the official vows. I watched as they looked at each other; a little uncomfortable, but smiling and in love. Nothing was too serious. This was how it was meant to be.

In the background, the fancy wedding party was jumping off a log, holding hands, in unison, as ordered by their photographer. I secretly hoped someone would fall, face first, into the sand.

As my friends were saying their “I dos,” I was briefly distracted by sparrows who were circling swiftly above us. It reminded me of the time I was visiting a tiny town in eastern Sardinia. I was looking out the window of our hotel in the morning and watched as sparrows darted around the sky. It was one of the most peaceful moments of my life.

A dozen sparrows swirled around the sky, above my friends, who were now newly married.

For a moment, I was taken by their beauty. For a moment, I was taken somewhere else.

A good friend of mine in Johannesburg, South Africa, is going through a heartbreaking divorce. We’ve been spending a lot of time together on Skype, talking about sadness and feelings, love, and loss. Naturally, it’s got me thinking about my last major breakup, nearly six years ago, and the process I went through getting over it. I realized there were a few essential steps to be taken in order for me to move on. Here’s a breakdown:

Essential breakup ritual: Writing, writing, writing, and more writing. A lot of my best ideas come when I’m heartbroken.

Essential breakup investment: I think it’s fair to spend at least $100 for every year you spent with this person, on some really nice clothes. Something that makes you feel beautiful (or handsome.)

Essential breakup album to purchase: Shoot Out the Lights, by Richard and Linda Thompson. This album is about the heartbreaking demise of their relationship. It’s tragic and inspiring that they could create such a powerful and honest album, despite the deterioration of their marriage. (I really want to do a similar project with an ex, so if you’re reading this DPH, get in touch.)  I bought this album on Valentine’s Day and listened to it every day in my most heartbroken time.

Essential breakup advice: Take note of the small things that make you happy. Write them down every day.

I asked these questions to a bunch of my friends. Some chose not to use their names. Here are some of their answers:

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Name: Anonymous

Occupation: Actress (Note: Her publicist didn’t approve these questions.)

Essential breakup ritual: Lots of eating. Followed by lots of running and crying along the seawall to any and all Beyonce power songs.

Essential breakup investment:  A beautiful necklace. One he would never think to buy you. He never understood your style anyways.

Essential breakup album to purchase: MGMT to get some pep.  Mariah Carey #1 album for your cheesy, Bridget Jones-esque sobbing moments.

Essential breakup advice:  If someone is being a douche more often than not…don’t try to be extra nice to them. Don’t make them awesome trip montages on iMovie. Don’t surprise them with a delicious pie (their favourite) at their office.  Don’t give lots of amazing blowjobs. Leave them.  They are passive aggressive meanies and you can do better. Get your stuff and don’t look back. Wipe them off of your cyber world too.  Erase them. They don’t deserve you. You are awesome.

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Name: Anonymous

Occupation: Mother, Drifter, Lover, Globe-trotter, Enchantress

Essential breakup ritual: Fall deeply in love with someone else.

Essential breakup investment: Agent Provocateur, a bottle of red and a Brazilian wax.

Essential breakup album to purchase: Jeff Buckley Grace.

Essential breakup advice: Remain friends if you can. Don’t be angry. Find the beauty through the pain. To quote Richard and Linda Thompson, “Don’t renege on our love.” It was wonderful while it lasted. Next!

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Name: Sonja Ahlers

Occupation: (Breakup) Artist

Essential breakup ritual: Make art about the breakup. Preferably write a book about it. Pick up a musical instrument. Start writing songs about the shittiness of the relationship etc. Indulge in existential angst. Exorcism. Water therapy (hot and cold). Cry. (I cried for three months straight).

Essential breakup investment: Plane ticket.

Essential breakup album to purchase: PJ Harvey White Chalk. I think it’s more important to make your own breakup mix. FIND ALL NEW MUSIC. Do not listen to anything that reminds you of the relationship. It’s time for All New Everything.

Essential breakup advice: MOVE AWAY.

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Name: Lizzy Karp

Occupation: Writer and Communications Lady-o

Essential breakup ritual: Music. Candy. Writing letters. Reading. Friends. Long walks. Exercise. Erasing all photos off of your computer (after putting them onto a disc).

Essential breakup investment: Running shoes. Yoga mat. Black licorice.

Essential breakup album to purchase: As my heart has recently only been broken by Canadians, I’d stick to Canadian made music—Bahamas, Rose Cousins, the Acorn. But after you are done crying, the new Zeus album would be great to pick up a swollen heart and Kathleen Edwards Back to Me is perfect for singing really, really loud. When I broke up with someone and my entire music collection reminded me of them (I know I am not alone here), I dug into classical music and listened to Blondie. Both saved my life.

Essential breakup advice: Talk to your parents, aunts, uncles, grandmothers. Some of my most intimate conversations with them resulted after bad breakups, and we are closer because of that. Being so sorrowful is part of being alive.