Six goals for 2016

As an interesting experiment, I’ve set six goals for 2016 and will review them again at the end of the year. Or at the end of every month. It really depends on how much content I have.

I’m not big on New Year’s resolutions. They’re proven to fail, you can set them at any other time of the year, and I often end up picking something rubbish like “go to the gym”, where the only pounds I lose are straight out of my purse.

This year, as I’m starting with a completely clean slate – no job, no boyfriend, no house – I’ve decided to do something a little different. Instead of setting resolutions, I’m setting goals.

With six goals to accomplish in 2016, I can reasonably look to achieve one per every two months. So here they are, my demons, motivators and expectations for the year ahead:

1. Get a job
   
2. Move out of your parent’s house before it’s too late. You’ve only have two more years before it gets really sad.
   
3. Lose 12 lbs (one each month, easy does it)
   
4. Explore places, including:
1. Newquay
2. Isle of Wight
3. Ireland
4. Amsterdam
5. Manchester
6. Parma
7. … Hong Kong?
   
5. Run 10k. You’ve been saying you’re going to do it for two years. Just get on with it. JUST DO IT. And eat some vegetables while you’re at it, you’re nearly 23 for God’s sake.
   
6. Date. Properly. Perhaps once a month. Maybe. Let’s not push it. A little less 2016 a little more touch me.

So that's it. Six goals, twelve months. That's nice and realistic right?

Now for the tricky part... Completing them.

It might be a new dawn, but it's what you do with it that counts

Jobless, boyfriendless and living at home with my parents. Starting from the bottom. Happy New Year to me.

No job, no partner, no bills – no problem. 2015 was both vile and wonderful in equal parts, but when asked if I would relive the year of plenty, the answer was no. No, I would not.

When 2016 loomed, I knew I had a choice. To do what I'd always done, and get what I'd always got, or mix things up a bit. Surely things couldn't get much worse.

In November 2015, after a season of dithering, I made up my mind. I began throwing out my stuff at home, handed in my four week's notice and tried to convince my mother that at nearly 23 years old, maybe it was time I gave being independent a go.

Now, fresh off a plane and blinking my squinty eyes into 2016, I've reached the point where all my plans have come to a halt. My page is blank. My slate is clean. I'm staring into the abyss and dawn is about to break.

So, before everything changes and I get a fabulous job, have a string of lovers and become beautiful overnight circa Shakira, let's review the starting point...

• Weight: more pounds than my bank account aka 138lbs.

• Hair: blonde, although rocking some seriously 80s roots, and collar length. One haircut in 2015 did wonders for length, as opposed to the "recommended for growth" 6-8 weekly cuts I had in 2014.
  
  Mental note: cutting hair makes it shorter.

• Dating life: ten months single, humbly extended my six-month dating hiatus to be indefinite. Last official date: April 2015.
  
  Things worse than going on a first date include: being eaten alive by a giant snake, the flu and war. Things better than going on a first date include, but certainly aren't limited to, getting something pierced, listening to Nickelback for 24 hours solid and a bikini wax.

• Home life: living rent-free, bill minimum and tight-lipped. What more can you expect from living with your parents? No matter how old you are, you'll have to say where you're going, when you're coming back and if you're going to be back for dinner.

• Work life: hahahahaunemployedhahaha

It'll be interesting to come back to this at the end of 2016 and see how starting from scratch turned out. It's pretty safe to say I'm starting this year with a blank sheet of paper. It's a new dawn, it's a new year, it's a new life. Hopefully...

The second time around

As the old adage goes, if you can't write your own title, borrow a lyric from Regina Spektor.

Falling in love for the second time took me completely by surprise. It was like the carpet had been pulled from under me while I watched a magician pull a rabbit from a hat. I didn't know it was coming, I didn't know it could happen, and even if someone had told me, I'd never have believed them.

I'd fallen so deeply for my first love that I'd become a believer of the old mantra: "I will never feel that way again". A total cynic, I destined myself to a life of wonderful friends, a job that paid the bills, and, if I ever found another person I wanted to spend my life with, what I would forever consider a marriage that was second best.

It's not a recommended way to think about things.

So when I felt it happening for the second time, I suffered symptoms not unfamiliar to shock.

When you experience something once, sometimes you begin to believe the only way to feel that way is to do the exact same thing. So to be in love, to feel that ecstasy, I'd have to be with that one person – right?

But then, OK, hold the phone, someone else is making me laugh like that? I miss someone else when they're not around? Someone else is hanging out with me – in tracksuit bottoms?!

The first time is always the worst, no matter what you're dealing with. Losing your virginity, getting a bikini wax, falling in and out of love. It's awkward, it's embarrassing and you're left with a soreness you just have to deal with. Luckily for us, we don't have to lose our virginity twice, we can decide to shave, and, when it comes to love, it might actually get easier.

The second time is strange because you're awash with the knowledge that there is more than one person who can satisfy, relate to, and change you on a level you never expected. And, if there's more than one, maybe there are hundreds. Perhaps it's not a puddle, but a sea after all.

So coming to terms with falling in love again is easy. It's a delightful relief. While coming to terms with the knowledge that someone else could break your heart all over again – that's the challenge.

Soul m8s

Love at first sight? No way. Laughs at first conversation? Just maybe.

Getting older I've learned not to force things. I was a heavy handed child, pulled down a lot of curtain rails, wardrobe rails – I wasn't allowed too near glass. I like to push things to see if they fit. Which, once you're dating, can not only be physically painful, but an emotional waste of time

But it's not only dating, it's friendships too. Sometimes it can be a near enough instant click, a few conversations, a few laughs, a risky joke or two to test their limits – and if they pass? They're in. Solid friendship. Easy peasy.

Other times it takes a little longer, and although you're not a perfect fit, your experiences and mutual respect evolves into an almost family-like love. You could have dropped them if you were really strict about the instant click, but that click is so rare, you might be left with very few friends to choose from.

And then there's the life's-too-short (and so are you) category. When it comes to dating, some of us do require the promise of a little length, whether it's in the duration of the relationship, or the prospective partner's height. You need to be attracted to some aspects of a person to make a relationship work, and sometimes they just don't tick enough boxes.

But it's those instant clicks I'm interested in. I've always been someone to take a long time to bond to people. It's not that I don't trust people, I just don't like opening up to every Tom, Dick and Harry. Hard to get has always been my favourite game. After Words With Friends.

It's happened a few times where I've met people who I've thought "I think this is what they mean by soulmates". Charlotte asks in SATC that they can all be each other's soul mates, and guys are just people to have fun with. But some people are like songs that you hear once and think "oh my god" and you listen to over and over again for years – sugar we're going to be BFFS.

I can think of two people who have become soul mates. One lives further away than my mind finds tangible, and one I've spent less than 12 hours with in my whole life. And yet, I want to talk to them every day, would live with them given half the chance, and miss them with a passion I can't explain.

For me, soul mates are a different kind of friendship. It's someone whom you feel bound to, no matter their location, age, race, gender, fashion sense. They can see you at your emotional and physical worst, and it doesn't matter. Jogging bottoms and toilet roll or tears and travelling; with the right amount of nurturing or WhatsApping an instant click is a click for life.

The engaged-guy always sticks twice

Did I skip the Aidan phase and go straight to the Berger phase? What is this? When did I trade emotionally unavailable for legally unavailable?!

After a big love, a first love, there is a chance that you'll have the "I will never care about another human being" thought. This will go on for an undefined period of time. It will suck.

But, when you least expect it, you'll meet someone at an event you were practically dragged to, he will add you on a social media channel of his choosing, and begin to message you.

You will fall instantly in lust with someone who truly excites you, and who you only met for five minutes. How refreshing it feels to be excited about someone new. Someone who is nice. Non-threatening. No hard sell, no 'hey baby', no tinderella.

I told my friend she'd introduced me to someone and, believe it or not, he'd passed the popcorn test – sweet or salted? – and we might be married by the time she got home. She laughed and replied, "Darling, are you joking? You know he's engaged right?"

When Carrie says it's like a bomb going off, she wasn't kidding. Trying to guard from the shrapnel is pointless because, by the time you've realised it's a bomb, you know you're going to get hurt.

Engaged. Yes. I am old enough to be interested in people who have bought very expensive pieces of jewellery with the subtext that they are off the market forever. He quickly cleared up that it was a very recent break-up – so recent not even all of his friends knew yet.

Next loop in this roller-coaster: the recent divorcee. This should have been the point where I raised my similar situation. But a quick bit of internet stalking research reveals your four months does not quite match his two weeks.

I was a rebound chat?! Ugh. I mourned the crush which would never be truly realised, and I felt awful for the girl I would never know. The woman who went from fiancé to singleton. Women in heartbreak are emotionally and cosmically attached. They belong in a field, wearing hemp, holding hands, chanting methodically to Florence and the Machine.

But this is all beside the point. Because once the marriage-air had cleared, we were back to being funny, flirty, and strictly friends.

Circa Carrie, I went to sleep safe in the knowledge that my crush could marinate until my dating hiatus was up – and maybe the ring was returned.

And circa Carrie, I woke up to a shock message. Although Carrie's post-it had more words. Nothing says "I'm sorry, I can't" more clearly than all removal and blocking from social media.

My roller-coaster came to a very unexpected halt. But, like the post-it note, it was definitive. The crush crashed. And it was probably the best outcome. Who needs to get messed up in a marriage anyway?

The good news is, I seem to have my dating appetite back. The bad news is, you've got to get through a few Bergers before you get Big.

Mobile daters

Banksy shows that going on a Tinder date isn't ever as fun as just swiping.

Digital dating: more trips and traps to fall into than ever before. And meaning that there's more to analyse. Which is difficult for a literature graduate. I analysed a glove for 10,000 words.

So when Carrie gets a message from Big on her answering machine, Miranda comes over and they analyse it together. Oh what a simple time it was. Nowadays you can forget the confusing voicemails, and trade them for contextless emojis, passive-aggressive or cryptic tweets, "last seen at" bizarre hours, and Snapchat politics - to name a few.

When it comes to dating and technology, there are all these new things we can do and worry about. It also means it can speed up the process to finding out whether they're worth precious data, or are just a wi-fi hookup.

The pre-date stalk

It does give us the option to find out a bit more about each other before the date though. Nothing comforts me more than taking the shock factor out of a blind date. However, this can backfire. My last date told me that he knew which university halls I lived I because he'd seen my old cover photos. Online stalking is accepted. Talking about online stalking is not.

Ignored: on several different platforms

Then there's the problem of actually talking online. Great for an initial ego-boost. Bad when you know they've been online and ignored you. Whether it's iMessage, WhatsApp, Facebook or something more 'specalised', the go-to way to break something off is a kind of brutality you shouldn't waste any time analysing.

Tinder terror

The ultimate taster buffet of local men. Swipe at your peril. And don't forget the danger of running into your ex on there. Big moral dilemma: swipe right and stroll back into the lions den, swipe left and pretend it never happened or (secret option number three) cry a river to throw your phone into. Thumbs up emoji.

Then come the actual horror stories. Get this, when you're ready to get engaged, and receive a phone call to tell you that your boyfriend has been "spotted" on Tinder. Active one girlfriend ago.

What's next? LinkedIn for dating? Connect with a guy your friend has friendzoned, endorse previous dates for the ability to text back within an hour, or even write a recommendation for your ex "great in bed, but far too liberal with that skill".

Maybe it would be easier to just replay a voicemail until the machine's lost its voice. But the truth is, I like being the ignorer, I'm all about swiping, and emojis are my favourite mode of communication. And it's not that social media makes your date more of a douchbag, it just means you can find out a lot sooner.

Image credit: http://bit.ly/1CFALF2

Love's not a competition(?)

So you're doing better in your love life than your ex. Want a medal?

Why is it that when relationships break down, everything between you both is suddenly a race? It's all who can get over who first, who can get a date first, who can get laid first, ultimately, who can reach their happily ever after first.

It's like a game of anything you can do I can do better. Or anyone. Or any where.

The annoying thing is that none of the, now competitive, points were ever anything to worry about when you were together. Going on a holiday without the other? Not a problem. More friends than the other? Who cares. Better job? So what.

When you're a couple none of this stuff matters because you're competing together. You're in the 'couples only' three-legged race - singles on the bench. These hurdles include: moving in together, marriage, babies. It's a long race. And not many finish it.

At least in the singles race the only way you can go is forward. The challenges are still brutal though: who looks better post-breakup? who had the best holiday? Instagrams with the most likes win.

And the worst thing that can happen in the singles olympics is watching an ex-partner defect to the three-legged competition.

All this is happily fostered in the breeding ground of hate that is social media bragging. If it wasn't for Facebook/Snapchat/Instagram, would we even know anything about the other's life? Would we care half as much? Can you honestly say you've not scrolled through a home-feed with just a little bit of terror that you might come across a humble-brag announcing something you were not emotionally prepared to see?

As a perpetual loser in this competition I have to ask, does it really feel that good to be 'winning'? Even if you are ahead in the race, or - worse - if you've upgraded to the three-legger, does it mean you're at peace with everything? Bear in mind - you are still running.

Personally, I'm all for dropping out of the race entirely. I'm not a very good runner anyway, and if I need to keep fit, I've got emotional baggage to lift.

Anyway, here are some of Hayley Williams' dulcet tones. Kaiser Chiefs, you know the struggle.

No man's land, or, 2015.

Six months into 2015 and, so far, four breakups. Rest in peace relationships.

In school there was a new breakup every other day, but now our dating lives have reached the chronological point that they're loaded with life changing promises. Moving across the country? Marriage and babies? Putting petrol in the car? So when people break up, it's not just a boyfriend that's gone - it's your whole future.

This isn't just a quick cry in the girls loos, this a trip to the medical tent in an all out war-zone. 2015 is a minefield and we're walking through it terrified about who's going to get blown to pieces next. First a friend, then yourself, then a family member. Boom, boom, boom.

Now I know why it's called no man's land.

The worst thing is. I'm actually trying to guess which one it'll be next. I don't want to put money on it but I do have a few ideas...

Then again, is it this year? Or is it me?

Do I put out a worldwide alert? "Red warning: don't come into contact with me if you like your relationship". I feel like I need to warn all of my happily coupled friends, like this is contagious - look out kids, it could be you next!

Or is it the curse of the 'twentysomething'? Is the early twenties the time that we all cut our losses and run? Big decision time: are you in or out? It's like Dragon's Den, the money's dried up, we're turning down your investment - everyone's out.

The silver linings to this shitstorm year of a cloud: more single girls to cry with, to drink wine with, to pick you up from strangers homes at stranger hours of night, and to comfort eat McDonalds with.

So maybe 2015 isn't the year of the breakup, but the year war veterans unite, chuck down a few beers and appreciate that we survived.

"I just believe in parties.” ― Samantha Jones

Watching a couple dance my friend looked on with total belief in true love, and jealousy in his eyes, I comfortingly expressed my heretic belief: "They'll probably break up."

It's safe to say my belief in things has hit a new low. I believed I could get a first in my English Literature degree, I believed I would be the last sibling to get married and have kids, and I believed that my TV would hold out just a few more years.

Apparently, belief doesn't mean it'll happen.

But I haven't stopped believing in some stuff. In this case, HBO. I'm currently rewatching the entire Sex and the City TV series.

Why? Because I need to press a reset button on my dating life. I pulled out of dating after I realised that I didn't believe in it any more. After a bad break up and some trial dates, I decided I was out.

I didn't like it the first time round, but now I've got "relationship experience" under my belt it's supposed to be easier? Sure, it should be. But you know, once bitten, twice as reluctant to throw yourself to the lions.

So I thought, I could take Carrie's latter option, or find a way to restore my beliefs. Perhaps I would be born again if I worked my way through every possible scenario. I thought, if Carrie, Samantha, Charlotte and Miranda can all go through it first - and survive - then I should be fine. Right?

Now, after significant research, we can deduce dating status into SATC phases. And, according to Charlotte, I'm in the beginning of Season 2 phase.

"It takes half the total time you went out with someone to get over them" - Season 2, Episode 1.

This is nice to know, but if can blitz a series in a week, can these next three months also hurry up? After the post-Big phase, is the slutty Carrie phase (we can skip that) because then comes the Season 3 phase: the Aidan phase. Hail Mary.

So I might not believe that I'll pay off my student loan some day, or that love lasts forever, or that TVs are for life, but I do believe in Carrie Bradshaw. And that there'll be a hot furniture designer waiting for me next season...