Welcome to We're A Lot

Embracing the "alot-ness" of it all – feminism, midlife, parenting, aging, mental health, pop culture, and everything in between

While walking across the Manhattan Bridge on a summer morning five years ago, on the way from my apartment in Brooklyn to my job in Soho, I ran into an ex-boyfriend whom I hadn’t seen in about 10 years. We’d had a brief yet intense relationship in my very early 30s, which ended when I summarily dumped him. He’d since moved on, gotten married, had a couple of kids and moved to a different state altogether. We had not kept in touch. He was apparently in town for a few days for his work. 

So when I ran into him on the bridge, it was a surprise, to say the least. To his credit, he was the one who recognized me. At the time, I was absorbed in a book I was listening to and nursing some deep wounds after a heartrending breakup just a few weeks prior. I barely heard him shout my name. “Nikki? Nikki Summer? Nikki!”

We chatted on the bridge for a few awkward minutes and then each went on with our day. But I was shook. Dizzy almost. It was wild to see him so out of the blue, but more than that, it brought me back to the heady days of being in NYC in my late 20s and early 30s. At 42 (then, now I am 47), it felt both a lifetime ago and also just like yesterday. Was I still the same person? Did I seem to be the same person to him? In the roughly 10 years since I’d seen him, I’d changed careers, gotten married, had a son, gotten divorced, grown up (I guess?). 

He emailed me later that day to say a less awkward “hi,” and after exchanging a few emails, we decided to meet for a drink the next time he was in town, which would be soon.

So, a few weeks later, with my glass of pinot noir and his vodka and soda, we caught up, in that somewhat uncomfortable, somewhat familiar way two people do who once knew each other intimately and passionately but were now effectively strangers, searching for those threads of recognition of that person we used to know a long time ago and, for the most part, finding them. The evening progressed, the drinks multiplied, and the conversation took a deeper turn to our previous relationship. At one point he said, “Nikki, you’re a lot.” 

You’re a lot. Obviously, this stuck with me, as evidenced by my writing about it five years later and naming this newsletter “We’re A Lot.”

You’re a lot. Wtf does that even mean? It did not seem like a compliment to me in the context of our discussion. It didn’t seem like a compliment in any context. Who wants to be “a lot”? A lot of what? Should I be less? Was I still a lot, 10 years later? Was my being a lot the reason I’d gotten divorced? The reason for my recent breakup? Would I always be a lot? Did other people think I was a lot? Most importantly, how could I stop being a lot?? 

I started remembering similar things other people have said to me:

A guy I dated in my 20s: “That’s the problem with you, Nikki, you never know when to stop. You’re so much.” (Definitely not in a positive context, as I recall.)

An ex-partner, telling me why he was moving in with his new girlfriend only a few months after our long-term relationship ended: “She’s easy.” (The implication being, of course, that I am difficult. And I’m guessing, a lot.)

A guy friend, after I told him about some mistreatment by a former boyfriend: “Nikki, you’re a lot of things, but even you don’t deserve that.” (Okayyyyy.)

And more: 

“Why can’t you just let it go?”

“You’re so … passionate!”

“You’re complicated.”

“Maybe you should consider sending an email with your opinions after the meeting, instead of speaking up during the meeting.”

“You’re not very good at hiding your displeasure.” (Ditto for my pleasure.)

I’m a lot of things.

I’m a lot. 

It’s not lost on me that men were the ones saying these things to me. And I am a woman. I can’t recall a woman in my life ever commenting (at least to my face) about my being a lot. But yes, I’m a lot.  

I am. And so are you. Aren’t you? I mean, we are all a lot, right? We certainly live in a world that is a lot. I think we’re all a lot, at least most of the people I want to know and spend time with. Because what’s the point of this whole ride if we’re not a lot?

I still don’t know what it really means to be a lot, but that’s what this newsletter is about. Exploring what it means to be a lot. What do we do with that? Where do we put it? At least, that’s the goal – I will probably end up just writing whatever I feel like (you’ve been given fair warning). But hopefully it all comes back to the alot-ness of it all, of us all. Embracing the “a lot,” rather than trying to be less or not as much or easy. 

Because I’m 47. I don’t have time anymore to stop being a lot. Even if I did, I don’t fucking want to.

---