Bruni in the City: We Feast Together

Bruni in the City: We Feast Together
A Column by Christina Bruni
Living in Two Worlds

You think it’s a secret only it’s not. I’m aware others most likely pick up that I’m different in some way. Yet I don’t want my MH life to infringe on my other life. I move between these distinct worlds like a chameleon.

Italiani. We feast together. We meet a person for the first time and they are our new best friend for that evening. Everyone is famiglia here.

It was the day after Columbus Day. I arrived early to the restaurant and was seated at our table.

A drop-dead gorgeous guy walked in and was seated with a companion up front. All the guys were handsome and talking Italian at the other tables.

It’s true that I have a striking look: a heart-shaped face and dramatic Mediterranean features. If you saw me you’d think: “Of course, she must be Italian.”

The 900-pound elephant in any room is always what people see even though I wish they wouldn’t. A former hairstylist claimed you can’t tell by looking at someone that they have a mental health challenge. This is most likely true.

Yet I’m a strange girl in other ways: I don’t drink beer or liquor. I won’t eat meat. Instead of a garrulous talker, I prefer to listen to what people are saying and give them the spotlight.

Deride me all you want for my focus on fashion and style. Yet having a hurdle to clear socially is all the more reason I dress chic: to put others at ease as well as for me to feel at ease in their company.

When I walk down the street I want people to think: “Who’s that girl?” I want them to take a second look as I destroy the stereotype of a person diagnosed with SZ.

I’ve thought long and hard about this. It’s the bedrock that the premise of my memoir Left of the Dial is founded on: “Enjoy your quirkiness.”

At the end of the day I don’t care what people think of me. I’ve observed that most people are kinder than you think. Find the compassionate so-called normal people, and gravitate towards them.

It’s the little things that count the most: 

That day in October I got a better haircut from a real parucchiere: an Italian hairdresser. She was older and had auburn hair. Snip, snip. She was done in ten minutes.

Figuring out how to apply the new blush helped too. It looks better swiped on my cheekbones not the apples of my cheeks. The rose fresque shade is good. I applied it in the afternoon. At nine o’clock at night the blush was still going strong when I checked my face in the restroom mirror.

I say: ladies, put on your face and go out. There’s a world out there that would look better with you in it. And guys, you’re handsome too. So, go out and paint the town gold.

As hard as it is living with an MH thing, I find that making the effort is worth it. Go on MeetUp.com to join others in the city doing things you’re passionate about. There’s even the #1 New York Shyness and Social Anxiety MeetUp you can join.

Once a month, the Mental Health Project of The Urban Justice Center in lower Manhattan, hosts an open mic with a theme for the month such as “self-care,” “diversity,” “action,” “bravery,” and others.

As I toggle between these two worlds, I understand how it is for a lot of us mingling in disparate environments. Yet feeling like an outsider shouldn’t stop us from doing things.

What the world needs now is MH peers with the courage to show up. To take a seat and be counted. All of us have paid our dues. Festeggiamo insieme. We feast together. 

Common ground is the ground on which everyone stands. Be not afraid to get rejected. Plenty of fish are swimming in the sea of friends and lovers. 

It’s up to us to cast our nets wide. The unlikeliest stranger could turn out to be the most compassionate. Talk to a therapist if it would help you to set and achieve goals like this.

My Italian therapist tells it like it is. She colludes with me to help me get what I want.

I wish all you loyal readers tanti auguri. Good wishes.

Bruni in the City: Finding Mr. Right Now

Bruni in the City: Finding Mr. Right Now
By Christina Bruni
The Guy Showed Up On My Doorstep

Loyal readers, I ask you, is it so hard for any guy to say, "I'd like to take you on a date?" Most likely they fear being rejected. Yet, I don't have a crystal ball. If you like a girl, let her know. Trust me, a modern woman like myself doesn't automatically think "date" when a guy asks her "Do you want to...?"

Christina Bruni

Come right out and say, "I'd like to take you on a date." Old-fashioned, yet totally charming. Don't do it via text or e-mail either. Ask the woman when you see her in person.

At first, I didn't think a guy could like me simply because I had the greatest hard time reeling ‘em in on OKCupid and other dating websites. No guy took my bait, even though I had a gorgeous photo. Then a friend told me a guy liked me, so I decided to reciprocate and see how it would go. I had been blind early on. The more we talked, I got interested in him.

On the Internet, men and women specify a list of acceptable traits they're looking for. Focusing on a checklist, most people rule out potential partners. In the fall, I had decided that I would accept whatever package the guy came to me in. I had quit my involvement with Internet matchmakers at the time I published Left of the Dial.

The deciding factor was that I don't want kids. Online, 50-year old guys were clamoring for a brood—even though the older the father is, there's a greater risk his kids will develop autism, ADHD, or schizophrenia. I couldn't compete with the bevy of women who wanted to breed fast.

Ever since I was a young teen, I knew I did not want to marry or raise a family. My only dream was to live an artist's life in the City. At 50, I'm still a quirky creative gal who lives her life “left of the dial.”

You can imagine my joy and disbelief when the guy arrived in real life like a living breathing checklist. He listens to alternative music and likes to attend poetry readings and comedy clubs. He's a lefty like I am.

There's a fluidity to this right now. I won't force things. What I like most of all is that I met a guy with social graces—he can hold his own and interact with others with ease. The journey is what counts. This is how it is in the modern world—having fun most of all and being a caring companion to the one you're with. I respect that he's an independent spirit like myself.

By fall, I had decided I wanted to attract a guy into my life instead of hunting him down. What luck I had in actually meeting a person who is open-minded and respectful.

It hit me, too, that it's not about what I can get out of things—it's about making the other person feel good. Like Grace Slick sings about wanting and needing somebody to love in the song "Somebody to Love."

Wherever this leads is not the point. The point is that talking with him is better than taking a happy pill. For so long I had to deal with a parade of turkeys trotting through my life. A woman who gave me a psychic reading called the guys I would meet "turkeys." No kidding.

I'm just a girl in the city living her life. The point is that I'm 50 and I got here so I can give readers hope. It's never too late to find joy in living. Today is the greatest day of all. Trust me, you'll get what you want if you're a go-giver, not a go-getter. Focus on what you can give other people.

Bruni in the City: The Perfect Macaroons

Bruni in the City: The Perfect Macaroons

A Column by Christina Bruni

Stay True to Yourself and You'll Find the Right One

I've drowned myself in macaroons, courtesy of Cream, a new coffee bar in Bay Ridge on Third Avenue at 72nd Street in Brooklyn. My favorite is the wedding almond. I buy two and a hot chocolate with whipped cream, no marshmallows.

Cream has free wi-fi and a quartet of tables in the back, plus a restroom. I prefer going here to the Starbucks down the street. Donuts are also on offer, like the hibiscus or the chocolate with cocoa nibs. A standard variety of coffee, too.

The winter is not my favorite season. Late summer into early fall is when I have the most energy. Thus I decided to try to find a guy in the early spring or thereabouts. I bombed out on the Internet matchmaking services. Earlier this year, I decided I would never again be untrue to myself by trying to get other people's approval.

The guys online left a lot to be desired. That is, I wasn't willing to settle for one of those average guys. For a number of years, I've bristled at how sick people are praised because they hide behind a cloak of normalcy. You can be rude to customers. You can fail to do your share of the work at a job. You can be outright hostile. And you'll be celebrated because you don't have a mental illness.

The guys online were crackers. I was open-minded, so I sent a message to a vegan, and he didn't respond because I eat chicken and fish. I also sent a message to a psychiatric worker who specified he wanted to meet a "sexy" woman. No response here either.

Not only were the guys a few bricks short of a house, I realized I couldn't compete in these traditional dating arenas because 95 percent of the guys are only interested in finding out if a woman is "fuckable." If you're an intelligent, hip, socially savvy woman, you're expected to be grateful for the crumbs on the table that these guys deign to give you. You're supposed to overlook that they're unmedicated yet not normal.

As my efforts derailed, one after the other, over the last two years, I decided that I hadn't failed; it was my approach that failed me. I took myself off the market to focus on publishing my memoir, Left of the Dial, which went on sale on Amazon this past December 2014. After the book came out, I kick-started marketing it and selling it via my new website and my blogs and other channels.

The more I thought about things, the more I realized that changing myself to fit a mold of what other people in society deem acceptable is a no-win game. The self-doubt was replaced by a new confidence because it suddenly hit me: Do I really want to date a shallow guy who seeks a tarted-up, tatted-up woman? No, no, no.

Two real-life experiences cemented the truth in my mind that settling for any old guy who expresses an interest in me is not the way to live. I hold two truths to be self-evident. First, I have a best friend I'll call Josh. He has a female companion who collects SSI. He takes her to lunch. He takes her to dinner. She doesn't wear stilettos and a cleavage-baring, leopard-print dress.

This cheered me because I realized I might be able to find a great guy like Josh who doesn't immediately want to get under my skirt. I am not a bimbo. My great worry has always been that I would have to stuff down my personality and change myself to be in a relationship with a guy.

Have no fear. A free spirited woman I know wears cowboy boots with a skirt. She is always nattily attired in jeans and a t-shirt. She pulls it off with her own joie-de-vivre. And no, she doesn't wear stilettos on a date either or slit-up-to-there skirts.

That's how I realized there was hope for me. A psychiatric worker only wanted a sexy woman, and a narrow-minded vegan was critical of a woman's food and fashion choices. Since I couldn't compete online in this arena, I realized I would have to live my life and see who I met in person at a book talk I gave.

I saw the light at the end of the tunnel. I didn't have to get tarted-up or tatted-up to snare a guy. The equation is simple: Only by acting true to yourself can you find your true match. I'm convinced there's a guy out there for me. Right now, the macaroons sure are delish.