Behind the Bedroom Door

Can a (practically) sexless marriage be a happy marriage?

Sometimes. At least for one party in the marriage? Read about it in an excerpt of Lauren Slater's essay from Behind the Bedroom Door in today's Modern Love column!

Eat, pray (whatever your version of praying is), love...

Sounds like a good thing to do for Turkey Day. And once you're done with all that, behttp://topics.nytimes.com/top/features/style/fashionandstyle/columns/modernlove/index.html sure to make time ftheor another of life's great pleasures...reading! Watch for an excerpt of Lauren Slater's essay about what happens when life gets too busy for sex in the November 30th Modern Love column in the New York Times.

Loving a (much) younger man

She was 37. He was 20. They fell in lust, then in love, then got married, had a child...and survived more than a few bumps along the way. An improbable love story with an even more improbable ending. Read an excerpt of Elizabeth Cohen's surprising, scorching hot essay in the December issue of MORE magazine, now on newstands (sadly, not online).

Portrait of Paola (the editor)

Is she in Roma--or Bryant Park? Only the urban insiders can tell.

Ciao bambini--

Paola

Total mechanical and electronic failure

It started with the doorknob on my coat closet. Every time I grabbed it, it fell off. I've managed to shove it back in there until I can snag the right person to screwdriver it in for me. Then, my Palm Pilot died. True, it's practically a relic (Five years old? Six?), but I was still sorry to see it go. Now all my contacts are on my computer desk top. At home. Not the most convenient, but I find I mostly consult the contacts on my iPhone these days. Which I can't figure out how to get in alphabetical order. Waiting for someone to show me how to do that, too. Next, my camera died, my beloved Camera Power Shot that took me through Rome and populated Rome is Where the Heart Is with beautiful, color-drenched photos. Of course, I can also take photos with my iPhone, but there's no flash, and while it's great for landscape shots, it doesn't match the Cannon for quality. Next, my landline died. The machine still take messages, but the receiver is dead, despite my pressing every button, removing and reinserting the battery, plugging and unplugging. The phone is only 2 years old--same age as the camera! So, you guessed it, I'm using my iPhone, despite the fact that there is a phone company conspiracy that ensures that I get great reception everywhere but in my apartment. Finally, the wireless connection in my apartment is behaving unreliably, necessitating lots of rebooting and even more plugging and unplugging. But I can still rely on the iPhone! Perhaps I should simply get rid of everything but the iPhone? Either that, or enlist the help of some mechanically inclined man. I know this is old fashioned and pathetic and distinctly unfeminist, but when stuff breaks, that's when I miss having a man around on a regular basis. Maybe the Geek Squad should bill itself as a dating service?
Ciao--
Paola

Music and relationships

I don't consider myself overly maleable when I'm in a relationship (I've been called, on occasion, "contrarian" by the men who date me) but one thing that tends to morph extremely easily for me is music: Maybe that's because in my experience, men seem more focused on having music playing all the time, whether they're sleeping or talking or hanging. I'm not always in the mood for it. Which means that if I'm going to be constantly exposed to someone's music, I'd rather adopt it whole heartedly. That's why I associate certain musical phases of my life with certain men: There was the Bella Fleck and the Flecktones phase (though I admit, I didn't get into them very deeply), the Shawn Colvin phase, the Jonathan Schwartz (of NPR) phase, the Baba Maal phase and now....I guess we'll soon see. Tonight, though, I downloaded four or five Miriam Makeba songs--she died this week so I heard her on the radio several times and thought: Why aren't I listening to THIS?

Here's another question about men, women and music: Do you think there is such a thing as "chick music" and "guy music" just like chick flicks and guy flicks? I always thought there was until, recently, I met a man who likes many, many, many of the same artists that I do: you know, the female ones who sing ballads about love, many from the 80s. Is it possible to be a metrosexual male in terms of music? What do you all think?

Ciao--

Paola

Head of the happiness department

Truly, that is my informal title at work. (Articles Director is the one on the masthead.)  But "happiness" is what we call psychology at SELF magazine, or rather positive psychology. I get to immerse myself in all sorts of research that suggests that pursuing things, people and places that you feel passionate about, that have meaning to you (rather than just having a job or trying to get ahead) is key to living a happy life. At first, I'll admit, I was skeptical. But I'm a positive psychology convert--pursuing joy (intellectual, physical, emotional) leads to more joy. That means you have to figure out what nourishes you and gets your heart pumping, then fill your life with more of it. Not as easy as you might think when you're prone to guilt and overanalyzing and all that kind of NYC Upper West Side stuff. But it's fun to keep trying.

Ciao amici--

Paola

The power of patience

I've always been an extremely impatient person--the kind who (I'll admit) sometimes reads the last page of the book before I finish, or blurts out what gift I've gotten someone beforehand because I need the gratification NOW. But I'm trying to become better at waiting--for love, for life, for whatever situation is around the corner. The best way to be more patient, I've discovered, is to fully engage in your life as you're living it, every day, experiencing new things and letting yourself be surprised by the fact that what happens spontaneously can be as wonderful as whatever it is you're waiting patiently for. Isn't that Zen of me?

Ciao bambini--

Paola

Does he or doesn't he?

There's no way of avoiding uncertainty at the beginning of a relationship, that butterfly-in-the-stomach feeling that can go from thrilling to nerve-wracking in a day, an evening, an hour. Unfortunately, I am the kind of human being who doesn't tolerate uncertainty well. I admit, I sometimes read the end of novels before I finish, if I suspect things might not turn out well. I don't love unhappy endings, and have to prepare myself. I also don't mind being told the end of a movie. I don't, however, want to be told how a real-life romance ends ahead of time, so all there is to do is to leap in and savor the experience.

Ciao, belli--

Paola

The morning after the morning after

Unlike after an ill-advised one-night-stand, there are no regrets and recriminations in the few days after the nation's (and city's) love affair with our new C-I-C. (That's Barack Obama, fyi). This piece in Britain's The Independent captures my feelings perfectly.