Subconsciously or consciously, how often do you find yourself apologizing? You slightly bump into a stranger and you mutter a ‘sorry.’ A co-worker interrupts you, and yet, you find yourself stammering to apologize first. Or, perhaps just as frequently, you find yourself talking about a bad date and when you feel like your friend has had enough, you quickly quiet yourself, say you’re ‘sorry for venting’ and move on.
It’s a habit that many women (and men) are guilty of and one that’s difficult to break. Continuously shaming yourself doesn’t help build your confidence, and oftentimes, can be unattractive to possible boyfriends or girlfriends who are looking for a partner, not someone who can’t hold their own. While it might not feel like it’s in your nature to stand up, speak up and be proud of your opinions, convictions and emotions, chances are, your date will be impressed with your willingness to be open, vulnerable and honest about how you think and feel.
In my past several years of being single and going on (way too many) dates, it’s taken me a lot of time (and wine) to finally figure out how to be brave enough to be myself. And while I haven’t met that right person yet, I have learned how to have courage and to stop apologizing for these things:
I’m not sorry that I expect you to communicate.
Online dating can wear on anyone – there’s constant back-and-forth exchanges, but very little face-to-face time to genuinely get to know someone. There’s also many messages to weed through that can be boring, rude or just plain ridiculous. For a while, I would always step up and speed up the conversation myself, oftentime apologizing for being so forward. The funny thing? Men never cared that I carried the conversation, but I did. In a future partner, I really want someone who is not only a talker, but that can ask interesting questions, have meaningful decisions and hopefully, teach me a thing or two from his own wealth of wisdom. I’m not sorry that I want a communicator – I’m sorry I ever thought I could settle for less than that. Continue reading
I’ve been single for the better part of my adult life, and though I try my best not to sweat it (and remind myself that I’m only 26 and my ovaries have time), I, like many people, have certain fears about being single. While I’ve never worried that I could die alone in my apartment and go for days unnoticed (my dog and amazing roommates would know in a hot minute), I’ve always wondered just how much that emergency contact would matter if I ever actually needed medical assistance.
Last week, I got the unfortunate opportunity to find out. Continue reading
I’ve been getting pretty burned out on the whole Tinder thing lately. So much swiping, so many unwelcome nudity, creepy opening messages, endless conversations that go nowhere and far too many (ridiculous) propositions. Blame it on being single in a city that sleeps around or just my lack of attention span — but I’ve had an on-and-off relationship with Tinder for a while now.
My mom, on the other hand is fascinated. When I would tell her about another date that didn’t go well, she’d instantly say ‘It’s because of Tinder.’ I can’t say she’s wrong, really, there is a certain amount of anonymity that apps provide, but she’s obviously never used it before — my dad called her on the good ‘ole phone when they dated in the 80s. Continue reading
When I matched with a tall, seemingly-charismatic man with a big smile online, I’ll be the first to admit I was a little skeptical. He looked almost too good to be true, and when he made reservations for our first date instead of leading it up to the happy hour gods, I found that old familiar voice in the back of my head that warns: “Uh, oh. This could be trouble.”
A few drinks and a shared appetizer later, we were walking around, chatting and stopping to kiss underneath the light and the allure of the night, and that voice was only getting louder. By the time he walked me home, said he couldn’t wait to see me again and texted me when he got home, the voice was so loud and my mind was so foggy that I could barely come up with a clever text in return.
The next few days were intense – wondering when he’d ask me out again, trying to play it cool while still seeming interested. Trying to decipher the intention between those blue iMessage bubbles and bugging my (incredibly patient) friends to help me analyze. And as it has happened more times than I’d care to admit – we never did go out again. He ended up disappearing, just as so many have before him, into what I can only imagine is a world of eligible, yet emotionally unavailable men. (Let’s all avoid going there, k?) Continue reading
Though I’ve lived in New York for five years and consider myself some sort of a hybrid of the East Coast, the truth is: I’m a born and raised Southerner.
I may not have an accent (sorry, dudes, I know it’s apparently sexy) and I take my tea unsweetened, but when it comes to chivalry and the importance of gestures in dating, my North Carolina roots always shine through.
If you’re lucky enough to be graced with the presence of a Southern lady, here’s a few things you need to know about dating these so-called belles (ahem, never call me that):
1. We don’t mind a little dirt.
I grew up next to a farm where I happily retrieved eggs from the hens for my neighbor every day after school. My dad taught me to drive a tractor when I was 1-year-old, and I learned how to ride a bike on a gravel road (I have the scars on my knee to prove it).
I spent more time outside than inside, and though I might rock stilettos and Calvin Klein dresses, I don’t mind a little dirt.
We met on Tinder.
Okay, okay, okay – I know I broke up with Tinder a month or so ago. And while I had every intention of making it a permanent separation, like we all do in moments of weakness (and when intoxicated), I gave in and saw my ex-account. As I sat at a picnic table on Stone Street across from my roommate, sticky with sweat from our boxing class, I aimlessly swiped left and right. I tried my best to ignore the deja vu as my 900+ matches loaded, and the same trite, ridiculous digital conversations starting rolling into my inbox.
Ugh, ugh, ugh, ohhhh?
That one margarita was enough to send both me and C over the edge (hey, we’ve been really healthy lately and apparently, that makes you a lightweight) – so with one swift mature adult decision, we went home to change and continued to bar hop. It was Sunday Funday, and I was intrigued by the first guy to message me on Tinder since I had sworn off the scene. He checked off all of those checkboxes – employed, attractive, not creepy – and I agreed to a first date.
After so many mishaps and men who don’t have a clue about how to date, I was a little surprised when this dude (who I originally matched on Tinder with in 2013, for the record), made a reservation at a cute Italian bistro near Union Square. I was even more taken aback when a 6’4″ handsome dude with a big smile walked through the revolving door and said, “Wow, you must be Lindsay.”
Hello, Mr. Unicorn.
Every time this blog has crossed my mind the last month, I’ve felt a sense of guilt. Sometimes, even dread. Believe me, this little spot in the big ‘ol internet has built my life in so many incredible ways, I could never truly complain, and it’s not the blog’s fault for how I feel…
…but I can’t hide how I do feel anymore. You guys… I’m burnt out.
It’s not that I’ve given up on love (I still believe in it more than anything else). It’s not that I don’t want to go on dates (though I’d rather the good start outweighing the bad). It’s not that I don’t want to help inspire and invigorate every single woman (or dude) out there to put themselves first, value their worth and not rush into an okay relationship instead of waiting for a spectacular one. It’s not any of these things… but it’s something.
It’s this deep-rooted, incredibly painful, slightly manic and utterly obsessive fear that’s in the pit of my stomach and within every racing heartbeat. It’s what has been keeping me feeling a little less like myself and a little more depressed lately. It’s been the language I’ve been using and the words I’m selecting. It’s been the tone of my voice and the hushed cries at night that embarrass me more than enlighten me. It’s what I’ve been Googling and what I’ve been G-chatting about with my closest friends, who for some odd reason, still love me despite all of my messiness and need for reassurance on the same damn topic.
Will I be alone forever? Continue reading