From my Facebook page looking in, I seem like I pretty much have it together.
I have a job that I really love, I signed with an agent this year to turn my blog into a book, I live in one of the trendiest neighborhoods in New York City, and I’m lucky that I’m a good enough saver that I make it overseas a couple times a year for a vacation.
I’ve been pretty d*mn successful (knock on wood) so far in my 20s, but the one thing I’ve yet to master is dating.
It might be because it’s one of the most complicated, frustrating, irritating and yet completely necessary parts of life but in the five years that I’ve lived in New York, I’ve had one boyfriend, a few almost-boyfriends, and more bad sex than I’d care to admit. And yet—yet!—I keep pulling up my big girl panties, putting on lipstick and swiping left and right to find the right guy. (Yes, that was a Tinder reference.)
And even though my Facebook profile might paint a different picture, here’s the truth: sometimes, I have terrible, awful, dramatic, immature breakdowns about being single. I let go of rationality and just let it all come out.
This was originally published on YourTango.com. To read the rest – and see my breakdowns – click here.