Author Archives: Lindsay Tigar

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How I Started Writing About Love (and the Lack Thereof)

I’m so excited to announce my new weekly dating column for WomensHealthMag.com. Check out my first post below! 

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I’ll never forget my first date in New York City.

I was 19 years old and interning at a women’s magazine, living in my college’s loft at 24th and Park for the summer. I had imagined myself much more mature than I actually was, and because my fake ID (sorry mom and dad!) said that I was 21, I spent a lot of time at bars post-interning hours. It was at some bar in Murray Hill that I met Joseph—a 28-year-old finance guy.

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Want a Daily Love Reminder?

I know how hard it is to stay hopeful about dating- especially when everything… and I mean everything that you think could be something turns out to be another disappointment. While it can be easier to give up on love – and on yourself – if you remember to love the place you’re at in your life (and all of those wonderful places you’re going that you can’t even see yet) – you’ll be surprised at just how much will come your way.

But if you need a reminder – say every day – sign up for my new email newsletter that’ll be sent Monday through Friday. It’ll have a quote, a few links and a whole lotta love. I promise not to spam you – just to inspire you!

Sign up here and tell me what you’d like to see see in the email in the comments!

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An Upper West Side Love Affair

I’ve almost lived in New York City for four years now. The time has gone both indefinitely slow and intolerably fast, and while I knew this place would always be one big adventure for me, I never knew just what a wild ride it would turn out to be.

And maybe, since it felt like such a vivid, unattainable dream, I didn’t fully expect it to feel quite so much… like home. But it does. I’ve called the Upper West Side (or Morningside Heights, if we want to get super technical) my neighborhood for my entire time in this city.

But as I type this sentence, I’m laying on my bed from Ikea, waiting on my friend J to meet me for dinner, looking at all of my things packed in 8 (very heavy) boxes, my bookshelves and dresser empty, the room that I had decorated with frames and sentiments bare – all of it, ready to move downtown on Saturday. I always hoped the day would come when I made enough money to have an uptown commute to work instead of a downtown one – and it has.

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What About Me?

A month ago, I was sitting at a place I didn’t want to be at in Murray hill, drinking wine I didn’t want to drink, waiting on a man I didn’t know if I wanted to date.

I was passing time and nursing my one glass because I didn’t want to leave the place and be forced to sit outside his building where Lucy would die of thirst. Mr. Unexpected had some sort of test that night and Lucy had a grooming appointment the next morning a few blocks from his apartment, so it made sense that I would sleep over… but as I tried my best not to obsess over when he would text that he was out, I wondered what the hell I was doing.

On paper and mostly in person, Mr. Unexpected and I really connected. The sex was great. He made me laugh. He was honest. The chemistry was there but there was also a big ole’ thing missing that I knew, he knew and probably even Lucy knew if we had a way of asking her. I couldn’t put it into words then, but a month later after a weekend of silence to “clear our heads” and “decide what we both wanted,” I found myself sitting across from yet another man who couldn’t give me what I wanted.

But there was one big difference in this mini relationship – and that was me.

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Don’t Let Her Down

That 5-year-old girl who didn’t know better than to believe in imaginary friends and far away places, where being anything at all was not questionable, but expected. That girl with that braided hair and those wide, eager eyes who saw beauty in old, ragged dress-up clothes and in the mud of the front yard that could be turned into cakes and pies, doughnuts and cookies for a tea party with a very wise queen. That girl who wanted to be everything she could think of: a trapeze artist, a sculptor, the President of the United States, a teacher, a preacher, a princess, Lois Lane, a warrior jet fighter, a this and a that. That girl who never told herself she wasn’t pretty enough or smart enough, that wishing and hoping could make things come true, that by simply being herself, she would grow up to be not just something, but a someone. A big, big someone.

Don’t let that girl down. Chase your dreams, no matter how far-fetched they might seem or how much you’ve forgotten how to run.

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That 10-year-old girl who insisted on getting certified as a babysitter so she could have her very own babysitters club (with all of her best friends). That girl who didn’t think twice before jumping from patio furniture to table, from one side of the kitchen counter to the other, performing an elaborate dance routine to the Spice Girls for her parents, the cat and the dog. That girl who wore the same bracelet she made for weeks beyond end, not caring if it was in style or matched her clothes or was part of the popular kid’s approval list. That girl who stood up to the mean guy on the bus who commented – inappropriately – on the body she hadn’t grown into mentally, who wouldn’t stand for someone talking down to her, especially for something her mother called “breasts.” That girl who was awkward and probably obnoxious, sporting crooked teeth and the first signs of acne – but more than anything, she was herself.

Don’t let that girl down. Be brave enough to be who you are, wherever you are, whatever you do, whoever you’re around or puts you down.

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