September 25, 2013 by Lindsay Tigar - 8 Comments

My Year of Happy

On pennies thrown into fountains, birthday candles, Chinese lanterns, first stars and shooting ones, at 11:11, when my necklace clasp gets turned around, while holding my breath going through a tunnel and just about anything else I consider lucky, I’m always making wishes.

Or at least — one wish.

It’s always been to find love. To have that relationship that I’ve wanted since I knew what a relationship was. My wish used to be broad and simple, until my mom suggested being specific with my desires. “The universe needs some guidelines, dear,” she said. So I started getting detailed: this height, that laugh, those eyes, that job, this move in bed, those preferences, this amount of children one day, delivered to me within three months. Or next week. Or ya know, now.

I know you’re not supposed to reveal what you wish for, but I can’t imagine it’ll affect my outcome too terribly much, considering how often I’ve wished almost the same wish, with little – or rather – no result. For my birthday this year, I blew out two sets if candles, one with my family on a cake and the other on top of a mini margarita with the family I’ve found in New York.

And though I thought about it, considered it greatly, I didn’t wish for love.

I just wished for happiness.

I want to be happy more than I want to depend on finding some man, somewhere to make me happy. I want it to come from me. I want that peaceful, easy feeling that comes when you’ve really figured out what you want, who you are, where you want to go and how you like to spend your days, without having to factor another person into the equation. The simplest of wishes, sure, but one that I think is more important than bumping into someone at a bar, the train, a dating event, online – wherever – the boys may be hiding these days.

Though I had so many blessings last year, I spent the majority of 24 thinking about the fact I was turning 25. And all of those things that I wanted this past year to bring me, it didn’t really. It wasn’t a bad span of time and nothing truly terrible happened, it just felt like a year that was totally full of work. I got a puppy, which is equal parts stress and joy. My dad found out be had cancer and then was declared cancer free post-surgery. I’m finally up to running 10 solid miles, but it came with lots of training and pushing myself, my bones, my body. I went on Accutane for 7 of the months to clear my skin, and though it worked, it wasn’t without very dry patches and many nights in, alcohol free. Mr. P moved overseas for the whole year, which made the process of letting go a little easier, but I didn’t meet anyone who I felt even a little bit of luster with. I lost weight and feel much more beautiful than before, but it was not a simple change. Friendships have blossomed and some have fizzled, many of my friends have jumped the single boat for a sweet sail for two, and much of the rough waters, I’ve navigated alone.

And through it all, I did come out better and stronger, more myself than I’ve ever been, bolder and flirtier, hopeful and intrigued. But I haven’t exactly been happy. Healthy, fine, successful and fiery, sure. But happy? Not quite.

And so, I declare this my happy year.

No matter what comes or doesn’t come, who I meet or don’t, what mountains I climb or planes I board, what things that happen or don’t, I will remind myself to see the happy. To seek it. To really, honestly feel it. Because there will always be another wish to make or hope to have, but without the happy, I won’t appreciate any of it. Without the happy, there’s no use in trying anything at all. Without the happy, I won’t know what another kind of happy feels like when it arrives.

My Third Birthday

My Sixth Birthday

My 18th Birthday

My 19th Birthday

My 22nd Birthday (First in NYC!)

My 23rd Birthday

My 25th Birthday

September 23, 2013 by Lindsay Tigar - 17 Comments

The End of Mr. Possibility

Two years to the day after we broke up, we met on the highline.

The highline, much like our relationship or our friendship or our whatever we were, was built on leftover, damaged tracks. Nothing about the foundation was sturdy enough to hold it, and though we decorated it with potted flowers and translucent hopes, we started as a forgotten, disabled path to, well, nowhere. Though beautiful things may have been produced, the wreckage was still brightly on display, easy to sense, harder to forget.

He was gone from my life for the past year, mostly anyway. Some place, past the pond, past my reach. And that’s why I made such great strides: apart from a few emails and texts and calls, he was far enough away that I couldn’t be tempted and out of my thoughts long enough that I could move on and let go.

I still thought of him though. More often than I’d care to admit. More than I told my friends.

When good things happened and when terrible things did. When I ordered a mojito at happy hour (his favorite) or my group of friends split shumai at a sushi restaurant. When we would venture across the river to Williamsburg, and walking through Rockefeller Center, a place that will mean more to me than it did to him. I thought of him while crossing Bryant Park, and sometimes when I wrapped my arms tightly around myself in the dark, feeling the void of a man’s body, and willing myself to not wish it was his.

I had made the decision to move on, and though I seesawed in and out of his bed and in mine, for too many months to count afterward, I knew the choice to choose impossibility over desperate hope was smart. It was right, but it was hard. Probably, the hardest and most emotionally tangling thing I’ve ever had to do. The worst part was not actually breaking up with him, but the endless, depressing and most often, disappointing dating that followed. He didn’t fulfill my needs, but neither does this guy or that one or any of them. Was it me or was it them? Or was it the both of us?

Or was it just New York?

Standing on the edge, overlooking the bustling city below, with its maze of lights and billboards and taxis, I waited to see his shape. I knew it would be familiar and unrecognizable all the same. A few martinis in to ease my anxiety, I’m not sure if I cared how I looked but I hoped he would notice. Or at least see how much I’ve grown in the past year, how deeply I’ve mended myself and how difficult it is to stand here, in heels, looking into the city hoping for my future, while feeling my past creep up on me. When I felt his palm grace the small of my back, I quickly turned around, braced for the emotional impact, prepared for the fall.

But he was just himself. Mr. Possibility. Two years, 20-something countries, thousands of dollars I’ll never see, far too many one-night-stands, I’m sure, later — he was just the same. A little more gray hair, the same dimpled-smile, the same strange eyes.

My friends advised against seeing him, for fear it’d only bring up bad habits and make me feel worse instead of better. There was no need, they said, to open up wounds that had scabbed over, but not healed, and putting myself in a situation where the odds are against me was a chance not worth taking. The idioms are all true and terribly overused, but couldn’t be more fitting than this planned encounter, where I had to face up to these visions in my head, instead of letting them dance around in never, never land – never being a reality.

We shared our niceties, politely and kindly. We talked about the same things we always talked about, we mulled over the same frustrations and the same conversations, sending me back into a time where my mind was far more clouded than it is now. Just like the day I broke up with him, he was still lost in himself, unable to put anyone else before him, and incapable of moving forward with anything or anyone or any plan. All of the things about our relationship that bothered me two years ago, bothered me in this moment, watching the sun set in the West, and feeling my heart swell up into my throat, asking me: were you really ever in love with this man?

Or was it just what you thought he could be? What you thought you could turn him into? Was it the idea that by being the most perfect girl with the most perfect everything, you could turn the imperfect man into the guy you want to be with? Did you think your reward would be his hand, your payoff, his love? Had you really waited – consciously or not – for him to turn into something that simply, my dear, he’s not?

He noticed my changes, and I tried to comment on his, though to me, he was still my impossible first New York love. That man that makes the island a little colder, a little less like the scenes you dream of, and more like the harshness, the toughest, the city actually has. I had hoped a million tiny, irreplaceable dreams about Mr. Possibility and I, and even more about our tarnished fate.

But I’m not 22 and fresh off the boat. I don’t feel that way, anymore.

I’m not persuaded by clever words and empty promises. I’m not willing to settle for someone who can only love with half of their heart. I can’t swallow myself deep enough for someone who can’t see the good when it’s there or the damage when it’s done. And though I sort of already knew all of this, it took another mistake – or was it a milestone? – to make it feel real. To make it have that crisp and finally, solidified ending that doesn’t leave you hurting, but instead, makes you thankful.

Thankful that you had the chance to learn and in some twisted, unhealthy, unproductive way, love someone who can’t love you back. If it’s something I must be taught, I’d rather know it now than to linger on a possibility that always, honestly, was impossible. Thankful that when faced with the choice of getting back into an endless, tainted circle of exhausting conversations and maddening druken nights with someone I used to be, well mad, about or be alone, the latter seems so much better.

Thankful that though I wasted time and fragments of my heart that I won’t – and don’t want – back, and even though I discounted my worth to try to match his, and even though it took way longer than I imagined it would, I can calmly, confidently close the chapter of possibility. Thankful that by finally letting the first possibility become a memory and not a maze, I open myself up to the kind of possibilities I really want. The kind of love I know I deserve. The more than just possible man that I know is somewhere in this city, wondering about the me, the possibility for him.

As for Mr. Possibility and me?

We’re like that highline, where two years later, we finally cut the heartstrings, and went in our own separate ways, walking on rusted tracks, stumbling but not faltering, remembering with love, but never – not again – looking back.

September 18, 2013 by Lindsay Tigar - 19 Comments

25 Things I’ve Learned in 25 Years

It freaks me out — just a little bit — that today, I’ve been writing this blog for three years. This is my 502nd post (wow!) and I just turned 25 two days ago.

I haven’t been too excited about that number. I blame it on my quarter-life crisis and all the things that are terrifying about this age, about this time in my life. It’s a phase that it is completely full of uncertainty. The rules are gone, the plans are fading, there’s nothing that’s exactly right, but nothing is quite wrong. And yet – there is so much going on. So many questions, so much doubting. Way too many choices and never enough time to get everything you want done and figured out.

It’s the part of life that you’re never prepared for, and somehow in all of this madness, I’ve convinced myself that really, truly, this is when all the magic will happen. This is where I’ll learn the most, live the most and if I’m lucky, love the most. When I think back on the times when I’ve been the happiest, it’s also been the times when I worried the most. And when I think about my time in this grand city — that’s let me live here for almost four years — I can’t believe how far I’ve come and frankly, how incredibly lucky I’ve been.

So, instead of worrying that I’m not where I should be or if I’m getting this whole adult-life-thing right, I’m going to be thankful for these 25 years. They haven’t been exactly what I expected, but in many ways, they’ve been so much more. I’m not brilliant, but here are a few things I’ve come to realize:

1- No one gets it.
Really. Even that girl who looks like she has the most perfect life with the perfect guy and the perfect body — she’s lost too. We’re all trying to get it together and seek a little reassurance that we’re doing it right. Truth is, we’re just all trying the best we can.

2- Mama always said you grow into yourself one day…
…and I never understood what that meant until recently. There will be a day when you wake up and you look at your reflection, and you don’t hate it. You’ll actually kind of love it. There might always be some things that you think could be better, but after a while, you stop putting yourself down and you start finding those imperfections quite beautiful.

3- It’s okay to be soft — and to be a little bitter.
When you first graduate, you put up this I-can-do-anything shield with hopes it’ll protect you from all of the things that you think (and yes, will) go wrong. You feel like you’re a superhero flying in an imaginary battlefield, until one day, there’s nothing left to fight for. Because one day, you will have a job and friends and a place to live and maybe a guy you love. And then you’ll relax. It’ll feel really, really great. Then you’ll go into battle again when something changes. Because life always, always changes. But you wouldn’t want it any other way.

4- Sex gets better.
It’s not always going to be hot and steamy and sweaty and vivacious. It won’t always feel like you’re making love and you won’t always want it to be soft. But the more you know yourself, know your body and thrive on your sexuality, the better sex feels. College guys — they really don’t know what they’re doing. Trust me.

5- Your friends are way more important than any guy you date.
And they all serve different purposes in your life. If you are lucky (and smart), a small handful will hold your deepest, darkest secrets and your most vulnerable confessions. With or without men, I can’t imagine life feeling full or rich if I didn’t have the women who make me feel loved. And normal. And accepted. (And sometimes, very drunk off of champagne and wine.)

6- Saving money is really damn important.
And it’s equally as hard to do. There will always be concert tickets, Groupons, restaurant week menus, sweet shoes on Gilt, a whole rack of clothes at H&M that you want to buy. Let yourself indulge, but save some, too. There will always be a time when you need a little extra cushion.

7- Dating is annoying.
But it can be entertaining, enlightening and interesting, too. You’ll learn more from yourself through the dates that go horribly wrong than you do when you have butterflies filling your belly. Keep trying, buttercup. Have faith it’ll all make sense one day. Wine and Gchat often helps.

8- You’ll lose yourself out there a few times.
There’s a lot going on in your 20s and a lot to figure out: where will I live? Where will I work? Who will I live with? Am I actually hungry right now? Do I want another drink? Should I have one? Can I really stay out until 2 and get up at 7? You’ll bicker with yourself a lot and sometimes, you’ll make the wrong choice. But as much as you get lost, you’ll find a new way to get back home.

9- Family is more wonderful than you ever thought.
Seriously. Mom and dad really know what they’re talking about. And dad had a lot of fun sailing the world in his early 20s, and mom has dating horror stories that put mine to shame. They’re really amazing, so supportive and so incredibly far away. Cherish them. Admit that you miss them and call them more.

10- You get braver as you go.
I thought moving to NYC was the craziest — and possibly stupidest — thing I could ever do. I didn’t have much money, a place to live or employment, but I went with it. And it all worked itself out with a lot of Ramen and prayers. But the bright-eyed-and-bushy-tailed Lindsay that arrived on Manhattan soil then, sincerely has nothing on the confident, independent Lindsay now.

11- You’ll accept that not everyone is going to like you.
There’s always going to be a bully somewhere: your job, your mutual friends, if you have roommates, your apartment, even. You don’t have to please the world, you just have to make choices that make you feel like you’re making the world a better place. The rest of them? Forget ’em. Karma is really fun, promise.

12- Your maternal instincts start to show as you get older.
Honestly, I’ve always kind of been the “mother” of any group of friends (big surprise, I know), but over the past few years, I’ve grown more patient. More understanding. And not able to sleep off hangovers like I used to be able to.

13- Dentists suck, but having great health is mandatory.
Even though I pay more than enough for insurance, the 7-year-old in me still wants my dad to hold my hand while I sit in the dentist chair. But seriously, there’s a reason you’re insured and a reason why so many people need insurance. If you can take preventive measures, do it. The co-pay isn’t that bad and neither is getting free toothpaste.

14- You’ll start to workout because you want to, not because you want to be skinny.
Mmm, well that’s partially a lie. But seriously – if you’re not a runner, don’t run. If you giggle through yoga, try kickboxing. Exercise is a great way to relieve stress, but don’t do something just to burn calories. Do it to make yourself stop freaking out 99% of the time.

15- You might compare yourself to, um, everyone.
Your friends. The ridiculously tall and thin models in the Meatpacking district. The petite blondes who have guys dripping off of them. Your mom when she was your age. Your friends who are already married. Your friends who have babies. Your friends who have bigger, fancier titles and paychecks. It’s okay, it’s all part of the game. Just remember, if you’re comparing yourself to them, they’re doing it, too.

16- You’ll start to think fondly of where you came from.
I found myself a way out of the deep South about as quickly as my high-heeled shoes could carry me. Now, I barely where heels — and never when commuting. Now, when the city is especially noisy and smelly and mean to me — I close my eyes and remember the simplicity of North Carolina. I don’t want to move back, but I also never want to forget the roots that reared me.

17- You’re going to date the wrong guy.
In fact, you might date the wrong guy over-and-over again, on-and-off-again, time-and-time again. You might even sleep with him more times when you’ve been broken up than when you were together. You might grow to hate him, but you’ll hate yourself more for settling. But as trite as it is, you really do have to know what it feels like when it’s wrong to know when it’s really, really right.

18- You’ll learn to love your own company.
Brunch is great, so are happy hours. Girls’ night with endless sushi and wine. Beer fests and grilling in the backyard (um, back perch, I mean?). Long, lounging hours on the Great Lawn. Work events with free swag and food. You’ll enjoy group and friend dates most of the time, but sometimes, your favorite nights are spent running the reservoir, reading at the dog park and curled up in bed with Netflix. Or, having a dinner-for-one.

19- Honesty will be your best friend.
And it’ll be how you pick your best friends — who will be truthful with you? Who will tell you what you need to hear, even when you don’t want to hear it? Who will offer to come over after a particularly awful day? You’ll learn how important it is to surround yourself with people who honestly, truthfully care about you.

20- College isn’t the best time of your life.
Sorry, it’s just not. It might be the time when you have the least amount of responsibility (yes, even with a million term papers, a part-time job and a stoner boyfriend), but it will not be when you’re the happiest. It sincerely gets so much better.

21- Your taste will change nearly every month.
In men, in wine, in food, in clothes, in things you like to do, in places you want to go, in people you want to meet. You’ll figure out you like Thai food only to discover you kind of like French food more. You might be in love with a blonde but find yourself secretly attracted to a redhead. It’s okay, we all have tastes, but no one’s taste always stays the same.

22- You’ll think more about your lady parts.
I don’t feel like my ovaries are anywhere close to producing children, but I do consider what health choices I make and how they will effect my future kids. I don’t just keep myself in shape for me, but for those rugrats that’ll one day wake me up every three hours.

23- The world will seem so small, and yet so big.
I never knew how much traveling would make me a better person until I started doing it. Blowing a grand on a plane ticket is so much more satisfying than a few months’ worth of going out drinking. You’ll feel like you’ve accomplished the whole world, only to find another place you simply have to go. Keep using that passport, those stamps are worth the cost.

24- You’ll be scared a lot.
That you’ll never get what you want, that you’ll never meet who you want to meet, that you won’t be able to have all the things that you want to have. If you’re a bad puppy mom, if you’re a good enough friend, if you’re doing things the way you should. You might find yourself scared more times than you’re settled, but facing down your fears makes you sassier. And stronger.

25- You’ll constantly forget how awesome you are.
But don’t. Because you really are pretty damn great. And you should love that about yourself.

A few weeks ago…

…and when I first moved to NYC.

September 16, 2013 by Lindsay Tigar - 8 Comments

My First Year With Lucy

A year ago today, I walked into Citipups in the West Village with my friend M after an afternoon of walking around my favorite spots in the city. It was my birthday and since I didn’t want to spend the time alone, M sweetly met up with me and we entertained ourselves through stores and shops, bars and cars that don’t slow down when you cross the street.

I wanted to go into that petstore, the one that’s near my friend K’s apartment that always has puppies in the window, cuddling up against the glass, looking entirely irresistible. Since its close to my job, on stressful days when I needed a little affection, I’d come in and just smile at the pups, imagining what it’s be like to own a little nugget.

But I couldn’t, seriously I couldn’t.

My schedule is too crazy, my time too precious. I’m dating and going out with friends, spending too much time away from my apartment and probably not saving enough. Dogs are so expensive and they need training and toys and wee wee pads and more love than I can give. It not the right span in my life to commit to a fury something, no matter how badly I wanted one.

Until I saw that clearance puppy in the corner.

She was sleeping with her white face looking out into the store, her front paws crossed underneath her body. There was a sale sticker next to her name: “white/brown female Maltese/Pomeranian.” I asked the clerk why such a cute girl would be discounted and he told me because she was six months, she was too old to make much money off of and would soon go into heat. I looked at her delicate face and long tongue, and though I knew I shouldn’t, I asked to see her.

As soon as she hit the floor of the play pin she went running — in circles, across my lap, M’s lap, around and around. I would later learn she didn’t even know hep go walk on a leash, a fun fact that pet stores keep hidden, since it would reveal their neglect. She didn’t stop moving until she hopped up on my lap, planted a smelly, puppy breath kiss on my cheek, curled up on my bent legs and fell asleep.

I was done for.

I asked M about a hundred times if I could really go through with it, adopt this dog that had no name and already felt so perfectly meant for me. She licked my hand and rolled over to expose her pink belly, looking up at me like she just knew, just like I just somehow knew, too. M reassured me while adding a side of reality — my life would change, my choices would now involve a white fluff ball who needed attention.

I’m still not sure what came over me or how I reached the decision I did, but I handed over my credit card and a chunk of my savings to purchase my clearance puppy. Sure, she might be from a puppy mill and I would have preferred to adopt a rescue, but moments happen. And when it feels like the right match, your best bet is to take a leap and hope for the very best.

Now, Lucy Liberty (after the city she lives in and I love), is the first thing I see and the last thing I cuddle every day. She is there to greet me with happiness and energy, after long days at work and awful dates that seem to never end. She has taught me the important and difficult lesson of patience and how to put my needs second to care for something who needs me. My room — amazingly — has stayed mostly clean for an entire year, a huge accomplishment if you ask my past roommates and boyfriends.

I’ve spent so much more time exploring the city and walking outside because I had a tiny companion to come along on the journey. She’s the perfect excuse to why I can’t go out when I don’t feel up to, or a way to end a drink meet-up because I’m just not feeling it. She has costs me money and shoes, laptop chargers and furniture, peed on things I didn’t know you could pee on, and shown me an unconditional kind of love and senseless laughter that I didn’t know a pup could evoke.

It hasn’t always been easy, and at times I’ve doubted my decision and if it was the best move for me, right now. Maybe it’s not, maybe she holds me back from another round or puts a damper on day-long weekend plans, but she’s worth it.

All I wanted for my 24th birthday was a pet of my own, even if I didn’t know it or admit it. Lucy came into my life just when I needed her, just when she needed me.

And today, on my quarter life birthday, I not only celebrate 25 years of this crazy life, but one full year with my girl. My only wish this go around is to find the kind of happiness that she brings to me in other places of my life. And to enjoy anything as much as Lucy enjoys off leash hours in Central Park. It’s true, sometimes the things you want the most is the freedom to go as you please, but always come back to a place and a person who loves you.

When I think of the years to come and all of the change that will come with age – job and location changes, boyfriends and eventually a husband, pregnancies and babies, homes and gray hairs, new adventures and friendships that transform, too — I’m excited that I not only get to have those amazing experiences, but that I have a little pup that’s on board for the journey, too.

Happy one year since we met, little bit! I promise I’ll take you to the park after my birthday dinner tonight!

September 9, 2013 by Lindsay Tigar - 7 Comments

The 500th Post

It all started in a bathtub.

Almost three years ago when I was fresh off the plane from NC, working at a business magazine, ten pounds heavier and far more naive, I wrote one little blog with the intention of loving myself. I haven’t quite figured it out yet, and at times I slide backwards instead of forward, but these pages and all of the people who have made this blog the open, confessional space it is, have changed my life in more ways than I could have ever predicted.

It’s opened the door to book agents and book proposals, talk shows, panels, conferences and interviews, the chance to reconnect with folks I haven’t spoken to in years and meeting people I wouldn’t have met otherwise. It’s been a safe and loving venue where I can write freely and honestly, letting myself go and forgiving myself with each and every word.

When I say I love this blog, it’s without any hesitation at all.

And I love what it does, or at least what I hope it does. It helps women (and sometimes men) feel a little bit better about being a 20-something. Or about being single. Or about their ex-boyfriend they can’t (for the life of them) get over. Or about failed dates and failed relationships, lost jobs and lost hope. Or about not having their shit together (because none of us do!).

Thank you — each of you — who come back every single time I write something. Thank you for your comments, your emails, your tweets and your likes. You remind me that it’s all okay, that it’s all working out in a magical way, that I’m not alone, that I’m not doing it the wrong way. That I’m just figuring it out, like everyone else. Thank you for your honesty and your kindness, your support and yes, your love. Thank you especially to my friends who not only read every post but live all of the adventures, the trials and the errors with me, every single day. I hope that in the years to come, I’m able to turn this space into something even better – maybe a book. Maybe a movie, should I ever get that lucky. Maybe just an open forum where we can all contribute our confessions. I hope it’ll one day house engagement photos and wedding portraits, pregnancy announcements and a happy, fat baby.

Maybe it’ll just continue to grow with me, day by day, step by step, stage and age by age.

500 posts later — I’m still a self-proclaimed love addict, but at least it’s a (mostly) healthy addiction now. I’m smarter and bolder, braver and more accepting of myself. I still love love, and hope more than anything that it finds me someday, but if it doesn’t, I know I’ll be happy — and loved — no matter what.

In honor of these hundreds of blogs, here are some of my favorite posts and quotes from the last three years. Let there be 500 more!

“Here we go. I’ve got my favorite pair of heels on my feet, my favorite gloss on my lips, my skinny jeans on my body, and my hand in my own hand -telling me it’s okay to go forward.I’m ready to fall in love with myself.” – My Name is Lindsay and I’m a Love Addict, September 19, 2010.

“My New York story is one that’s like many other hopeful artists who grace the streets with only high-heeled bootstraps and raw ambition to be their guide.I’m not alone –there are endless writers, musicians, models, actresses, dancers, and performers who move to Gotham knowing that all they ever wanted will reveal itself before their eyes. The universe, surely, will move and shift to make fate play its magic cards.” –These Streets Will Make You Feel Brand New, October 14, 2010.

“So here is to being me, the beautiful mess and everything. Frankly, when it comes to what I want and who I am, I do give a damn.” – Frankly, I Do Give a Damn, November 8, 2010.

“He really is, for all intents and purposes, a peaceful, easy feeling in my life. Being around him, wrapped up in him, or smelling his smell is not hard and not too scary. Because, I with my blog, and he with his past, have no inclination of how long this union will last. Or where it will go. Or how we will both feel. But for once, I’m okay with not having any idea.” –The Love That Could Be: Mr. Possibility, December 13, 2010.

“…the best thing about being knocked down and falling (either to a heart break or in love), is that you get to be a single gal who stands up, dusts herself off, and struts her way towards something new, confident in the company of herself and knowing that at times she may stumble and she may plummet, but she will never stay down for long.” –A Single Girl Struggles (But Stands), January 11, 2011.

“Maybe, the only relationship we can truly have on our own terms, without compromising or bending the rules or our standards, is the one we have with ourselves. And even that one is also complicated, and is neither exclusive or nonexclusive. Because at times we open up ourselves to possibilities, and other times, we’re completely content with being in only the company of ourselves. But most of the time – we’re somewhere right in between, deciding which turn, which page, which road, to take next. –The Exclusively, Nonexclusive Relationship, January 31, 2011.

“…almost as easily as the storm came, it leaves. Its noise, its electricity, its saturation, and its perfume trail off into a space beyond the Blue Ridge mountaintops you’ve never crossed. It is only then, when the branches rest from their dancing, the daffodils face the sun as it breaks through the clouds, that the real beauty reveals itself.” –And The Storm Will Rise, February 8, 2011.

“A girl, that while she puts on her New York when she wakes up, there is always a little North Carolina in the choices she makes. The world may be my oyster – but I’d like to think I’m some sort of a peal in this city that’s anything but pure.” –Put My New York On, March 12, 2011.

“The apartment started me – it gave me a foundation. And that was its purpose – to be the starter. To ignite me and provide stability, and now with a little more street smarts, a little less liability, and some places to land should I fall, there isn’t a need for a starter. Like most of what brings us joy in our lives, it has its tenure and then we move onto the next thing, to the next dream to tackle, to the new empty space to make into a home.” –The Starter Apartment, May 1, 2011.

“I see skies with scrapers; stars that don’t come out at night. I see the colors of the rainbow in Chelsea, so pretty walking by. I hear taxis cry, I watch them speed, and I realize they’ll see so much more New York than I’ll ever know. And still, I think to myself, what a wonderful world.” –Louie Armstrong Moments, May 18, 2011.

“New York doesn’t make excuses for anything it does and it expects no less or more from its inhabitants, either native, visiting or transplanted. It’s unbearably hot, frigidly cold, entirely unpredictable, and ruthlessly relentless. But us dreamers? We keep coming, one-by-one, and two-by-two, with a few suitcases and singing a duet of ego and fear, determined to be destined to make it here, in New York freakin’ City, the place we were meant to be.” –In An Ordinary Afternoon, July 5, 2011.

“…sometimes, on a lazy Sunday with a pretty big week ahead, it’s refreshing to sit around in your guy’s t-shirt, relaxing and writing just as you love to do, enjoying the company of yourself and looking forward to the person you love to come home. I don’t want to be settled down, but it’s nice to have your heart settled in a moment.” –Playing House, July 31, 2011.

“…you have to believe – in yourself, in your partner and in the relationship. But most of all, you have to believe that sometimes flames start steady and never last, some struggle but end up lighting up the whole room, some are so hot you melt, but burn out quicker than you like, and sometimes, with the right combination of everything, you find a fire that not only keeps you warm, but reminds you why having flames of passion isn’t as important as having trust that it’ll stay lit.” –Trusting the Fire, August 3, 2011.

“This is what New York is like though – right? Love dims when the sun rises over the East river, when corner stores open for business, when everyone orders the everything bagel, when everyone realizes that everything that felt so right last night, doesn’t this morning. Those who come to the city looking for love quickly find it is a glorified Hollywood myth. Love only come to those who withstand the decade of dating disasters in their 20s, only to find a nice, shorter, balding man in their 30s who can provide. They marry him in a rush, have a baby within a year, and then they become part of the stroller brigades of Park Slope and the UWS, causing a whole new generation of 20-somethings to see their happy little family and big bling and think, Sigh, I want that, too.” –In Love In New York, August 31, 2011.

“He chronicled his failures in the way I collected my successes – placed on mental bookshelves, collecting dust and more despair, only to be pulled out in the moments where he needed a reminder of what he was. Or at least, what he thought he was…Sitting across from me, talking about something new that’s causing him grief, I couldn’t shake the certainty I felt that he was stuck somewhere between the guy he’s been the last ten years, the man he hopes to become and the stagnant existence he has now…I’m really afraid of is being stranded in the Land of Impossibility with him.” –Oh, The Impossibilities, September 7, 2011.

“I’ve traded that bathtub for a cab, those tears for a red dress, and that fear of being alone for the option of having something extraordinary. And that hatred for the word “single” into a thankfulness that through it all, I still have just what I’ve always needed: Myself. And of course, a bottle of champagne, some great friends, a heart that’s still beating and believing, and the faith that the best is yet to come. Stay tuned.” –The Best is Yet To Come, September 19, 2011.

“It really had been too long and yet, maybe it was too soon, I concluded as I pushed the 7th floor button. But really, I could never have let Mr. P come between me and him–my New York–for long. Cheap dollar pizza and Bryant Park? My first love has always been this place — and it was time to stop letting memories have anything to do with guys I’ve dated, and let them be about the man, the city, that first stole my heart.” –And Then I Met Him in Bryant Park, November 29, 2011.

“But I have time to see places I want to see. Time to find the parts of me I’ve yet to discover. Time to paint my room before the Spring arrives. Time to learn how to say “love” in every language I find intriguing. Time to put that word to use with men who are worthy of all it entails. And time to let my heart design my space, my intentions and my life. After all, without it, nothing I see around me (or inside of me) would be possible.” –Let My Heart Design, January 19, 2012.

“I’m never quite enough, yet always more than enough to handle. I always have exactly what I need but I want more, though I know, I probably need less. I just want to keep on going – and going – and going.” –It’s Funny That Way, February 24, 2012.

“My heart is like the skyline – something I let shine for others to see, but at the end of the night, when the sun starts to rise and the wounds begin to heal, it opens up, bright and brilliant again, ready for another night, ready for all that’s yet to come.” –My Heart is Like the Skyline, March 4, 2012.

“There are men who will adore all of the things that make you a woman, even when those things bear babies instead of nights of sexual release, even when those things drag instead of rise to occasions. Men who will always remember what you looked like that day you walked toward them in a white gown with glitter on your eyes and the purist of hope in your heart. There are men who truly, honestly, completely will love you. There are so many men out there. But you’ll never meet them if you don’t let go of the guys you really don’t want to find the men you really deserve. The men who are waiting to meet someone just like you.” –There Are Men, April 23, 2012.

“I learned there’s no course to study or class to take. There are many tests but never any measure of success. There are many words to write, but no rubric to follow. There are no answers to any of the questions or a correct bubble to fill in. The choices are endless, but the options seem limited. No matter the experience you endure or the hours you put into studying — there will never be a tried-and-true way to know how to love. –How to Love, June 26, 2012.

“You keep on dating. You keep getting to know people. You try new things. You move on. You keep learning. You keep daring that same dream. You keep hoping for it…because maybe it really is out there. Maybe its over city scapes or the Garden Gate. Over warm countrysides or waiting in the evening’s tide. Maybe it’s over in the next cart or just anticipating when it’ll start. Or maybe it’s just across the room or in places new, places you knew. Or it could just be inside of you. And that dream you dared to dream, awaits, for someone like you. Because if bluebirds can fly, if strangers can find each other, if so many before me can fall in love with the right man, why, oh why, can’t I? Why, oh why, can’t you?” –Why, Oh Why, Can’t I?, July 18, 2012.

“My rape was legitimate. It was painful – emotionally and physically and personally. If only for a few moments, it took away something that belongs to me:my choice. My choice to make love or to have sex or to do everything-but. It took away my choice to let a man inside of me. It took away my choice to ask for more and to tell someone to slow down. It took away a piece of me that I’ll never get back. But it also did something else for me: it helped make me a fighter.” –My Rape Was Legitimate, August 22, 2012.

“Not everyone has the luxury of their exes going to Singapore and France for a year. But I do.” – Happy After Him, August 27, 2012.

“So many days I’ve lived, so many days I’ve done nothing but hope. They’ve come and gone, like the men I’ve known, and there will be more. There will probably be many more. But one very fine day — I don’t know how far away from now — will finally be my one day.” –One Fine Day, January 3, 2013.

“I wondered if I would become anther listless writer, another hopeless dreamer who lost her way somewhere between New Jersey and Queens. I didn’t know if I could convince someone to give me a chance or if I could even survive on the minimal salary that I knew would come with my very first big girl job. But I did believe I should try. Even if failed to a disappointing demise and had to tuck my Tigar tail and catch a flight to the bittersweet Carolina, I knew I had to give it a go. Remorse I could live with, regret I could not.” –So Very Worth It, February 27, 2013.

“I kind of love it when it rains in New York. The glistening of the buildings. The sound of the droplets on the roof or the window. The sparkle on the street. The sound of kids splashing in the puddles and the sight of couples canoodling to stay dry. The best part of rain in the city is what’s so great about New York itself: after the storm passes — whatever it may be — everything that was bad or grimy or unsure from before is washed away. And what’s left is up to you create. You just have to decide if you can put up with a little rain to get there.” –I Love It When It Rains in New York, March 14, 2013.

“Then, on an unusually windy April afternoon, as I walk to pick up a latte after another less-than-interesting Saturday night, I’ll see an elderly man shushing the oncoming cars and taxis as his wife shuffles along with a walker. It’ll take two traffic rotations for her to make it across, but he just tells her to take her time. She’ll be wearing red lipstick and he’ll reach over to make sure she can make it up the sidewalk, and I’ll be standing right there, watching it all unfold in literally, slow motion. Then I’ll smile. And I’ll think of you, whoever you are, wherever you might be. And I’ll pray that you’ll make your way to me soon because I’d rather walk these streets alone than to meet someone who isn’t you.” –I Thought of You Today, April 22, 2013.

“You would miss the part where something hits you — probably in the middle of an ordinary day — and you realize that blueprint doesn’t fit you anymore. And that no plan really does at all. Maybe it never did to begin with. Because finally, after fighting the should-be’s and the could-be’s and the supposed-to’s and all the pressuring words that did nothing but haunt you, you have found yourself released from the language. You’ve found yourself free from the scam — I mean, the plan — and happily ever after without a clue of what’s next. And you know — or at the very least, you hope — it’s going to work out in a way that no pencil, no high school paper, no fortune teller, no anyone or anything could have ever predicted.” –The Five Year Scam, June 11, 2013.

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