This time of year, I always start to feel a little anxious.
Even though those who know me best would call me overly optimistic (true) and a little romantic about everything (also true), when Christmas rolls around and I find myself single, again, for the past four years, I feel overwhelmingly defeated. For such a magical time of year – with the shared moments, sweet memories and twinkling lights – there’s something about the days that lead up to the New Year that make me nervous for what is to come – or, well, not come. Continue reading
Recently, I had a phone reading with an angel intuitive who reads the energy of your angels. I’ve been to psychics before – and of course, my mom is an astrologer – but there was something refreshing about talking to angels, as opposed to spirits – it seemed like it might be more… real.
And it was.
Five minutes into my reading with Chris Alexandria, I was holding my breath to choke down the tears. It wasn’t so much that she predicted incredible, amazing things, but rather, that she illustrated exactly how I’m feeling. And perhaps, more importantly, what I’ve been struggling with a lot lately.
It comes as no surprise to anyone who knows me (or reads this little blog that’s been my safe place for so many years) – but I’ve been worried about not finding love my entire life. If I look back on my journals from middle school and my blogs for high school, the thread was always the same: what if he doesn’t exist? Continue reading
It was about a month ago that I decided it was finally time to kick the bucket and log off. There was such a surge of power—and frankly, relief—when I deleted all of my dating apps. Tinder was the first to go, followed by Hinge and then Bumble.
When I read Vanity Fair’s article, ‘Tinder and the Dawn of the ‘Dating Apocalypse’—I found myself nodding along mindlessly, silently saying ‘Yep, yep, yep.’ I didn’t really need the article to tell me that dating apps had changed relationships, marriages and the process of finding someone that you want to see for longer than it takes to swipe left or right. That, I knew, from four hard years of being single and watching the whole process change and in many ways, worsen. Even my mom taking over my Tinder account for a week confirmed this.
But as the article points out several times, as we all continue to get online to find someone we connect with offline, I had to beg the question to myself: “Why was I investing all this time into something that makes me miserable?”
Like any true addict, it took me a week to wean myself off of my dating IV and to get rid of the shakes that made me anxious: “If I’m not on these apps, how will I meet people?! What will I do?” Continue reading
About a year ago, I was having one of those epic, ridiculous, totally immature meltdowns about some guy that waited 48 hours to respond to a text message. Now before you go judging me for stressing when a guy doesn’t text back right away, consider how many times you’ve been in my state of panic: you have an incredible first date with someone, you full-on make out with them outside of your apartment door, they text you a sweet good-night message… and then you don’t hear from them for days. And suddenly that once put-together, independent, and strong-willed woman that you usually are takes a back seat to the bat-sh*t crazy version of you that happens when you think you met someone who could be a something. Continue reading
Dear Future Children,
We haven’t met yet, but I’ve thought about you…my whole life. When I was flying back from Europe for the first time (with your grandma), I wrote you a letter about why I hope you travel, and that you take more advantage of your passport than I did in college. There’s so much world to see, and while you’re out there having grand, exciting adventures, you might meet a boy or girl that you’re interested in.
Your mom sure has met plenty of boys along the way.
And though I’d like to meet your father, I haven’t yet. I think of him often, and everyone tells me (like your aunts and uncles and grandparents who you’ll love) that once I fall in love with your dad, I will be amazed that I worried about finding love. It’s a comforting thought, and at times, it helps me power through another date, but it’s also impossible to hear when you’re in the middle of what feels like a neverending revolving door of men you don’t want to date. You’ll understand one day, love. Continue reading
My sophomore year of college, I walked into the newspaper office where I served as an editor, and my phone lit up with a call. Those were the days when we made our ringtones songs, and in the 19-year-old naivety that thought frat boys could turn into gentlemen, I selected ‘Someday My Prince Will Come’ as my tune.
Disgusted (rightfully), the editor-in-chief of the paper scolded me for selecting such a ridiculous song to play in public and teasingly, encouraged me to pick something a little less sexist. At the time, I was thoroughly embarrassed in front of our staff (and okay – my feelings were a little hurt, too) – but I shook it off and kept typing away at my computer.
I never forgot it though.
Seven years – many of them single – and what feels like a lifetime of dates later, you could say that I’m still on the lookout for that so-called prince. I don’t know if it’s the astonishingly terrible dating pool that I’m swimming around in or the fact that with age comes maturity, but as much as I’m a hopeful romantic, I’m not a believer in once-upon-a-time. Continue reading
In October of last year, with my mouth full of tortilla chips and tequila on my brain, I was talking about how long I’ve lived in New York, when my friend Erin interrupted me, “Linds, it won’t be four years in March that you’ve lived here. It’ll be five years!”
In that moment – and frankly, in this one – I was in disbelief that half of a decade has passed since those black Target pumps marched out of JFK into what, at the time, seemed like the start of everything.
I didn’t know it then – but it really was. March 14, 2010 was the beginning of what has become not a journey or a roller coaster, not a blog post or a story, not some romantic comedy or book that’s yet to be published… but the start of my adult life.
My first birthday in New York, before I started this blog a few days later. With Erin.
As I sat down to write this post, highlighting some profound lesson from many lessons and experiences in Manhattan (and Brooklyn and Queens), I kept coming up short. Every other year, I had a clear picture of what I wanted to write about: what it means to be a New Yorker, how the rain has followed all of my prized moments, how I almost gave up on New York (and myself) but didn’t, my own version of ‘Oh, the Places You’ll Go’ – but this year…
…I drew one hell of a big blank. Continue reading