At the time, I was a 22-year-old with lofty dreams and a rather singular view of the world. I had the hopes of becoming a writer in New York and more importantly, finding the love of my life. While one of those things came true—in dividends—as years passed and blog posts collected, I grew weary and exhausted of writing about my dating life. I had lost interest in detailing every intimate moment from my personal experience for the web to read. Sure, dating was hard. Meeting someone who wanted to share his Netflix-and-chill evenings and his coffee-stained mornings with me seemed impossible. All the time I spent divulging and dissecting my lack of romance left me disenchanted by the whole process—and I found myself seeking greener pastures.

Parisian pastries. Caribbean coasts. British baths. Roman romance. Spanish sangria. 

Views like this one.

On a bus through the Andes from Chile to Argentina.

I became less inspired by sitting across from a man at yet another happy hour, feigning interest in mindless, meaningless banter—and found myself developing a relationship with my passport. And hey, as they do when things are right: we got serious, fast.

The more I traveled, the happier I felt. The more often l flew out of New York, the less I looked forward to returning. With each article I pitched, I found myself suggesting angles about exotic dishes and hotel suites, hidden gems, culture immersion and local finds. It was after I returned from yet another vagabond stint abroad that I realized the era of Confessions of a Love Addict had passed. I wasn’t that same 22-year-old. I still craved love—I hope I always will—but it wasn’t my priority anymore. The quest for it wasn’t what brought me joy or fulfilled my spirit. It didn’t ignite the fire inside of me that drove me to be a journalist in the first place, all those years ago.

So, on February 14, 2017, I officially bid adieu to the blog I wrote for the majority of my 20s.

On March 20, 2017, I was accepted into Remote Year, standing in the hallway after a sleepless, super fun, night drinking my way through NOLA.

On April 2, 2017,I put in a non-refundable $5,000 deposit to secure my spot within my nomadic community, Yugen.

On May 23, 2017, I put in my notice at my former full-time content director gig at ClassPass.

On June 23, 2017, I went freelance-full as a journalist, content strategist and editor.

On July 25, 2017, I lugged my mattress to my East Village curb and boarded a one-way ticket to Croatia, with a pitstop through Greece.

On July 30, 2017, I started Remote Year.

In the Santorini, Greece airport, the day before RY started.

And the rest—at the risk of sounding trite— is history.

Since making this leap of faith—in my career, in my location, in my way of living, in my perspective of the planet and its people—I’ve been amazed at the priceless, immeasurable growth I’ve experienced. Every damn day, I feel immensely blessed by editors who have assigned me the types of stories I’ve always dreamt of writing, of the opportunities that have developed my voice and my talent, of the workspaces dotted across the map that have provided a desk, WiFi, fodder, company and sunlight for my ramblings.

So, on June 11, 2018—hanging on to my 29th year until the last second—allow me to reintroduce myself:

My name is Lindsay, and I’m a travel journalist.

On the train to the airport in Tokyo, Japan.

Though I truly have no idea where I want to create my home base once I return stateside sometime in November, after almost a year of being my own boss, creative director, editor, social media strategist and accountant—I’ve never been more confident I selected the right path for myself. My hope is the runway I’ve paved encourages others to buy that boarding pass, buckle up and take off, since there is nothing truly as magical as soaring with your own wings. (And yep—the turbulence is worth it. Just order a cocktail. You’ll be fine.)

As a toast to this new chapter and as a way of digging in my heels to lean all the way in, I’m excited to share my new website and branding. Here, you can find need-to-know information about my services and a selection of my featured clips across various sectors—from travel and wellness, to career and beyond. And yep, I’m back to blogging: or as I like to put it: the words I don’t get paid for (but love anyway). So, make sure to browse through a year’s worth of sunkissed moments I experienced from Prague and Japan to Thailand and Peru.

While I’m not ready to spill the scoop—just yet, anyway—I’m also working on a book project highlighting my journey from the age of 24 until now: not only as a woman and a writer, but as a traveler and a lifelong, hopeful romantic.

Read the rest of this post here. 

“You created this, Lindsay. You worked for this. You did it,” I heard silently in my head. And though it should come as no surprise to those who love me dearly, I teared up outside in the salty Mexican area, still wearing my winter boots and thermal socks. Of all the moments I used to dream of in North Carolina, imagining what my life in New York would be like, it never occurred to me how following my heart could lead me far beyond skyscrapers and city sidewalks, but how it could take me all over the world, chasing bylines wherever they led me.

And I definitely didn’t think that I would get my great big start as a real-deal writer by creating a blog about being single at the age of 22, hungover from my birthday party before in an old, dusty, multi-family building in Harlem.

As I sat outside on that balcony, I helped myself to a generous pour of chilled Sauvignon Blanc and took a bite of local, freshly-caught ceviche on my very first press trip, I was overcome with gratitude. What rang in my head in that first moment upon arrival was, and is, true – I’ve worked tirelessly since the second that Target pump met Manhattan ground, and I’ve never doubted my ability to write for even a moment. But my success can truly only be measured by how many people have been be courageous enough to share themselves with me – through commentary or emails, through likes on Facebook for my published work, through encouraging Gchats and texts from friends and family, through those of you who have confided in me when you were facing the worst of personal storms.

This blog – for so many years – was a safe, open-hearted community. It was my most frequented website. It was what kept me up at night, thinking about what post I would write next on my 365 daily deadline quest. It was my own 20-something public diary, a detailed, raw account of what it was like to be new to NYC, new to adulthood, new to dating. When I read through those old blogs now, I read between my own lines, and I feel all of those shaky firsts, those desperate feelings of uncertainty, those wounds that I was healing by typing.

And then, I dig deeper and I discover all of the good stuff.

Like the ones that landed me a stint with a book agent, the ones that introduced to one of my best friends, the ones who were read and re-read by my fellow editor friends when I was unsure about hitting that sometimes-daunting ‘publish’ button, the ones that served as clips to get freelance gigs at some of the largest magazines in the world, the ones that, well, helped me grow up.

And the ones that taught me how to let go of relationships I had outgrown, the ones that taught me how to let go of who I thought I should be and how to embrace the eccentric, unique beauty of my own heart, the ones that taught me how to let go of the five-year (and 10-year and 15-year) plan I always had for myself and made me fall in love with the painful and exquisitely empowering process of merely existing and letting life lead you.

And right now, it’s with a heavy heart and yep (you guessed it) teary eyes, that after almost seven years, I discontinue Confessions of a Love Addict.

I realized how much I had personally outgrown this blog when one of my closest friends came by after work for dinner. I had just gone through an old jewelry armoire and I was making room for new items. This talented, lovely friend is at a crossroads in her life, where she isn’t sure where she wants to live, what she wants to do or the best way to answer either of those important questions. I’m so inspired by her brave sense of self and the kindness that she bestows to so many, myself included.

As we were chatting she said, “You know that love affair you’ve always had with New York? I’m not sure if I’ve ever felt that way about living here.” I smiled, put down my mug of tea and replied, “I didn’t really pick to feel this way about NYC. Something was special from the moment I visited and I’ve been able to love it through so many ups and downs over the years.“

And so I pulled out this old journal, given to me by the teacher who encouraged my writing in the seventh grade, covered in magazine clippings of fancy dresses and hopeful words, and I showed my friend the documentation of my first summer in New York. This was two years before I started this blog and I was interning in the city, still afraid to go any further than the bottom of Central Park, much less to a borough. What I remember the most about those two very-short months was how alive I felt, how peaceful my spirit was to finally be building the life I had envisioned and how astonished I was at how much a carton of milk cost.

Half-way through this show-and-tell, I thought about another journal, which I lovingly call ‘The Dream Book,’ – it’s where I chronicle many of my firsts. Inside, there is a letter that I wrote on March 14, 2010 on the plane, riding on the tailwind of a one-way ticket and naive, passionate, wild hope. There’s every address I’ve ever called home, the date I accepted my first job offer, the first dollar I ever made, letters to my future children and so much more.

As I began to get it out to show my friend and suggest she create a journal like this of her own, I realized I didn’t know where it was.

I tore through my closet and my bookshelf, my nightstand and even under my bed, but it was nowhere to be found. At this point, I was starting to have a mini-meltdown until I looked to the corner of my room, where that jewelry armoire was sitting and I opened a random drawer. Though I could have sworn I had cleaned them all out the night before, I had missed one.

And inside was that journal.

My own personal history of my life, written in all stages of my handwriting for the past 13 years. Even thinking about the possibility of putting that armoire on the curve for a random stranger to thrift through and steal one my most personal, prized items, gives me goosebumps right now. It was as if the universe was trying to get me to open that book and flip through the pages of the life I’ve been so lucky to lead. After my friend left, I paged through, holding it tightly in my hands, until I found this page, a checklist, if you will, for what I wanted out of my life that I wrote at age 15. Most of these bullet points are still accurate, but there was one that needed to be checked off:

Be known for my writing.

It’s an odd thing to feel like you have done what you set out to do, and now you’re tasked with the humbling opportunity to dream again. But as the 28-year-old me gets closer to my 30th birthday, and with it, hopefully many new milestones, I’m dreaming far bigger than writing about my dating life. And I understand now just how powerful a single voice can be among a crowd and the gravity, the weight, the responsibility that comes with being a writer who is trusted, valued and read. Dating – and find love – is an important topic, but it’s not the only one that I’m interested in, or the one that defines me, as a woman, as a person, as a writer.

Now, I’m working on becoming a content strategist for an international fitness company. I’m writing for a dozen or so publications about everything from health, wellness and psychology to travel, food, culture and more. I’m boarding a plane each and every month, both for work and for pleasure, to fly with my sights set on seeing as much of the world as I can. I decided not to pursue a book about my personal dating experience (after many proposals and rejections) because the first time I write a novel, I want it to be something that I’m so thoroughly invested in, I feel it in my bones. I don’t have the idea yet, but I know it will come, and I’m in no rush.

I’m no longer in that tattered apartment, but living downtown, able to walk to nearly everything. I’m in the best shape of my life and closer to those I cherish more than ever before, and so thankful that with each calendar year, our friendships continue to bond us tighter together. I’m figuring out that the simple checkboxes I created so long ago are too narrow and fine, where really, I’ve never been one to color within the lines.

The million dollar question, though: am I single? Yes, yes I am.

But it’s a different type of single than what I was all of those years ago, when I cried in a bathtub, so distraught and desperate at the idea of being alone. I’ll level with you though: I still battle fears about my future love life and I still struggle with maintaining a fresh perspective when I go on yet another date that doesn’t turn out how I had hoped. What matters to me now, however, isn’t at all what mattered when I was documenting my experiences here. I’m more attracted to who a person is, instead of the space within my soul I want them to fill. I’m wiser and I’m pickier, but I’m kinder – I understand that no two experiences are the same, and no two pieces will ever fit seamlessly every single day. I know that relationships are an ebb-and-flow, a push-and-pull, a compromise of two stubborn people who happen to find solace somewhere, beautifully, in the middle.

And what dating for all of these years has taught me is the confident, relentless ability to be alone: whether I’m taking myself to brunch on a Saturday afternoon or catching a flight to visit a new city whose language I do not speak, with my passport as my only companion, I feel assured standing by myself. Though I may not currently have the love of my life, I know there is room for him, for when that times comes. I’m constantly amazed by the capacity of hearts – and how much they grow as we age, always making room for new people and experiences, new life and new love.

And that’s why I’ve begun the process of facing my own internal demons and the negative mantras I’ve often repeated to myself regarding love by going to weekly therapy. It wasn’t an easy choice, but it has been one of the most impactful ones I’ve made in several years. It is one that I would recommend to anyone – for you don’t need to be classically depressed or anxious to feel like the way you approach a part of your life is unhealthy. An outside perspective, much like how this blog is for so many of you, is a nonjudgemental way to glance at yourself, gulp and get to work. And really, as much as I’d like to shout from the rooftops that I’m happily in love and be able to weave the fairytale ending I always hoped I’d end with this blog with, I’d like to leave this space on a different – and arguably, more important – note.

In fact, it’s the one that I started with all of those months and months ago: Love yourself first.

Love every damn piece of yourself. Love the privilege that is being in your body, living your life, learning your lessons. Love the darkest times because it is through the cold twilight, that you can see your breath, and know that your heart is ever-pulsing, ever-enduring. Love the people who surround you, both the ones you choose and the ones that choose you, for they are your warriors and your most valuable treasure, your rainbow after the hail and the hell. Love them as they receive the things you’ve prayed for, and love them when nothing goes as planned.

Love the disappointments and the downfalls, the distractions and the downers who want to extinguish the light that beacons solely from you. Love the fiber that makes your head spin and pushes your heart to be brave when it’s afraid, that makes your spirit invaluable and golden. Love the flaws and the finishes, the flips and the flops.

And most importantly, cherish the basic, fundamental human right you have to love.

Even after yes, nearly five and a half years of being single, searching for a romantic partner to call my own, there is one instinct that I always listen to, one feeling I know is true and right, one voice that I hear louder than anyone, one path that I follow, one word in which I lead every single second of my life, even when I don’t want to: and that’s love.

I have loved writing this blog and I have loved (and read and appreciated) every comment, each like, all of the emails, all of the words. Not only did Love Addict build my career in an almost-unimaginable way, but you all healed my heart. You made me see the magic that comes from self-reflection and the clarity that is easy to view if you have the strength to be vulnerable, honest and real. It was my promise to all of you (and to myself) that I ended a very toxic relationship and decided to focus on creating beauty from the inside out, with the hopes of meeting someone who would love me always, wholeheartedly and profoundly. And though I haven’t met him yet, I have all of these comments and pages from all of you, to help me remember my worth, my value, my one-in-a-million soul.

And in return, I’ll keep this URL, well, forever.

There are still many visits to Love Addict each and every single day, from all over the world. There are still comments of people who discover something in here that speaks to them. So, please, read the archives. Go through my journey. Let it spark the sentences you were meant to read and evoke the confidence that will propel you to love the hell out of yourself. You are worth it. And you can do anything – and yes, I mean anything – that you believe in your heart that you can do.

Because if a girl can move to the most expensive city in the world with $3K, a few suitcases, sans-job or apartment, and wake up seven year later astonished at what her life has grown into, all because she believed it would – there is nothing standing in your way. Except, as I learned through 600 blogs posts, yourself. So get out of the way. Get rid of the plan. And live your beautiful, outrageously incredible life.

I didn’t know how to end this blog – like a relationships that just wasn’t working anymore, there isn’t a polite way to walk away and to move on to what’s next. I knew I would read these paragraphs to death and wonder if it was enough, if it payed tribute to how this blog changed my life, if it said what I wanted it to say. I’m sure there will be things I wish I wrote in here that I didn’t. I’m sure there will things that are left unsaid, but just like you can’t predict the future or tame your own heart, it felt serendipitous that I would publish my last post on Valentine’s Day.

So today – and every day after it – I encourage you to celebrate the love that lives within you, the love that you create, the love you find, the love you build and the love you seek. There are so many reasons to be filled with love, and I sincerely can’t thank you all for loving me through these years and for making me overflow with thankfulness.

Here are the final set of Letters of Self-Love, written by all of you.

Happy Valentine’s Day, and farewell, my darling loves.

With love,

Lindsay

P.S. I’ll be updating LindsayTigar.com with all of my new articles and features, if you’d like to continue reading.

P.S.S. Please stay in touch: lindsay@loveaddictnyc.com

P.S.S.S. Good-byes are hard. Love you long time.

Dear Goddess:

Life is full of adventures, some of them joyous and some not so much. It is how you act and react to each situation and you do just that; you use love as your source to reach each person on a daily basis.

Love, as you are better understanding, can and does move mountains. You are learning daily how great you are and how empowering you are to not only yourself, but the world around you.

Remember, you are human. You are beautifully perfectly imperfect. You are the essence of love. You are the essence of joy. You are the essence of life itself. Others watch what you do because you are so magnificent and they wish to mimic you. THIS is how great you are.

Remember, whenever you feel those insecurities creep up, how much you are LOVED simply for BEing you. -Christine Alexandria

Dear me,

This is a love letter. My first act of love is to say ‘I’m sorry.’ I’m sorry for not loving you the way you deserved. I’m sorry for neglecting you and not acknowledging you. I’m sorry for not being there for you when you needed me the most. I’m sorry for taking you down paths that would lead to pain and turmoil. I can’t change this. All I can do is promise to listen to you more and make you a priority. When you tell me something is wrong, I will listen, and I will change for you…for us. You are a part of me and I am a part of you.

You are my inner child. I am your external adult.  -CC

Dearest,

Thank you for being with me always. I have always had a love-hate relationship with you; but you never deserved all the criticism and hate.

I love your mind; your thought process, you come up with amazing solutions to problems.

I love your height, your hair, your fleshy legs, your curvy body, your hands…you are beautiful. But most of all, I love your heart and mind and your curiosity; never loose that. You question why things are done how they are done and if you think it’s impractical/not logical, you change it. Sometimes you fail but I’m proud of you.

You have always believed God didn’t create us to be the same (Same beliefs, same sexual orientation e.t.c) Diversity is beautiful, and i’m so very proud of you for believing in that.

I love your character, you treat everyone with respect regardless of their social standing, religion e.t.c.

Always be you, I know I don’t love you as much as you deserve but I’ll get there.

You deserve the very best; be patient, don’t rush and DO NOT settle.

The last few months you’ve made some mistakes that keep you awake at night.

It’s okay, just breath….it’s not the end, but a new beginning.

You are a strong woman, you’ve been tempted to think otherwise sometimes but you know the truth deep down. Never forget it.

Lastly, I love that you believe the best is yet to come, that true love does exist, that we all have a right to be happy, that you are a child of God. -Anonymous

Dear me,

This girl. Me.

Gosh I love you.

I’m finally here.

Here to protect you.

Love you.

Honor you.

I know your deepest, darkest places you’ve been.

I get you.

Understand you.

So I know how to support you.

All the pain.

The sadness.

The depression.

The anxiety.

The highs.

The lows.

I don’t judge you.

I don’t shame you.

I don’t feel frustrated when past feelings come up.

I just want to love you.

Be here for you.

Protect your heart.

Your sensitive soul.

I have your back.

From here on out.

You can feel safe.

With me.

Because now I know how to treat you.

Love,

Lauren

#thebodylovetribe

Dear Self,

I love the way you are able to overcome challenges and through your writings and erotic film-making, bring new understanding to women about their sexuality.

Love,

Coleen Singer

Dearest Jenn,

I have stared at this e-mail every day for the past week trying to figure out what I want to say. Over the past few years, I know you sometimes feel stuck in a whirlwind of emotions, continuously asking yourself if you are at the right place or if you are happy?

You have felt times when things have crumbled, though you always picked yourself up and succeeded. You have learned the things you liked and disliked and want to be the best human being in the world. 7 years ago, you would have never thought of yourself being where you are, confident, intelligent, and happy. Your smile brings happiness for days, your bad jokes lifts others during hard times, and your big personality makes people feel warm and welcomed. Though you sometimes don’t feel like you are on top of your game, people look at you with admiration saying ‘she has got her crap together.’ Be thankful for where you are at and get excited for what things are to come. Be so happy that you have a wonderful boyfriend who treats you right and loves you for who you are even at the worse times.

You have to remember that you have a wonderful boyfriend who has helped you grow into the person you are today, yet, I know you feel like something is missing. To be honest, you questioned him, as you know he questioned you too, during times of uncertainty. You didn’t know where it was going and you weren’t even sure if either of you were each other’s one. From that, the most important part of that is you both did not give each other the chance to grow and be happy with yourselves. For the past few years, you have gone on trips with friends and family to see if this is what you wanted. You are always planning a new trip while he enjoyed his time alone (as he loves). You both separated yourselves from each other as you both grew to love other things. Though this happened, you always seemed to be come back to each other – always wanting to share your experiences and love for other things. This, has not only helped you both love yourself and what you both love, but helped you become closer. He became your best friend who you felt wanted to share your concerns, passions, and goals with.

Sometimes, you forget this. You forget that it’s just not all about you but about another person in your life. The love you give and the love you have is something that can’t be broken and taken advantage of. As the years fly by, you are still going to ask the question if you are happy or if you are working at the right place. My advice is that you need to stop looking at life as a question and focus on the present so you can take full advantage of all the happiness you have now in your life. Remember: love yourself and love others unconditionally.

-Anonymous

Dear Me,

I want you to always remember that there is nobody like you. That authenticity is all you have. That the reason people love you is because you are genuine.

Please never let go of your drive, please never forget your passion. You are young, strong, and you have lots of things to say. So say them.

Funny will get you far, but truth will get you further. There will never be a time that you need to wear someone else’s shoes. There should never be a moment that you doubt that you are all you need.

I want you to always remember that there is nobody like you.

Love,

Me, Ben Hawes

Dear Me,

You spend so much time beating up on yourself and it makes me sad. Whether you’re envious of friends’ career successes and fearing your own stagnation, or envying the lives of those on social media, you spend far too much time focusing on why you’re not good enough.

Here is why you are good enough: You are kinder than most. You wake up every single day wanting to make people smile. You are a loyal friend, loving daughter, attentive girlfriend, and hardworking writer.

And even though you spent this entire letter wracking your brain trying to come up with reasons as to why you are worthy of self-love, I believe in you. I believe in your creative Zumba dance abilities. I believe in your hilarious puns and witty headlines. I believe in your strength to overcome an abusive childhood. I believe in your natural curiosity and love of all things progressive, and the fire inside you that wants to make the world a better place. I believe that you have more potential and love inside your 5’0-frame that you realize.

Hugs and Nutella,

Me

Dear me,

As a kid you sit and wonder what life would bring you and the adventures you would have. You’d dream of the perfect man the perfect kids the perfect life. It was never anything grand like living in Paris or driving expensive sports cars. Now here you are just weeks away from turning thirty. You sit and instead of dreaming of your future at this what seems like a mid life crisis and you think over your past. You can’t be disappointed you have no regrets you have everything as you wanted it so far. You may worry about your weight your hair and even the possible lose of your mind but your dreams are coming true. You have pushed your self fought for your self stood up for your self you are strong and beautiful inside and out. Thirty years from the same will stand true. Be proud of your self be unafraid to conquer your dreams be you and never let you talk your self out of it.

Love, your self

Dear one,

You are amazing. The messiness, the pain, the complicated and contradictory nature that you embody; it is necessary- it is beautiful.

Keep feeling the feelings. Keep working hard. Keep struggling with things that should be different- reconciled relationships, broken glass ceilings, challenged male privilege, and those crumbled up and tossed away expectations of “what you thought this phase of your life would look like”.

Keep believing in kindness even when it feels weak. Keep speaking up when you see something beautiful and good. The world is a better place because of what you are able to see and the words you speak into the hearts of those who hear you. Keep leaning into the discomfort. You are stronger than you’ll ever know. But that’s the thing about strength, you only really find out about it when you have to show it. So, don’t be afraid.

Thank you for sharing your creativity! I hope you always remember that you are a light in so many ways and your light inspires. Thank you for caring and for thinking about the little things; the details. It is refreshing and adds joy to this crazy world.

Most of all, thank you for your passion. I know it can seem isolating, frustrating, and even lonely at times. But, you caring enough to risk and fail and risk again is one of the most amazing things about you!

My dearest beloved, I leave you with this Franciscan blessing. May you know how deeply, how intimately, and how much you are loved.

“May God bless you with a restless discomfort
about easy answers, half-truths, and superficial relationships,
so that you may seek truth boldly and love deep within your heart.
May God bless you with holy anger
at injustice, oppression, and exploitation of people,
so that you may tirelessly work for justice, freedom, and peace among all people.
May God bless you with the gift of tears
to shed for those who suffer from pain, rejection, starvation, or the loss of all that they cherish,
so that you may reach out your hand to comfort them and transform their pain into joy.
May God bless you with enough foolishness
to believe that you really can make a difference in this world,
so that you are able, with God’s grace, to do what others claim cannot be done.”

Love always,
Yourself

Six years. Six whole years.

In truth, it’s hard for me to believe too. While I hate to say that 21 feels so long ago, considering I’m only 27, it really does. That girl who first moved here, wearing her Target pumps and skin-tight skirts, believing every moment was covered in gold and ripe with possibility, is a little different from this woman I’ve become. I’m still positive, I’m still hopeful, I still love Target – but I’ve grown and changed so much in the years claimed a triple-zero area code that I can’t imagine who I’ll be in six more years.

In 2010 – a few months after I moved!

March 14 always feels like an important day for me –  a time to think back on the best decision (and biggest leap of faith) I’ve ever made. There have been some pretty rough times over the years, even moments when I considered leaving to start all over somewhere less crazy. Less intense. More forgiving. There have been brilliant moments of both success and love, where Manhattan shined as bright as it did when it was a mere thought in the back of my head as a child. There have been such amazing moments of luck and wisdom, adventure and determination, friendship and laughter. My life in New York has surprised me and taken me in directions that I wouldn’t have mapped out myself.

My life in New York is both everything – and nothing – like I imagined it would be.

In 2016! Six years later

Last year, at the five year mark, I was feeling more than a little lost: unsure of how I felt, unsure of how I felt about my location, not confident in where I wanted my career to go, and well, at the breaking point of giving up on love after countless failed dates that left me feeling more than a little bitter. Last year wasn’t the hardest year, but it was one that forced me to take an honest, hard, difficult look at my life without those rose colored glasses that I always clung to, and figure out what’s next.

That’s really the question, you know – once you’ve made (some of) your dreams come true, what do you do next?

At the time, I was afraid to dream. Afraid to close my eyes and configure a new way of looking at my present and my future. Afraid to have that same silly hope that made me brave enough to move here in the first place. Afraid to be the bubbly, kind and open-hearted woman who saw the bright side. It wasn’t that I didn’t have things to be thankful for (of course I did and still do) – but I had lost my way. I didn’t know what I wanted or how I was supposed to get there, wherever that was. I only knew I was unhappy, and that I didn’t wear it very well -I never have.

Today, at the 6-year milestone, I don’t know where tomorrow will take me or six months from now, or at the seven year anniversary (I can already feel that itch).

But I’m dreaming again.

And in a way that I never have before: my whole world doesn’t revolve around the axis of New York. Sure, I mostly love it here. I have a happy life, a support system I depend on and a job that I love with the most inspiring colleagues I’ve ever worked with. I’m single, but my heart, somehow, is still ever-hopeful and confident about what it knows will eventually come my way. I’ve found peace in being alone, realizing that I never quite am, that really, love always surrounds me.

I’m living day by day, moment by moment, savoring the joy, the beauty, the love in each of them. There is something so profound and so calming about living for the now instead of the next. It makes it easier to dream when I’m not pushing for the answers. When I’m not worrying about what will happen. When I’m not anxious. When I’m not plotting or planning or defining anything.

When I’m just living.

So what has New York taught me, six years later? The hardest – most important lesson of all: How to let go and how to let my life unfold. And also, how deep the capacity of my heart truly is. Because even after all this time, on an uncommonly sunny March afternoon, while talking to my mom 800 miles away, I can catch a glimpse of the Empire State Building surrounded by beautiful blue skies, and smile.

Because regardless of what the future holds or where I go or if I stay, the very fact that I get to be alive is pretty incredible.

Happy Anniversary, New York. I still love you.

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.

Usually on New Year’s, I made a big, grandiose gesture to myself. I close my eyes and cross my fingers and toes that the right person will make his way to me in the next 12 months. I light a Chinese lantern and let it float up into the crisp Carolina sky, sealing away the angst of dating and renewing my spirit for another round of Tinder-ing and happy hour-ing. I go to bed on New Year’s, tipsy from the champagne and reassuring myself that I won’t be alone for another New Year’s.

No, this will be the last one that I spend single. Surely. Surely all of these wishes, all of this hard work on self-love, all of this putting myself first and not settling and standing up for love will be rewarded with a wonderful, loving relationship.

Surely.

But so far, it hasn’t. I haven’t met someone I would like to spend my life with. I have barely met someone I’d like to go on more than a handful of dates with. I’ve watched my friends meet their future husbands, celebrated their success in love and tried my best to not be envious when someone else stumbles across the very thing that I want more than anything. I’ve always put on a brave face and I’m pretty good at focusing my attention elsewhere – to work, to writing, to travel – instead of focusing on the relationship that’s missing in my life.

But by the end of another year, full of so many dates, so many kisses at my doorsteps, so many men I thought could turn into something until they disappeared or showed their true intentions, that courage wears a little thin. I begin to worry about feeling this way another year from now. Or another few years from now. I let myself spiral into this ridiculously irrational mindset that damns me to be alone forever and ever, without a husband, without happiness, without babies, without a home, without any of the things I hope for my future. They are scary thoughts to have and even scarier to face up to because they feel so daunting, so absolute. So isolating. So immediate.

But they aren’t. They are just fears. They aren’t truth. They don’t dictate my future, they merely make me feel like I have a deadline, when I don’t. I’ve let one calendar date – January 1 – determine how I feel about my future for so many years. I let myself float so high with hope, that by April, I find myself anxious all over again when nothing – or no one – has happened.

So I’m doing something different for 2016.

I’m not wishing for love. I’m not putting on my happiest face and going on dates just because I feel like I have to. I’m not making some grand testimony about what I’ve learned or what I want in a mate. I’m not going to chase after love like it’s something that has to be caught, when it’s rather, something that comes when the time is right. I’m not going to focus on the one thing that I don’t have when I have so much right in front of me.

I always pick a word – last year it was ‘health’ (I lost 20 pounds in 2015!), the year before it was ‘yes’ – and this one is perhaps the simplest and yet, most difficult of all: ‘joy.’

How will I make ‘joy’ my word this year? By creating daily joy in my life. And that’s as far as I will get: day by day. Not thinking about Valentine’s Day. Or the summertime. Or going on a trip with a possible future boyfriend. Or the holidays. Or New Year’s 2017.

I’m only going to focus on today and those things that bring me joy right this very moment. Because I don’t know if I’ll be single until I’m 28, 29, 30 or 35. I don’t know if I will be able to have the children I want so much. I don’t know where I will ultimately buy my future home or if I’ll have to buy it by myself or with a partner. I don’t know where my friends will pack their bags and move, as our lives all begin to take form and go down different roads. I don’t know where I’ll book my next trip or where I’ll meet the next person who will undoubtedly change my life. I don’t know where I see myself in five years or 10 years or 15 years. I don’t know when I’ll publish my first book or land that first byline in the New York Times or Vanity Fair or the New Yorker – or any of the places that I dream of writing for.

But I do know that waking up an hour earlier makes me more relaxed the entire day. I do know that when I force myself to exercise before work, I’m more productive at the office. I do know that when I leave my phone at home while I take Lucy for a walk, we both enjoy it more. I do know that I’ve always wanted to take a cooking class on how to properly chop vegetables. I do know that spending an extra hour out with my friends, laughing and sipping on wine is something I never regret. I do know that doing something kind for someone else – like writing a handwritten letter – makes me feel like the world is a better and smaller place. I do know how beautiful I feel when I let my skin breathe, free from the make-up, free from the grime. I do know that smiling at strangers has never made me feel worse, only better.

I do know the things that bring me joy into my life. And for 2016, I’m letting go of wondering when the joy of love will make it’s way to me or when it’ll be my turn. Because there’s no joy in wondering. There’s no joy in saying negative things to myself – or to others – about my non-existent love life. There’s not joy in trying to figure out the who, the when, the why and the how.

Really, the only joy is in the now. And that’s where I choose to be.

I’ve been keeping busy in New York lately.

Between dating and writing, killin’ it on a boxing bag and traveling, I haven’t had as much time to blog as I would like. And though I’ve wanted to tell you for a long time, I’m finally able to reveal that I’m in an ABC News documentary on Hulu, called Swiped! I’d love for you to watch it and share what you think below.

More updates coming your way soon! Watch the documentary by clicking here.

Here are just a few reasons why kindness will help you find someone who is not only sweet like you…but sweet on you:

You are more attractive.

Last year, a study led by Yan Zhang of Huazhong University in China found that positive personality traits increase perceptions of facial attractiveness. What does that mean? Basically what your mama told you from the get-go: when you’re a nice person, people see that in you — and potential partners can find you more attractive as they get to know how loving and giving you really are.

You’ll have a longer marriage because you’ll live longer.

Whenever you extend a helping hand — during a date or on the walk home after the date — you’re not only showing how much goodness you have inside of you, but you’re improving the lives around you. In fact, if you’re someone who volunteers on the regular, a study by ABC News reported that you’ll actually live longer. So if you want to be with someone forever and ever (amen) — volunteer together! It’ll bring you closer, remind you of the beauty in the world, and ensure that you stick together for as long as you can.

You’re happier.

Experts say that while giving back might be a gene you’re born with, it can also be taught as you grow up or as you surround yourself with like minded people as an adult. However, when you are kind to others and you see them benefit from the joy, you instantly become happier too. Clinical psychologist Lara Honos-Webb, Ph.D says that when we’re kind to others, we release chemicals that are similar to the ‘runner’s high.’ “Doing something nice for someone also gives the brain a serotonin boost, the chemical that gives us that feeling of satisfaction and well-being,” she writes in a Psychology Today blog. And as we all know — happiness is way more attractive than being angry.

You have less stress in your life.

A study on baboons found that alpha males experienced higher stress levels than the ‘nicer’ baboons. This could mean that even if you have a lot going on — from a busy job to managing your finances and finding time for friends — giving back to others helps release your stress levels. Being giving also helps you see the bigger picture, making you less likely to have unnecessary fights with others, with more ability to not let stress interfere with any of your relationships.

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? 

I began seriously getting worried about the whole notion a year into college, after discovering that those ‘mature’ university men didn’t live up to the expectation I had for them. I suppose you could say the same thing about the men in New York City. While I’ve grown tremendously as a person, as a writer, as friend, as a woman – dating has been about the same… give or take a few bright lights shining from inside very dark, large, seemingly endless, vast, black hole.

But unlike that girl who arrived in Manhattan 5.5 years ago, ready to tackle the pavement, find my dream job and fall in love – I don’t have that same faith in those stars as I used to. But my hope didn’t go away overnight, but rather, over the course of many, many nights, counting how long it’s been since I felt something. How long it has been since I had that beautiful hope in something I couldn’t see, feel or predict. How long I would have to wait for something to change: for a date to go well, for a man to see me for more than another girl, another lay, another number to delete or a face to swipe.

When would it ever be my turn to be the one to be in love?

I didn’t realize that with all of my writing, all of my self-discovery, all of my analyzing, all of my dating, all of my worries and all of those tear-filled nights… I was slowly chipping away at my self-worth.

It hit me when Chris (and the angels) explained how I talk to myself: “you ask about why it hasn’t happened and what is wrong with you and when it will all change – but you don’t focus on anything positive about what you bring to the table.” She was right – nearly all of my inner dialogue is negative, and to be honest, most of the time when I’m talking about dating to my friends (as opposed to writing about it), I’ll say things like:

I’m exhausted. Dating in NYC sucks. It HAS to be better somewhere else. What’s wrong with men? What’s wrong with me? Why do I have to follow rules? Did I do something wrong? Why do men never want to settle down? All men want to have sex and that’s it. Men are terrible. This is never, ever going to happen, I should just freeze my eggs and call it a day.

When I really thought about it… and when I read it after I wrote it down… I was shocked.

It felt so foreign to me that such nasty phrases and words came out of my mind and out of my mouth. But then again – I could believe it. I’ve let this constant state of anxiety and stress over finding love turn me from the hopeful, loving, thoughtful and positive person that I really am into someone I don’t recognize: she’s bitter, she’s angry, she’s scorned, she’s sad, she’s dismissive and she’s… not me.

Instead of focusing on these things, Chris – and the angels – gave me, what I thought, seemed like a simple task: Don’t list all of the things you don’t have or what you’re worrying about. Try listing all of the reasons you’re worthy of love. 

I was taking notes while listening to her reading, and I wrote down that advice casually, thinking it was a good idea and I would get to the whole ‘worthy of love’ thing eventually. Fast forward a few days and I’m home sick with a cold, watching Gilmore Girls, thinking about some guy I went on some date with… and decided to begin my list…

…and I came up with two reasons.

Two reasons I was worthy of love. And then I texted some of my friends. I made some food. I ‘took a break from journaling.’ Then I wrote down another reason. Then I tried to nap. Grabbed some hot tea. And then I Googled ‘Reasons someone is worthy of love.”

That’s right – I had to Google why I was worthy of a beautiful, great, true, passionate, genuine, long-lasting love.

There, on those lined pages, was the proof that I needed. I’ve spent four years writing this blog while building my career, traveling, fostering friendships, enduring and sometimes enjoying dates, challenging myself to think differently and stepping outside of my comfort zone every chance I get… but I still can’t come up with more than a handful of reasons about why I deserve love. All of the achievements and the gold stars, the adventures, the accomplishments and the dreams I’ve chased… and I still struggle with my own value.

I know that finding that person won’t magically make me feel better about who I am … and honestly, I wouldn’t want the presence of a man to be the reason I suddenly find myself precious and irreplaceable. I’m working on building my list – I’m up to six so far – and I’m not putting pressure on myself to make it happen all at once. Like falling in love, the process of finding your way back to yourself is gradual, it can’t be rushed and it has to come from the heart. But in case you share any of these same sentiments or struggles, I hope you know that you are worthy of love.

You are worthy of love simply because you exist. Because you inhale and you exhale. You are worthy of love because you stumbled across this blog and you wanted to be encouraged, inspired and feel less alone. You are worthy of love because you have an open, beating, wildly beautiful, ever-hopeful heart. You are worthy of love because you are imperfect. Because you are built on strength and courage, curiosity and compassion. You are worthy of love because you give it and you intend to receive it. You are worthy of love because you look for the good when all you can see is the bad. You are worthy of love because you try. Because you dream. Because you are.

You are worthy of love because you are a human in this massive, confusing, magical, surprising, infuriating, powerful world. And that, my dear, is reason enough to believe in something as silly – and absolutely certain – as love.

And here I was, sitting awkwardly on my backpack, guilting myself for skipping an exercise class because I was tired, wondering when this guy that I met would text me back. As much as things have changed – and so have I – in all of this time, I still have to battle those same insecurities, regardless of how far I’ve come in my self-love journey. The park embodied so many of the things that I dream of having, and often times, I can count up the things I don’t have instead of taking stock in what I do. And though I can dream of the beautiful things I hope are before me, it’s hard to get past what’s in sight to believe in what you can’t see until it’s yours.

I turned over my iPhone and took a sip of water, rubbing my shoulders as the temperature started to drop, and I turned my attention on a kid’s birthday party. There was a grandfather with a toddler, laughing and chasing around each other until the babe accidentally let go of the red balloon she was holding. She started to cry, but her grandfather scooped her up and pointed to the sky.

I couldn’t hear what he said – I was too far away – but I imagine it was a distraction technique that somehow, piqued her interest away from a tantrum. The only thing was, all of the kids watched this happened and looked up…

…and they all let go of their balloons.

I could see the look of horror on the mom’s face, but the kids were happy – letting go of their colorful friends so they could fly away. And in that moment, I thought, “Wouldn’t it be nice if I could treat my worries like those balloons? Hold onto them and then let them go, watch them make their way far, far away until I can’t see them anymore. Wouldn’t I feel more free? Calm? Myself?”

Tomorrow, on my 27th birthday, the official beginning of my late 20’s, I’ve decided I’m going to do just that: let my worries go. There are so many things I stress about that I have no control over, and its energy spent that could be better used doing, well, frankly, anything else but stewing.

I’m starting with these 27 things that I can’t – and won’t – worry about anymore:

When I’m going to meet my husband. As I’ve learned in painful detail over the past five years of writing this blog, I can’t speed it up or slow it down. I send him love and light every single day, without ever meeting him, and when he comes along, he will.

If I’ve truly ‘made it’ in NYC. Success isn’t defined by how many bylines I have, how big my apartment or savings account is, or if I’ve published a book by 30. It’s about how I feel about the things I did during the day at the end of every single day.

If I’m posting too many photos to Instagram. I’m pretty in love with my life and I love to share the experiences. #noshame

What will happen next week, next month or next year. I’ve known what I’ve wanted for most of my life, and now that I have most of those things, I can start just living and let life take it’s time.

If I have a thigh gap. It’s never going to happen, and me and my bodacious booty don’t mind one bit.

About how many friends I have. Instead, I’m focusing on the quality of the amazing men and women I have in my life.

What I’m doing Friday night. FOMO might have been a thing I’ve had in the past, but it’s easier to let go of that anxiety these days. Especially when taking a night in is sometimes better than forcing plans that frankly, won’t be that fun, anyway.

If he calls or texts me back. His loss. Next, please.

If my skin, teeth or body is perfect. I have a freckle on my left leg that I’ve always loved. I have a red spot above my nose that’s always been there. I have the first few signs of some wrinkles.. and ya know what? I’m so happy that I’ve lived so brightly that my face shows it.

If I’ll have enough money for the things I want. Life has a funny way of giving you what you need.

If he swipes yes to me. Dating apps? Forget ‘em. I’m going old school and taking a stance on real life interactions instead of digital delays that lead quickly to nowhere.

If anyone thinks I’m too picky, too sappy, too organized, too anything. Lovies, I’m just me and I make no excuses for it. Hopefully, you can love me despite of the good and the bad things that I am.

If I’m good enough. I’m definitely not perfect and I have my moments of selfishness, but overall, I like who I am – and maybe more importantly, who I’m becoming. I try my best to be the best daughter, puppy mom and friend I can be, and that has to be enough.

If I have enough hope. It’s okay to be cranky, upset and annoyed when you’re going through 20-something growing pains, so why give myself a hard time when I need a night (or ten) to let it all out?

If that plane ticket is worth the dip in my savings. It always, always is.

If I’ll be a mom. If women could get pregnant at any age, I don’t think anyone would rush to have children. But unfortunately, fertility is one of those things that doesn’t last forever. Luckily, modern science can help us single ladies out if the husband never arrives.

If I want to keep this blog going. A lot has changed over the five years I’ve been writing this blog, and sometimes I wonder what the next big idea is, what I want to write about next. I’ll know when it feels time to close this chapter.

If New York is the right place for me… and wondering if not, where is? If it’s time to leave the city I love, I’ll know when the time is right. And until then, there are still so many places, five years later, I have left to see in this crazy place.

If I’m loveable. Logically, I know I’m loved by so many people, but those silly voices that remind me that I’ve also been sans-boyfriend for the past four years make me wonder if some guy will ever fall in love with me. I can only be myself and hope someone will see how truly wonderful that is.

How much I weigh. I’ve spent the past year trying new exercises, and I’ve discovered just how powerful, strong and incredible my body can be. And sometimes, the weight you see isn’t reflective of how healthy you are, so why worry about the scale? Do I feel and look good? Yes. And that’s enough.

If my friends and I don’t agree on everything. We’re all changing, we’re all growing, we’re all figuring it out as we go, and a little disagreement is healthy.

If he likes me. Shouldn’t I be asking myself if I like him?

If I’m getting old. It’s odd to turn 27 – and I’m both nowhere near and miles ahead where I thought I’d be at this age. But I’d rather keep getting older than not have the chance to experience more of this beautiful life.

If things are happening on time… or if I’ll run out of it. It might not be on my own timeline, but the universe knows more than I do. (Or at least, I hope so.)

If I’ll sell a book. Something tells me that I haven’t discovered – or dreamed up – my biggest story yet. Something bigger tells me I’ll know it when I see it.

If I’m beautiful. An ex once told me not to smile with my teeth because I was prettier close-lipped. I say, screw ‘em.

If I’ll end up happy one day. Don’t we all fear that ultimately, we will look at our lives and not like what we see? But maybe it’s smarter to start creating the life you want instead of stressing that it isn’t a possibility? It is.

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?”

The answer, in short, is that I’m not really doing much of anything to meet anyone, and I’m not really going on that many dates, but I’m also much (much!) happier than I was watching notifications of a new match or message pop-up on my homescreen. In more ways than one, being an active participant in the app world did so many damaging things for my self-confidence, my views on love and even how I acted on those dates. Since taking a step back and removing myself from the ferris wheel of swiping for shits and giggles, here’s what I’ve learned:

I Don’t Need The Validation Anymore
In the Vanity Fair article, the author discussed just how easily it is to feel good about yourself. And it’s true—you see an attractive dude that you’d love to meet in real life and chat with, and suddenly, he matches with you—and bam! You think maybe (just maybe!) this will be something more than a split-second attraction. Ten minutes later when he tells you have ‘Nice tits’—and the mystery is gone.

This post was originally published on Bustle. To read the rest, click here. 

“But, seriously. Everything was so good! It was so great! I don’t understand why he won’t just carry on a normal texting conversation with me. We’ve had four amazing dates,” I complained via G-chat to one of my best friends.

She carefully put up with me—in her tender, patient way—until she reached her boiling point (or maybe needed to sign-off so she could do actual work?). I’m sure she was just trying to say something to get me to back down and take a cool down from my manic state, but she asked one question that’s stuck with me ever since:

This post was originally published on Bustle. To read the rest, click here.