“

You’re not tired of dating; you’re just tired. You’re tired of bearing the weight alone. You’re tired of an empty apartment and dinner for one. You’re tired of ricocheting off yourself and slugging shots at the bar. You’re tired of playing dress up with no one to dress you down. You’re tired of the excruciating loneliness that creeps onto tingling skin, begging for touch like sucking for air. And so am I. So is she. So is he, and that girl, and those boys, and so many other people you see on the train, in the market, across the table. But we keep doing it because it’s worth it, because it’s everything, because for all the awkward hellos and terrible dinners, there’s one flawed masterpiece who’s singing your harmony in the SUV three parking spots over.

It’s not about dating. It’s never been about getting set up or going online or any of the crazy things we do to meet someone; it’s not about any of that. It’s about faith. It’s about hope. It’s about remembering the person you’re looking for isn’t a checkmark, but a journey, a stroke of luck, an oh my god and a holy shit and a you won’t believe what happened. It’s the best part of life. And it’s out there. Every great story, every novel and film and letter written only to be burned is about this. And we’re all tired of bearing the weight of those stories… but we bear them together. Keep swimming to the surface, keep swimming ‘til your hands are numb and your lungs are empty and everything is simultaneously tight and enormous because the moment you burst to the surface, your whole existence will change. That’s why we do this. That’s why we do anything.

”

— Dear DateByNumbers on CollegeCandy

5:50 pm  •  16 May 2013  •  184 notes

I have not been writing. I have been very, very busy not writing. I have been taking out the trash, washing the dishes, and painting my toes to dismal results. I took my hands hostage, forcing them into copying, printing, organizing, and whatever verb that could occupy them. I was updating my resume, my diet, my wardrobe, my life. I was breaking in new shoes and throwing out old bras, curating new playlists and burning old lyrics. I was packing and tossing and cycling and pacing and ignoring the boiling inside. 

Life was settling into order, and there was one enormous, insurmountable problem: me.

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(Source: datebynumbers)

7:24 pm  •  21 April 2013  •  338 notes

“

No one ever said dating was easy. As a matter of fact, most people have said it’s impossible, frustrating, and riddled with rules that confuse everyone. It’s basically social calculus. And like high school math, none of us really want to learn, we just want the A+.

So I’ll recommend what my parents used to recommend to me when I got frustrated – take a break. It used to mean go run around outside, have a snack, watch some TV… but let it mean something a little bigger to you. ‘Cause you very well might be the problem, and not that you’re picky or difficult, but that like so many of us, you’re frustrated and tired and over it. So take a break. Hang out with your friends, work out, learn to cook a few new recipes, paint something totally ugly, and when your mind has cleared, try the problem one more time.

”

— Dear DateByNumbers on CollegeCandy

12:02 am  •  19 April 2013  •  112 notes

“There are billions of people in this world, but life is long and you’ll never believe the insane ways that the people you meet and kiss and hate and date will intertwine and overlap. Nothing in my life has served me more than being as effervescent as I can in every situation I face. So say hi like it never happened and move on like he doesn’t exist. There is nothing more alarming to a man than a woman who is kind and couldn’t care less.”

— Dear DateByNumbers on CollegeCandy

6:23 pm  •  11 April 2013  •  187 notes

“

Newsflash women: you have feelings. Guys have feelings. Animals even have feelings because don’t pretend you’ve never seen a dog look guilty! And we are all entitled to express those feelings in a responsible and honest way. By no means should you get drunk and throw a tantrum, but please, learn to talk to people. Stop being so embarrassed about what would make you happy. You want the promotion? Ask for it! You want to be exclusive? Say so! You want to eat Italian tonight instead? Little Italy, look out!

Is there context and timing and exceptions? Of course. But the key to a good relationship of any kind, whether that be physical, romantic, platonic, familial, professional, what have you, is good communication. And if you don’t feel like you can communicate honestly with someone without it ruining the relationship, then maybe it’s not a relationship worth pursuing. We spend so much time acting like wanting to be in a loving, committed relationship is something to be ashamed of, but what’s truly shameful is denying yourself happiness out of sheer fear of vulnerability. Will you get what you want if you ask for it? Maybe not. But how’s anyone going to know you want it if you never ask?

”

— Dear DateByNumbers on CollegeCandy

10:10 pm  •  10 March 2013  •  250 notes

I’m sorry it took so long to respond!  What’s up?

Whatever, it’s cool.

Sometime on Sunday, my phone buzzed twice.  One buzz for an email; two buzzes for a text.  My phone was sitting on my dresser, probably about three feet from me, just barely out of arm’s reach.  I was on my bed, listening to a comedy station on the radio, playing Spider Solitaire on my iPad, tea steeping on the windowsill.  I had no idea who was texting, and I didn’t really care.  I was having the kind of lazy Sunday doctors prescribe.  It was too windy to ride my bike and I had leftover pizza in the fridge.  The tea bag tag had a fortune, “Bliss will find you when you let it.”  

That morning, 103 and I had gone for breakfast at a funky, old diner. The waitress wore bedazzled jeans and pink furry boots. She sounded like a joyful Bond villain, and she could not recommend the apple strudel enough.  We succumbed to the peer pressure, but please, no whipped cream. She refilled our coffee too many times, and we talked about our dream house, playing footsie under the table. Yes, lots of windows. Yes, in the canyon somewhere. No, of course not modern.  I stole bacon from his plate, he stole sausage from mine.  The color of my coffee went from tan to chocolate to taupe as I chased the refills with cream.  Bliss found me at a Czech diner on a windy Sunday in the mountains.  

That afternoon, I positioned myself at the end of my bed so the sun shining through the window would hit my face.  I let my thoughts wander back to waking up next to 103, his dog licking my face.  “Looks like he likes you.”  103 laughed as he said it and kissed the top of my head.  I sighed, and I let the moment continue to skip in my mind.  Lost in reverie and Solitaire, I didn’t care when my phone buzzed twice.  I was busy.  

Sometimes, people are not connected.  Sometimes, people are living.  And sometimes, they are doing nothing at all.  They didn’t see your text, they forgot they heard their phone buzz, and they were breathing for the first time in weeks.  Silence is not an insult – it’s something we used to treasure.  Allow people time so they can allow you the same.  

3:46 pm  •  4 March 2013  •  120 notes

I have struggled with anxiety since 2007. After the jump is my very personal journey with mental health and I am sharing it in case it might help just one person.  I found my light in the tunnel six years after my struggle began; I would love to be able to save one person even one day of not having that.  Anxiety and depression are like breakups: we’ve all been there, but it’s the nuances to each person’s experience that can make it so harrowing and lonely. Here are mine. 

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9:37 pm  •  11 February 2013  •  260 notes

“

You remember when you were 16 and you had that perfect pair of jeans that made your ass look photoshopped? They faded, they got too tight and eventually, with great sadness, you donated them. Someone else might love them. But that one sweatshirt? Man, it just gets softer every year. And maybe one day it’ll rip, or one day you’ll lose it, but you’re gonna love it every day until that happens.

That’s how I feel about soul mates. Some people are meant to be perfect just for the then-and-there. And some you’d keep forever until they’re gone, and maybe you don’t want another sweatshirt for awhile. But one day you’re gonna throw on a t-shirt and it’ll be just what you never knew you needed, soft and light.

Point being, I believe some people are perfect matches, but people grow and change. Some of those soul mates will evolve with you, and some won’t. That doesn’t make them any less spectacular for the time they fit you like a glove. Wear them well and wear them often.

”

— Dear DateByNumbers on CollegeCandy

3:41 pm  •  7 February 2013  •  271 notes

Anonymous asked: I'm extremely jealous of your confidence. When was the time that you were most insecure and how did you get out of that?

This past Saturday when for the fourth time in a year a guy said to me, “you’re amazing, but…”

As it were, I did not feel “amazing” after that.  I felt, a bit, like a fraud. 

After that, the question wasn’t how do I feel confident again, but how do I feel happy again?  Confidence is just a byproduct of happiness.  It’s the aura you give off when you’re full of joy.

So after I read the email explaining how incredible I am but he just can’t date me, I got on my bike.  I rode 40 hard miles until the sun set.  I listened to a self-curated playlist called “Movie Montage” and sang along as I pedaled.  I took a hot shower, called my friends, and put on my party dress and made myself happy.

And then I felt amazing.  Not because someone said I was, but because I didn’t need anyone to think I was amazing to feel it.  

10:47 pm  •  6 February 2013  •  58 notes

“You know, I gave up on you today,” I said, asking for him to ask me why.  
“When you left tonight, if I hadn’t reached out, would you have contacted me?”
I was in his arms when he asked me.  I was wearing a soft cotton tee and my hair was loosely tied back.  I looked at him, indignant.  That is not the question I asked for.
“No.”
“Then it’s me who’s pursuing you now, I was the one who reached out.”  
“You didn’t reach out.  You lost and you reacted.  They’re not the same thing.”

Don’t be naive.  

—

We obsessively allow minutiae to control us.  We have no reading comprehension for life, no understanding for the greater scheme.  It’s all what did he say?  And how did she say it?  Where were they when it happened? And why won’t he friend you?  We hear the relationship note for note and not for its song, and this song is not sad, no, it’s worse than that: it’s bad.  

I stumbled to the bus stop at 5 am on Thursday.  I hadn’t slept, and I was exhausted from work and stress.  I’d allowed a man, a boy, into my apartment and my life for amusement and time-passing and I am sure I would have liked him had he let me.  I am sure I would have seen him had he allowed me to be anything more than a game. But I carried my bag to the bus stop alone, without a see you soon to warm my cheeks.  And at that bus stop, I had no name.  I had a ticket and a sallowness.  I felt fine or nothing at all.  

Have you ever stopped to remember if you believe in God?  

In the game of cat and mouse, someone either gets eaten or gets away.  

—

“I threw in the towel on 101.”
“What happened?”
“I went on vacation and I missed someone else.”
“Who?”
“Someone who gives a shit.”  

Are you having fun?

—

I had Love Resolutions and I was cavalierly picking and choosing which ones to employ based on my mood and my agenda.  I was misbehaving and treading water.  I was batting around a toy to amuse myself, waiting for it to play back.  I let 101 be my muse, crushing and pulling and using me.  And I loved it because it made my words like music.  I was in love with my own turmoil, fixating on tiny little nothings, ignoring dreams and hopes and passions.  Denying myself joy and choosing heartache, thinking that the creative process was enabled by a degree of self-inflicted agony.  But at that bus stop, slack-jawed and red-eyed, I wanted with fever and greed to be loved by hands that could map my face and my dreams in one swoop and he never would.  He never could.    

Do you like this person or are you just bored and lonely?  

—

In a penthouse in Chelsea, New York City, with cascading views of the Hudson, I told my best friend about a boy.  I talked about him the way I talked about her: with gratitude, with joy.  I talked about our friendship and my hopes for him and how much I missed him when he was gone.  I showed her his picture and I explained its context.  She nodded, eyeing me suspiciously.  I smiled and sunk into the couch, texting him to tell him I was bragging about him.  He replied, and I giggled.  Quietly, as the sun set and the buildings flickered to life, I ruminated.  I missed someone who was kind to me, who cared about me, who made me laugh and be better. I looked at his name, illuminated on my phone.  102.

Call people.

—

I pedaled harder and faster than ever before.  The wind fought me and I struggled to keep a straight path.  I was fast and strong and dedicated and worthwhile and kind and tough and I was tired of trying to prove it.  I wanted so much to make everyone else happy.  I wanted so much to be someone else’s happiness.  I wanted so much to be happy myself.  And I wanted to believe I deserved it.  I took an aggressive right and skidded through the salt on the road nearly losing my grip, laughing to myself.

I was going to be fine.  

Under the barrage of emails and fire drills, through the subtle let-downs and the aggressive lead-ons, we allow ourselves to weaken.  Through the flagrant tone of someone having a worse day, we allow ourselves to absorb and succumb to that dread.  In the delicate and massive difference between ‘please’ and ‘now’ our hearts race over what?  Over spelling errors and broken plans?  When did we allow ourselves to not only be treated this way but to feel this way?  When did we begin to accept unkindness and casual cruelty as inevitabilities that we dealt with, that we just hoped would turn around?  When did we stop turning them around ourselves?  

Do we choose the path of destruction because knowing it would be painful is easier than hoping for something to finally be something else?  Do we complain and wallow and worry because the proactive risk failure?  Are we unhappy because we are choosing to be?

How many excuses do we need to make for ourselves before we choose joy?  

I pulled into the parking lot and called 102.  

“I want to see you tonight.  I have something I want to tell you.”

Lay it all out there just once this year.

3:52 am  •  25 January 2013  •  88 notes