Happy (almost) new year, everyone! 2020 was a crazy one.
A lot of shit went down. First off my live-in boyfriend and I broke up, I dated a minor celebrity crush (for a minute), I moved in with two crazy (and awesome) roommates, I got fired from my programming job, I started writing full time, and I fell in love with an incredible man, who I’m now in an open relationship with.
Oh, and a global pandemic swept the Earth.
This year, I’ve had to a lot to write about. In 2020, I wrote over 130 articles.
Now it’s time to take stock. Which of those articles really mattered? …
At a hostel in the ancient city of Taormina, Sicily, a pretty girl greeted me at the front desk. As she checked me in, a man standing behind her checked me out with a big smile in the way I’d come to learn Italian men do.
He was several years older than I, had dark thinning hair, and had the gaunt look of someone who was malnourished.
Even though I did not find him attractive, I was grateful for his gaze. …
A year ago today, I would have told you making a living on Medium was impossible. At the time, I was working only three days per week as a programmer so that I could spend the other two days writing.
But even with this extra time to focus on my craft, I would average only $100-$150 per month from the Medium Partner Program.
At that rate, breaking even $500 seemed like a pipe dream. If two days a week brought me so little money then surely writing on Medium full time wouldn’t be anywhere close to sustainable either.
Making a living on this platform was clearly something for only especially skilled and lucky people. People that got in early and thus had an unfair advantage. People who knew something I didn’t. …
In my past relationships, I was always the happy one. The extrovert, the go-getter, the one to lift up and inspire.
But in my current relationship, the script has flipped.
Now Flo is the one leading the charge of optimism, always seeing the bright side and the silver lining.
And on one hand, it’s refreshing.
The current state of the world is quite grim. Yes, there’s a vaccine, there is hope for a better future.
But here in Berlin the depths of winter are suffocating. Over the past two weeks, there was only one day the sun came out. Normally, a cruel blanket of grey covers the city blocking any semblance of blue or light in the sky. …
It was the winter just after my 22nd birthday. Two friends and I had tickets to see David Guetta* at Pacha, a since closed-down night club on Manhattan’s West Side.
But this wouldn’t be just any electronic music show. At this show, I was going to take ecstasy for the first time.
Squeezed together in the back of a cab headed across town, Kate, Rachel, and I held the blue round pills in our palms. “Let’s do it together,” said Kate, who’d scored the pills a few days earlier.
We all made eye contact and ceremoniously put them into our mouths and swallowed. We washed it down with the bottle of water we’d brought along with us. …
In the winter, more than any other season, people take to the internet to find love or something like it.
The compatibility of winter and swiping makes sense. The holidays make us think of family and how, hey, maybe we might want one of our own one day. The cold makes us yearn for warm cuddles.
This winter, I too have recently decided to go back to the apps after a few years off. I want to feel the rush of meeting someone new again.
But I know it’s not that simple. In the dog eat dog world of online dating, you need to have a strategy — a method to the madness of browsing profile after profile. …
“That dude raped you,” said my boyfriend, his eyes filled with anger.
Five years later, he was the only person I’d ever told what had happened. But until he’d said it out loud, I would have never described the events of that night with that word.
All I know is that when I think back to it, I’m filled with a mix of regret and anger. It was always just something I wanted to forget, to put behind me. Something I never let myself fully process.
It was the night before my 22nd birthday.
At around 9pm, my two roommates and I left our Midtown Manhattan apartment and trotted up second avenue, decked out in skinny jeans and platforms, the ice cold air piercing our faces. …
The day after his second date with Kathryn, my partner Flo called me on the phone and informed me they’d had sex.
And for the next 24 hours while walking to the grocery store, while cooking dinner, as I lay in bed before falling asleep, I fantasized about what it must have been like.
The two of them in his bed, his hands up her shirt, him pulling down her underwear.
I imagined it pretty similarly to the way he and I would make love sometimes, at least before we started exploring more kinks. …
Many years ago, I was sitting in a tram in the south of France, when I noticed two teenagers around my age making out in front of me. It made me cringe.
They were only two rows ahead, right there in my face. Maybe they don’t know I’m here, I thought. I cleared my throat loudly hoping they’d get the message.
The guy turned his head and caught my eye briefly, then resumed going at it with his girlfriend.
My blood started to heat, and my face turned red, as I realized they didn’t care at all about my presence. …
Many people believe that unless you ended up married, your relationship wasn’t significant. It was just a means to another end, practice before finding the real thing.
But I reject that belief. At 32, I’ve been in many significant relationships that ended, but had a huge impact on my life.
Here are the eight men I’ve loved so far, and the lessons I took from connecting with and eventually losing each of them.
When I met Zach my freshman year of college, the only thing I’d ever really cared about was school.
But Zach didn’t look at life in the same way; studying was never his top priority. For example, he’d spend hours doing things like planning a romantic scavenger hunt for me on Valentine’s Day. Before him, I wouldn’t have imagined spending so much time on something that had no hard and clear benefit. …