All is Fair in Love and Personal Narrative Essay

Last night, I had the honor of taking the stage at the Tortured Bloggers Department writing salon in Brooklyn, hosted by the fabulous Cara Alwill of The Champagne Diet. I’ve attended Cara’s events before, but it was my first time standing on the stage.

I didn’t think I was nervous going into it, but come the day of the event, I completely disassociated, taking a bath in the middle of the day, and putting off edits until quite literally the last possible moment.

But as soon as I printed out the essay to practice, everything shifted. I felt at home, as I placed the timer on my phone and read these lines aloud to myself, alone in the Upper West Side, genuinely laughing at all the right parts, appreciating the work as if I was reading it for the first time.

I didn’t want my work to lose its edge, so I kept it that way, rehearsing only a few more times, and making pen edits (you can never pry pen and paper away from me, it’s kind of my entire brand lol) and choosing a classy white vintage look that directly contrasted the sexiness of the white outfit worn on the first date in the essay I shared.

I came alive on that stage, and felt so truly connected to myself and my purpose. I got praised for my work, laughter from the crowd chipping away at all those moments I had convinced myself that no one was listening. I got told my work was phenomenal and hilarious, and I soaked in every word.

Putting myself out there as a professional creative has one of the most challenging experiences in my life. You can put your heart on the page, only to get zero likes, zero comments. Most of the time, you have no idea how your words are being perceived, but you keep going anyway; you must.

That’s the only job, really; believe that it’s good enough, and keep writing.

Pouring your heart out to a small audience came sometimes mistakenly make it feel like no one is listening. Last night, when I delivered this story, and got to see it come to life in a new way, I was truly shown why this all matters so much more than our mind will trick us into believing.

Somewhere in between the years of battling the “it’s not working’s” my dreams took root, and finally, after years of showing up relentlessly, my words broke ground.

I think every writer fears that, at least a little.

What if I share my biggest traumas to the world and no one cares?

What if the people I want to accept me judge me?

What if I’ve been in the wrong this entire time, and I’m throwing a giant creative hissy fit, the poetic version of much ado about nothing?

Last night, on that stage in the front of the crowd, something became very apparent.

These words and stories do matter; these points of connection, these shared experiences most people don’t talk openly about, the craved intimacy and deep seeded whisper “I thought I was the only one” are some of the deepest, and most enriching experiences life has to offer.

I was reminded last night of why this all matters so much, and it is an honor to share the essay I shared last night with you now.

I’d ask that if you enjoy my work, please consider becoming a paid or free subscriber. A paid subscription covers one round trip on the subway 🩷

Thank you for being here, and thank you for helping me to remember why these words matter.

Now introducing,

“I Hear Dating in New York is Hard: The Single Girl’s Equivalent to ‘Your Rent is More than My Mortgage’”

The night before our first date, the list of qualities I wanted in a husband fell out of the bible. It probably means nothing, I shrugged off, meanwhile, my mind had already gone there. Of course it had; why wouldn’t it? He did fit at least some of the criteria

I went into our first date feeling open minded, fresh off a recently failed situationship, ended by me.

Well… kind of. It was truly groundbreaking at the time.

I wasn’t receiving what I needed from the relationship, and sent him a text message that made him end it! An uplevel from the usual course of allowing men to ghost.

Our first date happened to fall exactly nine months *to the day* after I stopped drinking alcohol in a ceremonious one year challenge.

I knew this was the universe rewarding me for keeping my commitment to myself.

A matchmaker had set us up, fit with a photograph and paragraph synopsis.

Raoul, 38, VP of Finance

Sincere, warm, driven and successful are just a few words that come to mind when describing Raoul

Ivy league educated

Fluent in Spanish

Family driven- divorced but hopes to start his own family one day!

We met at a swanky lounge called The Butterfly Room, a hidden gem he told me not to tell anyone about. (you’re welcome)

I wore red booties I thrifted in Paris, a tightly fitted white dress, and a newfound confidence that comes from finally loving yourself and your life.

I had just come back from a solo trip to Colombia celebrating my birthday, was running a half marathon, had a fancy tech job, and was finally seeing growth and traction in my business.

Raoul got there first, and as I approached the table, I went from open minded to intrigued.

My first thought, “oh, this actually might work.”

He was devilishly handsome, with dark hair, tan skin, an impressive statue of 6’1. It was clear he was extremely successful professionally; he was totally my type.

check, check, check

Even still, I didn’t care if he liked me or not, which is the first time I ever remember feeling this way on a date in front of such a ~highly qualified~ potential suitor. I looked so good, I even filmed a Tiktok in the bathroom.

I captioned it: “oh you drink? That’s cute.”

“I used to be so nervous about dating without drinking, but 9 months later, and I’m so connected to my feminine flow, look my absolute best and feel more myself than EVER. They are now the ones who get nervous.. which is how it should be” flashed across the screen.

I got 24 likes.

“I know I’m ready for a relationship because I’m willing to struggle and sacrifice for the other person” Raoul, went on, and I sensed the rehearsed nature behind the line.

“I guess those just aren’t the first two words I want someone to associate with my relationship” I offered back, playing with the straw of my mocktail.

Raoul got up from the table and left, and I stifled shock with a surprised laugh.

He came back a few minutes later, appearing to have cooled off, and was ready for the next round of conversation.

I guess I touched a nerve, but it didn’t cross my mind to ask why. I liked that I had caused him to get all flustered.

His second drink arrived with a butterfly on the top. It was beautiful and mysterious; so much so, that we couldn’t tell if it was real or fake. We joked and laughed about the butterfly’s true nature until his urge became too strong to resist, and he stuck his hand in the glass. Soon we both became horror stricken as the beautiful butterfly instantly shriveled up into something resembling chewed up gum, or more poetically, a larvae.

He had to know, the composition of the butterfly was too curiously irresistible, even if knowing came at the cost of its destruction.

I gained the sense he was the same way with women.