sarah writes

the only way to deal with an unfree world is to become so absolutely free that your very existence is an act of rebellion. --albert camus

[sarahbethwrites]

an open letter to a child i never knew

Hi, I was foolish. Because my own mother had such a hard time getting pregnant, I assumed it wouldn't be easy for me either. I was so careless with myself and with you. Then I woke up sick one morning. At this point in my life the majority of my sickness was really just a hangover, so I didn't think anything of it. I went to work. I threw up in the bathroom. I didn't drink that night because I figured I needed to give my body a break. I woke up sick again the next day, so I decided to take a pregnancy test at lunch. I didn't believe the first, so I took another after work. But the results were there in plain English: pregnant. I cried. You see, I wasn't ready for you. I couldn't afford to pay for the abortion myself, let alone figure out a way to afford to raise you. I had done MDMA since I had conceived you, I was smoking weed almost daily and I was drinking all the time. That wasn't the kind of environment you deserved to grow in. Most importantly, I was scared. I was ashamed of having a child before I was married, before society told me I was ready. I was scared of doing it alone, because even then I knew your dad wasn't serious about me. When I told him about you he didn't even ask me what I wanted to do. He said, 'we're getting an abortion.' But 'we' didn't get an abortion at all. He didn't come or hold my hand or even call me to ask if it was okay while it happened. He went to a festival and partied with his friends. It was what I wanted too though and I'm sorry for that. I was 22, I was barely making enough money to make ends meet and I wasn't ready for that kind of responsibility. I had to ask for help paying for it. Although I wish I had been ready, I wasn't. I'm eternally grateful for the opportunity to make the choice that I did because I wouldn't have been able to give you a good life. Since this happened the opportunity to make the choice that I made has been in jeopardy so many times and I think to myself, "Why should someone like me, who couldn't care for a child the way it should be cared for, be forced to do so or to carry it to term and give it away?" Or worse, what if someone who got pregnant through sex that wasn't consensual didn't have that choice? Or worse still, what if there's a mom out there who might die giving birth that didn't have that choice? Why is it that people feel its appropriate to make that kind of choice for someone else? I hope you can understand. I'm so sorry that I wasn't prepared for you. Never in my life did I imagine that I would be the kind of person who ended up pregnant before they were ready, mentally or financially, to have a child. I had been on birth control for years trying to avoid having to make the choice that I did, but sometimes life takes turns we don't expect. Even though I didn't want to have to make that choice and even though I'm sorry, I'm still glad I was able to make it. It's made me smarter and helped to me appreciate the kind of world I want to bring someone into. There's a reason that opinions on abortion fall into two categories: pro-life and pro-choice--not pro-abortion or pro-death. No one wants to make that choice and it's never, ever easy. I hope you can understand. 

[sarahbethwrites]

go with your gut

I have a tendency to look for the good in people. I consider this one of my strengths, but it often also leads me to search for positive qualities that might not be there, in spite of red flags.

When I first met The Suit Guy, I was enamored by his lifestyle. He's been in GQ, he's a million miles tall, he wears designer clothes and enjoys Diptyque candles. He was smart and handsome, but I probably should have known as soon as he told me that if he had a Hogwarts house it would be Slytherin that we weren't going to work out. Some days I feel like a Gryffindor and some days I feel like a Hufflepuff, but either way lions and badgers don't play well with snakes in the grass.

But, grateful for the attention of someone who didn't do drugs and who I thought would make my ex extremely jealous if he ever found out, I hung around. I hung around even though he made me feel small. Around him I never felt like I could be myself and I found myself twisting stories to make myself sound smarter, more impressive or more fancy. We hung out for about three weeks. We had a few nice dinners. He even made dinner for me--the first time in my life a man had ever done that for me. And not only was it edible but it was good.

He was leaving for a trip that would last about a month. After much discussion with my friends, I decided that I would probably sleep with him if the opportunity presented itself: it was our fourth date and I needed to give him something to remember me by, right?

I arrived to the smell of Kimchi Chicken roasting and he opened a bottle of wine. I sat at the breakfast bar watching him smash potatoes and we talked about the week ahead. At the time, my two closest guy friend were in a fight and I was discussing it with him. I mentioned that one of them had "more girls than he knows what to do with," to which The Suit Guy responded, "Don't we all?"

Instead of asking the right questions when he said that, I took another sip of wine. We made eye contact and I changed the subject. I spent the night and while I was able to let this conversation go for the rest of the evening, I woke up thinking about it.

And that was the last time I saw him. There were other red flags--he volunteered that he was a jealous boyfriend, he referred to himself as ambitious (although a positive quality in most people I find I am wary of people who are motivated only by money), he absolutely refused to come to my apartment because it wasn't in Manhattan, he rarely answered my text messages the same day they were sent.

But instead of listening to my gut, instead of realizing that we probably weren't compatible, I tried to look for reasons why he was good for me.

From now on though, I'm going with what my heart and my head are trying to tell me. If something doesn't feel right and if you cannot be yourself, it's time to move on because there are so many people out there that are willing to put in the effort to make love work.

[papermagazine]

ICYMI: Adele Casually Dropped This New Music Teaser During a TV Commerical Break

[sarahbethwrites]

soulmates

Do you believe in soulmates?

A friend of mine asked me that the other day and I told her that I do.

But defining that concept is difficult. I sincerely thought that one of my ex’s was my soulmate until I found out that he was being unfaithful. A soulmate wouldn’t do that. I started to wonder after that whether or not it was possible to have a true counterpart of one’s soul.

I’ve always believed in reincarnation, a tradition passed down to me by my Catholic father. He goes to church every Sunday but strongly believes, and has for his whole life that his soul has walked the Earth before. There are particular periods of history that he feels a strong connection to and insists that he was there for them: the Renaissance, the Revolutionary War, etc. I believe this too and although I don’t have the same compulsion for particular historical events, there are moments where I am in a physical place despite never having been there before in my current life I know I’ve been there before. I feel it in my soul.

But a soulmate? Someone who you’ve known intimately in a past life that is meant for only you? After thinking I found that before and having the rug pulled from under me, I wasn’t so sure anymore.

Until the other night.

It was a rainy Friday evening. I was supposed to be going on a date that I wasn’t very excited about in the West Village but I didn’t want to leave my apartment. A master of impractical outfits, I don’t own a rain coat or rain boots and I struggled to decide what to wear. Since I didn’t care about this particular date, I settled on a pair of jeans, a grey tank top that was a size too big, and a cardigan in a slightly different shade of grey. I brought extra socks in case my feet got wet in my flat, leather black boots.

I got to the bar almost 20 minutes early and immediately regretted my outfit. Everyone was beautifully dressed, the walls were covered in elegant bookshelves and candlelight. I looked like a drowned rat. It was crowded and fought my way to the bar to order a Bronx Pale Ale. I asked another patron if I could rest my drink on the counter by the window. “Yes, but my husband is coming soon.” And I waited.

When he walked in and said my name, I regretted my outfit again.

He was just tall enough: not so tall that I would have had to stand on the tips of my toes to kiss him but tall enough that I could still wear my favorite pair of heels. His glasses were demonstrably trendy and he smiled at me through a trimmed but scruffy beard. He ordered a Bronx Pale Ale. I swooned. He asked me about a few friends we had in common and from that moment, the awkwardness subsided. I felt like I had known him forever. We talked about books and music and movies and college and home and our families. I laughed at his jokes and fussed with my fingernails, the grey paint chipping. He took me to a bar that played jazz music and when he saw the line he panicked a bit. I told him I didn’t mind waiting in lines at all with good company and I saw his shoulders relax as though I was sent there to calm him. He kissed me on the cheek as if rewarding me for my patience. We held hands and shared our first kiss to the sound of a saxophone playing only for us.

We sat in Washington Square Park for a minute and talked about how much we admired its history. We went to another bar close by and he told me that this was too easy and I was making it hard to keep his cool. I asked him what he was so scared of. He came home with me, his arm around the small of my back on the train holding me close.

When I woke up in the morning I was afraid I had dreamed it all, but as the sunlight lit up my bedroom I turned to see that he was still there. I made coffee and when I sat on the other side of the L-shaped couch, he called me closer. I think he only went home because it felt like the right thing to do, saying he didn’t want to overstay his welcome. When he said it I realized that would be impossible, but drove him back to the train anyway.

We started planning our third date an hour into the second. I told him I liked him more than I should. He agreed. I asked him again what he was so scared of. He told me he had been left by someone he loved and opening yourself up to someone is a frightening prospect. I said that you had to do some scary stuff to get to the good stuff. We stayed out until two in the morning on a Tuesday and both smiled our way into Wednesday.

I feel like I’ve known him for ages, like he could be the missing piece of me come back to settle itself in.

So maybe I do believe in soulmates, but not in the way that most people do. I'm not sure that there's just one soulmate for any one person. What I do believe is that people are put into our lives for a reason and maybe, just maybe we've known them before. Maybe we have many soulmates, people who we’ve known that are meant to come back into our lives when we need them most.

[sarahbethwrites]

love scars

Sometimes the physical reminisce of a relationship with someone will last longer than the relationship itself. This has happened to me a few times in the last couple of months, a forced daily reminder of what happened or what went wrong.

The first time it was that beach day. Despite putting on sunscreen twice throughout the day, I went home with one of the worst sunburns I've ever had. My skin was raw for days and peeling for weeks afterwards. By the time the new skin had formed, he was gone and I was a pleasant shade of tanned. Even still, the burns on my feet had been so severe that to this day my feet and ankles are a different color than the rest of my body if you look closely.

The next time was the suit guy. Since our story is not yet over I haven't found the words to write about him, but I'm sure I will. On our third date I decided to wear a pair of sandals that were beginning to fall apart. Not long into the 20 block walk from the train to his apartment one of my shoes fell apart. I had to stop and buy a new pair of sandals which gave me deep blisters. It was about two weeks before I could wear those shoes again. Each time I got dressed in the morning I had to cater my choice of shoes to him and the blisters that walk rendered.

Another time was the darling who disappeared after one of the best first dates I've ever been on. I wore a pair of booties with low socks, not remembering that those shoes require higher socks. By the time I got home my Achilles was bleeding and I was only able to wear a select few pairs of heels for about three weeks. I damned him every time I tried to put on a pair that would match my outfit, but would rip the scabs right off my foot.

There have been other love scars

and I'm sure there will be more. And while my heart works out what has happened, my skin does the same.

From now on I'm making it my goal to have moved on by the time the skin has healed.

[sarahbethwrites]

first love

When I was 16 I started dating the captain of the soccer team.

I have absolutely no idea what this person saw in me. He was smart, handsome, a talented athlete and really, really kind although he didn't want everyone to know it. I have a distinct memory of sitting outside on a fall day much like this one watching him play. The girls team had a game afterwards and he sat with me and put his arm around me to keep me warm. I felt that untouchable feeling that all teenage girls feel when they've managed to win over the boy of their dreams.

And for the most part, it was a beautiful relationship. He brought me tulips instead of a corsage for prom because he knew they were my favorite. He left me roses and a mix CD on my car while I was working. He held me tightly when my brother was in the hospital. He ate junk food with me at all hours of the night. He loved me.

In February I lost my virginity to him. It was after school on a Friday and I had to be back a few hours later for a play I was stage managing. It was still light out and he was gentle. It wasn't planned, otherwise I'm sure I wouldn't have been wearing a maroon long sleeved tee shirt with the logo of the middle school play, jeans from Abercrombie kids or full underwear. He didn't seem to mind.

We broke up shortly after he went off to college after a few months of fighting over his partying and the distance between home and Poughkeepsie. When he came home for the summer we got back together, but things had changed. I remember wanting to come over to say goodbye to him before he left for pre-season and him refusing to see me.

Towards the end of my junior year of college he wanted me to come visit him in DC. I remember holding the phone in my hand, reading the text message over and over again. I called all my friends. I was absolutely freaking out. I had this feeling that if I chose to do this, if I made this trip, I was probably making a choice that was going to affect the rest of my life. He was my first love. Allowing him back into my life could quite possibly make him my last.

I have no idea why I didn't go. I often wonder if that wasn't a mistake--is he the one who got away? I'm sure I'll never know. What I do know is that I think about him sometimes. He shaped the course of the rest of my life, whether he knew it or not.

Your first love never leaves you. Especially when you don't want it to.

[gq]

TBT: When Paul McCartney Left the Beatles and Grew an Epic Beard 

See more of Sir Paul’s post-Beatles style here.  

[sarahbethwrites]

commander kate

My freshman year of college the most beautiful girl was living two doors down. She was sophisticated, her fashion sense was flawless, she had a harem of beautiful girlfriends, she had enough liquor to feed an army in her closet.

I wanted to be her. Since I knew that couldn't happen, I settled for trying quite desperately to be her friend. Miraculously, it worked

One of the best days of my life (and Amanda, I mean it when I say this) was Amanda/Sarah Day. One afternoon when neither of us had class and Amanda was preparing for a date that she didn't really want to go on, the two of us spent the day together listening to pop rock, dancing around our rooms, curling our hair, painting our nails. We giggled, we shared stories from our former lives, we talked about boys, we smoked cigarettes on the stoop. We vowed that day would go down in history--an occasion to be celebrated together yearly.

But I was stupid and allowed the attention of a few boys to come between that friendship as well as several others my freshman year. Call me naive, call me a slut, call me whatever you want, but at that time I was too busy getting wasted and focusing on myself to care about anything else.

Somehow though because the universe has a way of ensuring that you get the people that you truly need, she forgave me during our sophomore year. I think at first it was out of necessity--we were at a small school and I wasn't going anywhere. We still ran in the same crowd and I made it pretty much impossible to avoid me. Later though we developed a friendship that is difficult for me to describe in words.

During my senior year Amanda became my roommate. Everyone was terrified that we were going to kill one another. I'm a neat person, Amanda tends to be a little more reckless with where she puts her things. However, her messiness does not  outweigh her thoughtfulness--she was so conscious during that semester of keeping her things on her side of her room and made it so easy to share our space. Amanda is one of the most thoughtful people I know and even though she was having a hard semester, she still thought about me and my preferences, so often prioritizing them above her own needs.

Immediately after graduation I moved to Manhattan to begin a house-sitting gig Amanda's mom got me across the street from her house. This was without a doubt the best summer of my life. I spent every single day with my best friend, trying to eat our way through the city of Manhattan, watching all of the bad television Time Warner had to offer, hanging out with her family, taking her dog for walks, and drinking too much tequila and beer. If you had asked me who my best friends were before this summer, Amanda would have been on the list. After this summer, she became my sister.

Amanda just gets me. So often the two of us would be sitting on her bed having the same thought and blurt it out at the same time. Equally as often I will tell her my thoughts on something only to find that she disagrees in the most beautiful way. I love the way her mind works and the way she constantly challenges me to be a better person. I love the way she makes every person in her life feel like they are important.

She has supported me through some of the most difficult times in my life--wine cork in hand, joint rolled, bad television on, hugs abounding. She has shown me the definition of loyalty in a friend--willing to hate anyone who wrongs me while simultaneously challenging me to forgive them their sins. She is my biggest supporter--she believes in me when no one else does, even when I want to try something insane. She has been the light through so much darkness for so many people, even while dealing with some of the darkest times of her own life. She inspires me to love harder every single day.

When I first started writing this blog I didn't share it with anyone. After a few posts, I decided to share it and the first person I showed it to was Amanda. Boy, am I glad that I did. She made me feel like what I had to say is important, like it mattered, like if I didn't share it I was doing the world a disservice.

Add this to the lengthy list of reasons why I am the luckiest girl on the planet to have her in my life.

[nevver]

Drinking is bad, feelings are worse.

[sarahbethwrites]

so it is better to speak

The title of this post is really meaningful to me. It comes from a poem that is very important.

My college boyfriend and I had a pretty tumultuous relationship. He was an addict who was emotionally and occasionally physically abusive. He had significant trauma in his childhood which I think was the primary reason for his inability to control himself. At the time I was naive enough to think that I could fix him.

In many ways he stifled my creativity and I let him. Maybe I thought if he had control of my life he would be able to better control his. Maybe I thought he was right--I wasn't a talented singer, I couldn't write a decent poem, I wasn't good enough. Once I finally decided to come up for air, I rediscovered a poem I had read in high school by Audre Lorde.

a litany for survival

For those of us who live at the shoreline

standing upon the constant edges of decision

crucial and alone

for those of us who cannot indulge

the passing dreams of choice

who love in doorways coming and going

in the hours between dawns

looking inward and outward

at once before and after

seeking a now that can breed

futures

like bread in our children's mouths

so their dreams will not reflect

the death of ours:

For those of us

who were imprinted with fear

like a faint line in the center of our foreheads

learning to be afraid with our mother's milk

for by this weapon

this illusion of some safety to be found

the heavy-footed hope to silence us

For all of us

this instant and this triumph

We were never meant to survive.

And when the sun rises we are afraid

it might not remain

when the sun sets we are afraid

it might not rise in the morning

when our stomachs are full we are afraid

of indigestion

when our stomachs are empty we are afraid

we may never eat again

when we are loved we are afraid

love will vanish

when we are alone we are afraid

love will never return

and when we speak we are afraid

our words will not be heard

nor welcomed

but when we are silent

we are still afraid

So it is better to speak

remembering

we were never meant to survive

--Audre Lorde

Beautiful, right? Lorde's a genius, if you haven't read much of her poetry, I'd encourage you to do so ASAP.

Reading this poem again really resonated with me for a lot of reasons. Directed primarily at women (as much of Lorde's poetry is), she gracefully captures the difficulty of the insecurities and fears many women face--most resolutely the struggle to speak freely and be heard. This was something that I had been struggling with not only inside my relationship, but outside of it as well.

It's difficult to write sometimes. Not only are you bearing your soul, but sometimes your writing implicates others. I've definitely talked some shit about some guys on this blog. While all I've done is articulate my truth (and graciously left them anonymous--you're welcome), there are two sides to every story and there's a possibility that the way I've told mine could offend the other party. Then there's my family--I understand that I'm an adult, but do I really want my parents to know about my one night stands? Not really. Add to those fears of speaking someone who wants to keep you quiet and you've rendered a remarkably silent girl.

That turn, those last few lines of this poem, were life changing to me when I read them and really understood them.

"but when are silent

we are still afraid

So it is better to speak

remembering

we were never meant to survive"

The fear doesn't dissipate if you stay quiet. Like all things that get kept inside it festers and eats away at you until you end up shouting it out anyway. Not only were were not meant to survive, we were not meant to be agreeable, either. It's impossible not to disappoint someone on your journey. Living in fear of that disappointment clouds your truth and your truth is of the utmost importance.

So share your stories, ladies. I can only hope that sharing mine has helped someone who stumbles upon this along the way.

[buzzfeedbooks]

24 Books That Perfectly Match New York Fashion Week Looks

[sarahbethwrites]

flawlessly combines the two things i love most in the world.

[sarahbethwrites]

how far would you go?

Having written pretty extensively about all of the crazy that's gone on in my life over the last few months, I'm beginning to run out of stories. As I always do when I'm curious about something, I went to Google to see if I could find an aggregate of blog post prompts. It was easy! Wordpress has a list of daily prompts for bloggers. They're a really excellent starting point.

One of the prompts from a few days ago is, 'How far would you go for someone you love? How far would you want them to go for you?'

I've done a lot of crazy things for love. Here is a brief list:

1. I started smoking cigarettes my senior year of high school to appear cool to a boy I liked. The worst part of this was when he made fun of me a few days later because I wasn't inhaling. Guess I'm not that cool.

2. My best friend/sister from childhood, Lauren and I lied to our parents and said we were going to see 'Superbad'. We drove from CT to RI to spend about 30 minutes hanging out with a boy I liked and his friends.

3. Winter break my freshman year of college I asked my dad if I could fly to California to visit a boy I was interested in. My dad responded, 'You mean the one who got arrested for breaking someone's face?' I said yes. He said, 'I mean, if you must.' He's such a pal, my dad.

4. I made Jay drive an hour in a snow storm to pick up a boy I liked from his house and bring him to a party. He's such a pal, Jay. See a theme here?

5. I bought a ticket to Romania to visit my boyfriend. After the ticket had been purchased his plans changed and he was going to be in Morroco at the time that I was supposed to be visiting. I did not have insurance and couldn't change the ticket. I cancelled the old ticket and bought a new one. The craziest part is that I didn't even go--he got deported the day before I was supposed to leave for my trip because he didn't have a visa.

How far would I go for someone I love? I would do absolutely anything. I think the list of things that I would not do for someone I love, romantically or otherwise, is shorter. Here are some things I would not do for someone I love:

1. I would not take a life--human or animal. I might torture them, but I wouldn't kill anyone.

That's about it.

Many men I've dated throughout the years hated this part of me, particularly when it included going above and beyond for a friend that they didn't like. For some of them, they hated it when it meant I was going above and beyond for anyone that wasn't them. To a certain extent I can see why it's difficult to love someone who puts so much energy into the well-being of others. But at the same time, I think, much like my thinking like a boy but loving like a girl, this willingness to help those I care for is one of the best things about me.

One thing I have struggled with in all of my relationships is the fact that other people aren't willing to do the things that I am for them. Coming to terms with the fact that other people love differently and can't (and probably shouldn't) reciprocate my actions has been the great crux of my life. I've started to come to terms with the fact that not everyone will bend over backwards, but that realization has only lead to another problem: I'm even more prone to being taken advantage of when I expect little from people. My new challenge has been to find some sort of balance between giving my all without expecting anything in return and still being aware of when I'm giving too much to someone who doesn't deserve it.

How far do I want someone who loves me to go? I want them to go as far as they are comfortable with. But more than anything I want them to see how far I'm willing to go for the people I love and respect that.

How far would you go for someone you love? Answer below!

[sarahbethwrites]

weddings and sisterhoods

Last night I went out with one of my best friends from college, Aly, to celebrate her engagement. This has been a long time coming--we've been talking about this moment for years and I couldn't be more happy for her.

But she said something to me last night that struck me. She told me that the majority of her single friends, although obviously happy for her, were also using this as an opportunity to feel sorry for themselves because they don't have that happiness.

Now that to me is just plain silly.

After high school I made it a point to surround myself with women who make me feel good. There's absolutely no point in wasting a moment of your time on a girlfriend who seems to exist only to bring you down. Insecure women have a way of trying to envelope others in their misery and I have no time for that anymore. The thought of anyone doing anything but smiling their biggest, most genuine smile at the thought of Aly's happiness makes me irritated. By celebrating the joys of others, and particularly the joys of other women, we help to create a safe space for when there is hardship. This process is called friendship. I think sometimes people forget this--particularly insecure women. We're all insecure sometimes but there's no reason to project those insecurities on your friends.

Aly and I met our junior year when we both auditioned for 'On a Different Note,' our university's all-female a capella group. I was nervous--I thought it would be impossible to put that many women in a room and expect them to get along, but auditioning for that group was one of the best choices I made throughout my college experience (easy to say--I did not make very many smart choices). I wanted to audition my freshman year, but my boyfriend at the time didn't really want me to, so I stupidly obliged and waited until towards the end of our relationship. I think it happened at exactly the right time, though. They taught me that not only was it possible to put that many girls in a room and expect them to get along, but that it was possible for them to thrive and grow. They taught me that it was possible to make each other better women through that sisterhood. I learned so much from them. I needed that sense of companionship to empower myself and I needed the release that performing had always given me.

Those girls gave me a home. They protected me more than they know, I think.

I'll never forget: right after that boyfriend and I had broken up after Spring break my junior year he was furious with me for something or other. Unfortunately he lived across the hall from me and had been pretty consistently banging on the door, waking us up in the middle of the night and threatening me. One of the girls from the group let me sleep in her bed with her and comforted me all night. I don't know that he would have actually hurt me, but without that safe space I'm not sure what would have happened. And this is just a very literal example of the ways those women kept me out of harms way.

So this is all to say: surround yourself with bad ass, compassionate, brilliant, mindful, open women. You won't regret it. And if any of the women you have in your life want anything other than to share in your complete and utter happiness--they aren't worth a moment of your time.

[nevver]

All places are temporary

[sarahbethwrites]

on online dating

It's really easy to just keep swiping. And swiping and swiping and swiping. But what are we actually doing? Vanity Fair published a great article earlier this month about the dating culture of my generation; a culture that for a long time I didn't think I was ever going to be a part of. I had a serious boyfriend over the last four years while all of these dating apps were becoming popular, but I remember friends going out on a few dates with guys they had met on the internet. I remember thinking it was a good way to meet people but that I would never try it--couldn't I just find someone the 'normal way'? Then my boyfriend started using Tinder to cheat on me, which he continued to do for several years. Once I found out, I again had that thought--I couldn't use these apps: they're full of cheaters and liars and if I go on a date with someone I could potentially be ruining someone's life the same way that mine was ruined. I should just find someone the 'normal way.' Then one day, out of boredom, curiosity and under the influence of a few glasses of wine and a friend, I downloaded Tinder anyway. I had a couple weird conversations with a couple of weird people. I talked to a super weird guy who also seemed super nice, so I let him take me out on an awful first date. We met for a beer before we went to the movies and he asked how I felt about people who talk through movies. I said I didn't like it. He proceeded to talk through the entirety of Trainwreck. But he was kind, and I think I broke his heart a little bit when I told him I wasn't interested in seeing him again. At this point I moved on from Tinder because I was exhausted by all the gross assholes asking me to have sex or send them naked pictures and downloaded Bumble. Bumble is slightly different because the woman has to start the conversation. This is nerve-wracking, but since I was having pretty good luck and went on a couple of dates that weren't awful I encouraged a colleague of mine to download it, too. She began a conversation with someone by sending a pick-up line. He responded asking her if she wanted to, "smoke and bang." She told him he wasn't charming. He replied by verbally bashing her, saying that Bumble only works for hot girls and that she was a two. "If someone who is a lot hotter than you swipes right it probably means they did it by accident." This is only a sample of some of the things he said to her. Seriously? Who speaks to people like that? The process in it self is shallow--you swipe right or left depending on whether or not you are initially attracted to someone's looks. Some of the profiles I see are abhorrent: all shirtless pictures, pictures with girls who are clearly their girlfriends, photos of only the lower half of peoples bodies. It's mindless and I would venture to guess that 90% of the guys on the other end are just looking to hit it and quit it. But like every other idiot out there, I'm trying to find that 10% that's not just looking for a one night stand. So far, I've only ended up with one asshole and he was the only one I've spoken to on a dating app that I knew beforehand. Go figure. Sometimes it makes me feel good about myself. I look at the number of matches I have and I'm like, "Oh yeah, still got it!" Most often it makes me feel kind of gross, but at least it's giving me a means of keeping myself occupied. I try to justify it by telling myself that I'm too busy to go out and meet people. But the fact of the matter is, this Vanity Fair article is right: instead of engaging with each other when we go out, most people are just swiping. And swiping and swiping and swiping. How are we expected to meet anyone when we're glued to our phones and the idea of feeling attractive to personality-less people on the other side of the screen? And how are we expected to form meaningful relationships when men are looking to sleep with 100 'Tinderella's' in a year and women are using Tinder as food stamps? Anxious to hear your thoughts!

[sarahbethwrites]

nice to meet you

Last night I went out with my best friend Carla and after a few beers she told me it was nice to have her friend back. Although the changes were so gradual she almost didn't notice, my most recent relationship had rendered me someone different: more cautious--less fun, more quiet--less silly, and generally boring. It's fascinating how we can lose sight of ourselves and how someone like me, who is bubbly and shiny, can get lost in someone else's shadow. She hadn't even noticed until I was given this opportunity to reconnect with myself.

It's also fascinating trying to redefine yourself. This person Carla was missing isn't anywhere to be found because I'm not that girl anymore. And I shouldn't be. I've grown up a lot (except for last night, when we drank like we were 19) and I've learned so much from my experiences over the last four years. I don't know exactly who I am outside the confines of that relationship, but I'm learning.

And I am ever grateful for the opportunity to reintroduce myself to myself and to find someone that embraces that person instead of trying to stifle my light. Welcome back, bubblyshinysparklysilly Sarah.

A photo I feel not only accurately captures my friendship with Carla, but that bubbly sparkly person I was describing.

[perfectilusion]

[voiladavis]

Women of Color + Feminism

[sarahbethwrites]

I am woman, hear me roar.