It was a little more than eight years ago that I met the person I intend on spending the rest of my life with. After just a few months of dating, he told me he was moving to San Francisco for a job, and after just a few weeks of trying to navigate New York City post-college, I decided it wasn't for me. I boarded a Lucky Star bus in NYC bound for Boston's Chinatown when I took out my phone and told him I was coming to the west coast to meet him there. In seven-plus years, we've made invaluable friends, carved career paths we never would have sought at home, and found our own little corner of the world where we could be together in solitude. It's nearly impossible to sum up those seven years. I won't try to, but I'll say deciding to head back east is as bittersweet as it gets. San Francisco is one of those rare cities full of transplants, so holidays away from family was tough but comforting knowing we were surrounded by people in the same position: ma
I was listening to a podcast yesterday that struck a chord, because it unpacked something that's been bothering me, particularly for the last few weeks. The podcast episode was called The Problem with a Pinterest-Perfect Life, and it's worth a listen, especially if this topic hits home. In it, the hosts describe social media as a highlight reel — and I couldn't have said it better myself. In fact, this is what bothered me; my inability to phrase the problem as precisely as they had. A few weeks ago, I was spending time at a friend's house when her 16-year-old daughter started telling me about how amazing some Insta-famous girl's life was. My friend's daughter had never met this girl, and yet she was convinced she lived the perfect life: a fashion blogger with thousands of fans and flawless photos that painted the picture of a girl whose every waking moment is exceptional. I grew frustrated the more she gushed about her girl-crush. Here she was, a beautifu