the beginning of the end.

Let me tell you something about being 25 and single in New York City: It’s not fun. After nearly a decade of living in this crazy city, it gets to you. Sure, the highs are high...but the lows are the lowest one can ever experience.

This, the concrete jungle, has millions of stories—and yet, we all find some way to relate and connect and love this place like a home. Even though, in all fairness, it’s a toss up whether or not it will make or break you. No, New York City is nothing like what the TV shows want to make it seem; huge apartments, fun, sexy nights out, friends that are available any time of the day or night. The truth is, New York City is one of the loneliest, most populated places in the world. Our apartments are tiny, we pay triple what they would in any other part of the country, and friends are usually too busy to hang out. Unless you give them a solid two weeks notice.

I have experienced, on more than one occasion, an amazingly epic night out with friends. I’ve been out on my own and made friends after an unpredictably fun night. But that was back when I was 20, 21, 22. By 25, it starts getting old. By 25, you start to wonder—am I on the right path here? You look at your friends from high school, where the fork in the road separated you and put you on different paths, you see them married and having kids. Then, on a chilly fall night, as you share a bottle of Cabernet with a friend on your rooftop, you come to the conclusion that shit is fucked up—our generation has completely messed up and lost sight of what’s important in life. And there you are, 25, single and completely fucking lost.