• When my mom suggested sending me to overnight camp, I was hesitant, as I had never been away from my parents.
• I was hesitant about going, but once there, I loved every minute.
• Now I'm a mom of four and feel guilty I can't give my kids the same experience.

I spent several summers lazing at home, watching movies with my family, and swinging with abandon at the playground with my friends.

Eventually, my mother suggested sending me to an overnight camp. I had never been away from my parents for more than a night, and the camp, about a four-hour ride from home, seemed impossibly far away. Even going for just one session meant a very long month away from home, which seemed like an eternity to me at age 11.

Yet, I was flattered that my parents considered me old enough and mature enough to have lived away from them for so long. If they thought I was up for the challenge, I was determined to prove them right.

Now I'm a mom of four, and my kids don't have the same experience, even though I loved it.

I was hesitant about going to sleepaway camp

As I counted the days until my departure, I started to worry. I am shy by nature and worried about making friends. I worried about how I would sleep in a room full of girls and whether I would like the food.

I thought a bad counselor could ruin my summer and hoped for someone more like a cool older sister to hang out with rather than a teacher hell-bent on keeping campers in line. Desperate to fit in, I hoped I had packed the right kinds of clothes and a swimsuit. Although I wouldn't have admitted it then, I was worried about missing my family and being homesick.

I loved every minute

After an uncertain first few days, I settled into overnight camp. I swam with friends, played volleyball with my counselor, and got a lead role in the end-of-camp show. We ran feral through the mountains and woods, playing capture the flag and enjoying being surrounded by the majesty of tall trees and chirping birds - a far cry from the endless concrete and loud sounds of the city where most of us lived.

Nights were magical. After the sun went down, we huddled around a campfire, singing camp songs and telling ghost stories that got progressively scarier until one of the girls asked us to stop. We made s'mores and roasted hot dogs under the stars, whose sparkle was overpowered by streetlamps at home. These nights sparked a fascination with the sky and space that lingers today. After we returned to our beds, my bunkmates and I stayed up talking and laughing. Our counselor shushed us, who told us she needed her beauty sleep.

After my first year of camp, I wanted to return for the full eight weeks camp was open. The school year became a countdown to the day I returned to the mountains and saw my camp family again. For the next few years, until I aged out, I went to an overnight camp for the entire summer and loved it.

I learned lifelong skills

At camp, I learned skills I've carried throughout my life. Living with a dozen girls in a cramped bunk was great preparation for living in a dorm at college. Camp was the first place I was responsible for keeping my clothes folded and organized. I had to learn how to get along with all kinds of personalities, and there was no escape. I learned the value of unstructured time and how much I enjoyed being in nature.

These experiences helped me immensely as I transitioned to adulthood.

Sometimes I feel guilty that my kids aren't getting the same experience

As much as I loved spending the entire summer at overnight camp, with one exception during the pandemic, my kids don't go to traditional camps.

Sometimes, I feel selfish making this decision, but I love the unscheduled, unhurried summer days. Plus, I prefer to spend our summer budget on travel, which I enjoy too.

My kids' summers are action-packed and fun. They get experiences I couldn't have dreamed of as a child, like zipping around Rome on a Vespa and traveling to Warsaw to see Taylor Swift's Eras tour. Still, I sometimes wonder if I am doing the right thing.

It didn't occur to me that my parents wanted a break

It wasn't until I became a parent myself that I realized my parents may have sent me to overnight camp to get a break.

With a deep understanding that can only come from experience, I understood that the motivation to send me to camp all summer may have been because of the exhaustion many parents feel trying to parent, work, and run a home, often without a meaningful break.

At first, I was mildly hurt by this realization. But then I smiled and silently congratulated my parents for coming up with a solution that gave all of us summers we loved.

• My son didn't know what college he wanted to go to or what to major in.
• Instead of taking a gap year to figure it out, he enrolled in college anyway.
• He regrets that decision, but at least, he enrolled in a community college to save money.

My son is in grad school and loving what he's studying. But it wasn't an easy road to get here.

He was unsure about undergrad at first, chose a random major, and regretted it come graduation day. Looking back, he wonders if he should've taken a gap year between high school and college to figure out what he really wanted.

We've recently both reflected on his undergraduate years. It's clear he made some mistakes, but he found his way and is on the right path now.

My son felt rushed into a college decision

In hindsight, my son wasn't ready for college and didn't know what he wanted to do.

He was coming off four insanely busy and stressful years of high school. He simply didn't have the time to process or even consider his future.

I wish we'd discussed a gap year or delaying college, which would have given him time to figure out the right move for him, instead of following what was expected.

He agrees. He told me he often wishes he hadn't gone into college so quickly.

We should've had more honest conversations about his major

During May of his senior year, my son struggled. It was time to graduate and figure out what's next.

For most careers, college isn't the place where you learn about what the day-to-day is like, how to get an entry-level role, and what you'll earn.

It wasn't until he was job searching in those last few months of school that my son really learned about entry-level opportunities in his field.

The actual day-to-day work wasn't what he had been learning about in school, and the pay was quite low.

He knew that if he wanted to continue pursuing this career path, he'd need a master's degree, probably a doctorate. He figured he'd need five more years and $60,000 of schooling for something he really wasn't sure he wanted to do.

He shared that he was quickly learning the whole philosophy he had been told in high school and college was wrong: "You can't go to college for four years and get a decent job. For most professions, it's just not true," he told me.

I wish he had become involved in an activity earlier

Beyond the choices he made early on in his college career, he also made some mistakes during his first couple of years on campus.

He was a coed cheerleader in high school but didn't want that level of commitment anymore. He was simply too burned out from high school cheer to participate on his college campus. This was another incident where a gap year could've helped.

We both wish he had done an activity in those first years, but he eventually joined cheerleading as a junior. He made new friends and had memorable experiences cheering at games and nationals.

Luckily, my son went to community college first to save money

We live in Illinois, and state schools are expensive here. For the 2023-2024 school year, Illinois in-state tuition averaged $18,155.

Therefore, he made a great decision: He enrolled in an excellent community college, which was a more affordable way to explore majors and adapt to having more independence. He saved thousands by exploring what he wanted to study at a cheaper school.

He then attended the UWM in his sophomore year. He lived on campus, and the cost was about $18,000 a year.

Although it was a bumpy road, my son finally found his passion a few years after graduation when he started therapy.

Now he's studying to be a licensed professional counselor and recommends knowing what you want to do before college. He says work in the field, have personal experiences, and talk to people on the job. Enroll when you have figured out what you have a true passion for.

• We don't throw big birthday parties for our kids until they are old enough to appreciate it.
• Earlier parties are simple family affairs, as young kids probably won't remember them anyway.
• At 5, most kids are ready for a drop-off party, so I can focus my energy on the kids having fun.

My daughter clearly remembers her fifth birthday party. Granted, it was only a year ago, but considering she forgets almost everything I tell her, the fact that she recalls it at all feels like a win.

We held the event in my parents' backyard. I ordered food, hired a company to give the girls manicures and hair treatments, bought a cake I was sure she'd love, picked out matching dresses for her and her sister, and spent time curating goody bags that wouldn't get tossed the moment the kids got home.

In other words: throwing a fifth birthday party — a memorable one, at least — is a lot of work. Especially when you compare it to the minimal effort needed for a first or second birthday event in our family. That's because, our kids don't get big parties with all the bells and whistles until they turn 5, and that's by design.

We didn't bother with toddler parties for a reason

For a toddler, you can order some food for the adults, hire a company to play music for the babies, toss a ball pit into a quiet corner and call it a day. But I refused to do that, even when my daughter started begging for a party at age 3.

As I told her, and will eventually tell her three younger siblings, your real birthday party will come at age 5, even if it requires more effort to make it special since it involves entertaining older kids. Why do I refuse to throw a party for my kids before then? Because they won't remember it as clearly, or at all, when they're young.

The kids won't remember early celebrations anyway

To be clear: our kids haven't been denied celebrations before the age of 5, they have just been smaller, simpler affairs kept within the family.

They always get to choose whatever sort of birthday cake they want and are the center of attention during big family dinners that involve singing the happy birthday song in many different languages as the cake is served to all of their cousins.

We also celebrate their birthdays at school, within the guidelines set by their teachers. Only mommy attends the brief 10-minute event, which includes handing out cupcakes to the whole class, and a bit of dancing.

Things change when kids turn 5

At least in my social circles, age 5 — right around when kids start pre-K where we live — is when kids can handle being on their own with friends under the supervision of adults who aren't their parents, teachers, or family members. That's when drop-off parties, where guests are dropped off and get pick up when the party is over, become the norm.

There are many upsides to these kinds of events, starting with the parents themselves. I'm doing everyone a favor by not asking them to sit through the heat, loud music or the inevitable chorus of, "More candy! More cake! I want to go on the jumpy castle!" Instead, I'm giving them two blissful, guilt-free hours to themselves, knowing their child is having a great time.

And from a practical standpoint, I don't have to worry about feeding or entertaining the grown-ups, because they're not there.

Science is on my side

I did some research to really get to the bottom of the whole matter and assuage the sporadic pangs of guilt I felt when my daughter asked me for a birthday party before the age of 5 and, as I thought would be the case, it turns out that these sorts of drop-off celebrations may benefit the attendees' social development.

According to a study on the power of play, unstructured peer interactions — those that occur without direct parental involvement, which is exactly what a drop-off birthday party is about — play a critical role in developing cooperation, communication and conflict resolution skills in early childhood. See? Even science proves our theory right.

Now our other kids know what to expect for their own parties. As my first daughter's fifth birthday fades into memory — a clear one — I've started talking to my second daughter about hers. It's not happening for another year, when she turns five. But planning is half the fun, and she's already started.

• After working remotely from Bali for two months, Sonya Moore was craving peace and quiet.
• She traveled with a friend to the neighboring island of Sumba.
• The natural beauty, lack of traffic, and smaller number of tourists made for a great getaway.

In March, I decided to take advantage of my flexible schedule and spend two months in Bali, working remotely and exploring the island.

I had already visited Bali many times, and I'm a big fan. But over the years, as its fame has spread, it has become busier. Bali's iconic charm and unique energy are still there, but they now coexist with big crowds and heavy traffic.

During my time there, I relished much of what Bali has to offer: yoga, massages, sound baths, authentic spiritual traditions, gorgeous style, and delicious food. I found pockets away from the crowds in the less-developed regions of Bangli and Sidemen. But after a few weeks in Ubud and south Bali, I found myself craving peace and quiet — specifically, a break from the ever-present sound of motorbike engines.

Luckily, I had planned to wrap up my time in Indonesia with a weeklong side trip to the nearby island of Sumba with a friend.

Overpopulation was no longer a problem

Sumba is a 90-minute direct flight from Denpasar International Airport. It's about twice the size of Bali, has one-sixth of Bali's population, and a fraction of its tourists.

It's also known for limited WiFi and cell service across large swaths of its undeveloped territory. There's no signage on the main roads indicating the island's scenic spots, making it hard for visitors to find them without a local guide. We hired a guide my friend found through Facebook, and we're glad we did.

Sumba's natural beauty lived up to our expectations. The rock-framed sandy coves, the turquoise lagoon, the landscapes of velvety green hills, and the waterfalls left my friend and me in awe. We were charmed by goats lounging by the side of the road and by horses meandering across expanses of golden savannah.

And most of the time, we had the sights all to ourselves. Sometimes, groups of local kids would come over to talk to us. The roads were free of traffic.

Along with the absence of tourists and traffic came the absence of extensive food and massage options, which we had grown accustomed to in Bali. I never found wine or cocktails anywhere in Sumba, though I imagine they're available at the handful of 5-star hotels on the island.

Most people in Sumba didn't speak much English, including our guide, so we needed translation apps to communicate most of the time. When there was no cell service, we had to resort to hand gestures.

And punctuality? We found out that it's not a thing in Sumba. Our driver tended to show up 15 to 20 minutes after our agreed departure time, then order himself a coffee before we left, then stop to pick up his breakfast at a roadside shop or get gas. He was an excellent drone videographer and photographer, though, which helped make up for his relaxed sense of time.

A true mental reset

Our four-day guided Sumba road trip covered a lot of ground.

After the road trip, we spent three nights at a boutique hotel on a deserted stretch of white sand beach in East Sumba, about an hour from the airport, and it was there that we found total relaxation.

Shaded by tall cemara trees, the temperature was perfect both day and night. We were lulled to sleep every night by the sound of gentle ocean waves lapping the shore.

Our hotel, Cemara Beachfront Suite, was $80 per night and came with great service. The staff brought us tea with little desserts every afternoon and were always ready to provide any extras we asked for to make our stay more enjoyable. Except wine. Next time, I'd bring a bottle or two in my suitcase, along with a good book.

The attentive care of the staff and the idyllic setting allowed us to completely unwind and fully enjoy just being there. We could have happily stayed much longer.

Sumba's wild beauty and serene relaxation provided the perfect complement to Bali.

• My maiden name is Lee Kelly, and people used my names interchangeably.
• I was named after my maternal grandfather and given his last name as my middle name.
• When I got engaged, I was sure I'd be taking my future husband's name.

"Kelly Lee!" chirped my 9th-grade algebra teacher during roll call, just as she had every day of the school year. But this time, a giggle rippled through the class.

When Ms. Wade — a woman who brooked no nonsense — demanded to be let in on the joke, a classmate blurted out, "That's not her name!"

My name was an honor and a headache

My maiden name is Lee Kelly. I used to joke that I had two last names and two first names because people used my two names interchangeably. Since Lee is traditionally a man's name, and I am not a man, people would look at me, see my name, and automatically flip my name around.

The male name was intentional. My parents named me after my maternal grandfather, who was sick when I was born and died when I was a year old. Carrying his name was an honor and a pain in my daily life. And I couldn't use my middle name to help bail me out. It was Pallardy, my grandfather's last name, giving me a full name that was all surnames. My family takes honorary naming very literally.

So I was stuck being Kelly Lee.

Kelly Lee could pop up anywhere — in school, mail, phone calls, or other interactions with strangers. Sometimes, I corrected the error. But a lot of the time, I didn't even bother. Even though the mistake drove me crazy, it didn't seem worth the energy to call out the other person.

It got to the point that I responded to "Kelly" just as readily as I responded to "Lee." The only thing that would end my name duality was a legal name change.

I knew I would take my husband's last name

When my husband and I got engaged, I was 100% ready to take his name. I had no qualms about shedding my family identity. There were no feminist hesitations about the patriarchal expectation to subvert my identity for my husband's. I wasn't going to be Kelly Lee anymore.

My husband's last name is O'Connell, and it was perfect. It wasn't weird or unattractive. When paired with my first name, it would have no unfortunate associations or sounds (think Lee Oswald or Lee Roy). And there was no way anyone would confuse it for a first name. I would never have to correct anyone about my name again. I would never be O'Connell Lee.

No one gets it wrong now

In the 14 years I've been married, I haven't had to correct someone about my name once. I am always Lee, never Kelly. My ears don't prick up when I hear "Kelly" anymore, and I don't feel compelled to answer to any name besides my own.

Strangely, I received a letter addressed to Kelley Lee O'Connell two years ago. When I took my husband's name, I followed the convention of making my maiden name my middle name, mostly so I had a female name somewhere in there. As soon as I saw that letter, I texted a photo to the high school friend who sat next to me in algebra, the one person who jokingly calls me Kelly Lee to this day. "She does exist!" I exclaimed.

Weighed against all the problems in the world, having people get my name wrong is pretty insignificant. It was a minor irritation that never meaningfully impeded my day.

What bothered me about it was that so many people were willing to initiate an interaction or a relationship with me based on an assumption of who I was or who they thought I should be. And that assumption was wrong. It would've been more refreshing and more generous to have them get curious about who I am, to explore whether my reality challenged their assumptions.

Now that it's behind me, it's easy to consider my double name as a quirky blip from my past, compared to my present ease of always being Lee and never Kelly. People occasionally still assume I'm a man, so you can't win everything.

• I grew up seeing my mom and grandmother rummage for sales and treasures.
• My kids are teens now, and they know to look for what we call "roadside treasures."
• Picking up things from the side of the road saves my family money.

I was conducting an interview over Zoom recently when my teenage daughter called me twice in a row. Worried that something was wrong, I texted her, "In a meeting, emergency?" to which she replied, "No, just a good table on the side of the road." This cracked me up and is so on brand for my family.

I grew up with a mother and a grandmother who would scour church rummage sales for antiques and other treasures. My mom even recruited me to help out at her church's rummage sale a few times, as volunteers were able to shop the sale before the public (and therefore, snag the best items).

Now that my kids are teenagers, they're always on the lookout for "roadside treasures," especially after estate sales, when framed art, plant stands, and garden tools are discarded. We're happy to load these into the minivan and use them in our home.

Roadside discards saved me money when my kids were little

When my three kids were toddlers, I outfitted our backyard with kid-sized slides, a picnic table, and a teeter-totter that was supposed to look like a whale — all rescued from the side of the road.

With three kids in day care at the same time, I was always looking for ways to save money and avoid making large purchases, especially of items that would only be used for a short period. I felt good about not buying new giant plastic toys, only to toss them a few years later.

One of my best finds was the three Cozy Coupes I found over a series of months of scouring my neighborhood (because you can't get just one when you have three kids close in age). Once all three were secured, we transformed them, à la Pimp My Ride, with paint, decals, custom license plates, and streamers from the Dollar Tree.

The personalized kiddie cars even made the move with us from Illinois to California, as they were my kids' favorites. Eventually, my kids outgrew them, and all three cars were scooped up from our front yard "free" pile to be used by other neighborhood kids.

I find the best items on 'large item' pickup days

We now live in the San Francisco Bay Area, adjacent to some bougie neighborhoods, where I've found backyard furniture, an antique card table, and animal-carrying cages that my kids can use for their 4-H project.

Skateboards and scooters are often discarded, so we've collected quite a few over the years (and then donated them back). I love the idea that these items are just on loan from the universe, to be used by the next kid after mine.

The best are when the neighborhoods near us have free "large item" pickup days. Regular trash pickup only includes the trash bins you have paid for, but on "large item" days, you can put out whatever you like, including furniture, mattresses, e-waste, and building materials.

On these special pickup days, you can find so many things that shouldn't be going to the dump. My middle son needed a new bed frame, and we were able to find one on the side of the road that even came with all the necessary hardware to assemble it, tucked in a Ziplock bag.

Some items, like mattresses and rugs, are off-limits in my mind, but you can find many great things that people no longer use.

Saving money and helping keep things out of the dump

I'm an active member of my neighborhood Buy Nothing group, where we post items we're gifting and even ask for items we need. I recently posted a few wetsuits my kids outgrew, and they were quickly scooped up from my front porch by grateful parents.

When my daughter expressed interest in starting guitar lessons, I was hesitant to purchase a guitar, in case it was a fleeting interest. I posted in the Buy Nothing group and was able to pick up a guitar from a neighbor later that day.

Being open to finding free things instead of purchasing them has saved me a significant amount of money over the years, and it also helps us lead a more sustainable lifestyle. While I could certainly donate items to our local Goodwill, I prefer knowing that someone will actually use these items and they won't be scrapped.

• I'm a digital nomad and met my partner in Argentina two years ago.
• We talked daily for the next eight months, and I decided to return to Argentina in 2024.
• We fell in love and are building a life together in an unconventional way, but it works for us.

When I started traveling full-time almost four years ago, I promised myself I'd go on dates, but I also knew that a long-term relationship was out of the question.

As a digital nomad and freelance writer, I get the unique opportunity to travel all over the world and write about my experiences. It's truly a dream job, but sacrifices and tradeoffs must always be made — like relationships.

How could I develop a meaningful connection if I only spend one or two months in a city at a time? Even if I did find someone I wanted to pursue a future with, I knew I was unwilling to change my lifestyle. Full-time travel is a dream that I can't give up.

All of that changed when I met my partner.

I found love unexpectedly in Argentina

I spent the first few months of 2023 in Argentina, one of my favorite countries in the world.

In February, I received a message on Grindr, which is notoriously known as a gay hookup app with a low success rate for relationships. Still, I hoped for something more, and I figured if I was on the app, there must also be a couple of other people like me out there.

Over the next few days, I started chatting with this person, who introduced himself as Lauti. He asked me out on a date, but unfortunately, I was leaving Buenos Aires to go to a different city in Argentina the following morning. I told him I'd be back in six weeks, and we decided to meet then.

The day after I flew back to Buenos Aires, we went on our first date, and something clicked. For the next three weeks, we embarked on a whirlwind romance and were virtually inseparable.

Then, I packed up and flew to Mexico, and even though we liked each other, I knew nothing could realistically come from it. We decided to take things one day at a time and not put a label on anything — just see what happened while I was traveling.

Our relationship blossomed as I continued to travel

As the days went on, the texting and phone calls continued. After Mexico, I flew to Europe for the summer, and even with five or six hour time differences, we found ourselves prioritizing each other and making space for video call dates, life updates, and deeper conversations. Despite the distance, things got more serious month after month, and I realized I was essentially in a long-distance relationship.

So, I planned my return to Argentina for January 2024 — eight months after I left. We finally put a label on what we both felt, and a few weeks later, he told me he loved me for the first time. We faced yet another goodbye in April when I left for Peru. Luckily, this period of long-distance was short since he came to visit a month later for his birthday in May.

Then, we went seven months without seeing each other while I was off exploring Europe, Asia, and Australia. He came to Colombia in December 2024 for our first holiday season together, which was every bit as magical as we hoped it would be. I returned to Argentina at the end of January this year, and we've lived together for the past four months.

Luckily, our time apart seems to be getting shorter each year. I'll leave Argentina in a few weeks, and we will be apart for just three months.

Navigating an unconventional relationship

Each long-distance period has its challenges. During the first stint, we were still getting to know each other, which made communication tricky. The second time, we were much better at communicating, but it was more challenging in its own way. I often don't know where I'll live in a few months' time, so it's impossible to know when we will be together again.

Even so, we're embracing the challenges of a long-distance relationship. How do we prioritize seeing each other? How do we balance two different cultures? How can we accomplish our own goals while still growing together? These questions don't have simple answers, and they are constantly evolving.

Some aspects of our relationship progressed quickly, while others have been harder to nurture due to my lifestyle. However, this has become our normal, making us appreciate our time together so much more. In our time apart, we still prioritize each other, but also spend time planning our future and growing individually.

I had an idea of what a relationship was supposed to be, and I thought that a nomadic lifestyle would be antithetical to that ideal. I've realized there isn't a perfect relationship, and I can accomplish two things simultaneously: a loving relationship and an unwavering desire to see every corner of the world. I don't have to sacrifice one to achieve the other, but I must be intentional with my time.

• After taking a career break, I had to jump back into the job market.
• I used ChatGPT to find open roles, write my résumé and cover letter, and prepare for interviews.
• I landed my dream job in AI, making it a full-circle moment.

After a well-deserved career break, I decided it was time to look for a new job. The only problem was that I had last done this 10 years ago, and job hunting was a completely different game then.

In 2025, everything has changed, from how roles are advertised to how candidates are evaluated. LinkedIn isn't just an optional platform anymore. It's seemingly essential. Companies are using automated systems to screen résumés, and social media presence matters more than ever. The landscape has drastically changed, becoming more digital and competitive than ever before.

Facing this entirely new scenario was daunting. The old rules didn't apply, and the anxiety of navigating this new environment quickly set in. I realized I needed help, something or someone, to guide me through these uncharted waters.

I decided to adapt using the very technology shaping the new job market: AI.

Embracing AI to redefine my career path

After years of working as a lawyer, embracing AI felt like venturing into foreign territory, but it also felt exciting. I'd read countless stories about people using AI for everything from meal planning to writing novels, but I wondered how effective it could be for finding a job.

My first step was to have an in-depth conversation with ChatGPT to help identify exactly what I wanted next in my career. After a much-needed career break, I knew I wanted something that bridged my interests in technology and law, but the specifics were blurry.

Through a lengthy dialogue with the AI, during which we discussed my strengths, interests, and professional goals, I was able to clarify exactly what I was looking for. ChatGPT helped me pinpoint roles that sat neatly at the intersection of legal practice and emerging technologies, creating a tailored shortlist of companies and positions that genuinely excited me.

Leveraging AI for résumés, cover letters, and interviews

Armed with this newfound clarity, it was time to get practical. I turned again to ChatGPT, this time for help with polishing my résumé, crafting standout cover letters, and preparing for interviews.

Starting with my résumé, I fed ChatGPT my old document alongside descriptions of the roles I was targeting. Within minutes, it transformed my résumé into a crisp, impactful summary of my professional achievements. It suggested action-oriented language and quantified outcomes, things I hadn't thought to highlight on my own. My previously bland document suddenly felt dynamic and compelling, accurately reflecting my experience and capabilities.

Next, I tackled the dreaded cover letters. Each application felt like writing a small autobiography, a tedious task I usually procrastinated endlessly on. With ChatGPT, the experience transformed. I provided basic details about the role and why I was interested, and the AI-generated, polished, tailored cover letters genuinely sounded like me, only better. Minor tweaks aside, the AI-driven drafts were ready to send out immediately, saving me countless hours of stress and editing.

Then came mock interviews. ChatGPT proved invaluable here, simulating realistic interview scenarios and offering insightful feedback on my responses. It didn't just spit out generic interview questions. It tailored them specifically to each role, asking about industry trends, hypothetical scenarios, and even personal motivations. The AI coached me through my answers, helping me refine my responses to ensure they were concise, authentic, and impactful.

Landing the ideal job: Full circle with AI

The impact of these preparations was swift and substantial. Within just two months of starting this tech-driven job hunt, I secured a role at a cutting-edge tech company developing AI specifically designed for lawyers. It felt surreal yet perfectly aligned. After all, my journey began and ended with artificial intelligence.

This role wasn't just a paycheck. It was a full-circle moment, merging my long-standing passion for law with my newly sparked enthusiasm for technology.

Would I use AI to job hunt again? Absolutely. In fact, I can't imagine tackling such a stressful process without it. AI didn't just streamline tedious tasks. It empowered me to present myself authentically and strategically in a fiercely competitive market. It took the overwhelm out of job hunting, making the process not only manageable but surprisingly enjoyable.

In a world increasingly defined by technology, leveraging AI in your career search isn't just clever. It's becoming essential.

Whether you're pivoting careers, re-entering the workforce, or just exploring new opportunities, AI could be the ally you never knew you needed. For me, embracing AI was the smartest professional decision I made in years, proving that sometimes the best way to adapt to change is to lean into it fully.

• My parents met while traveling in 1971 and were married six months later.
• I've learned a lot from their marriage of over 50 years that has inspired me in my own marriage.
• They've shown me that conflict is healthy and normal, and so is having different interests.

My parents recently celebrated their 53rd wedding anniversary. They met while traveling through Spain in 1971 and married six months later.

My mom has always said it hasn't all been rainbows and butterflies. But they've worked through the hard times and persevered with their marriage, even when things have been tough.

Though I'd always secretly been terrified of commitment, I was also lucky enough to have their solid example of what a strong marriage could look like, and I married Sam — the love of my life — in 2015. The lessons I've learned by watching my parents' marriage have made it all the easier to walk in their footsteps, and now Sam and I have been happily married for a decade.

They taught me it's OK to have different interests

Aside from their shared passion for travel, my parents are opposites in so many ways. My mom loves art and languages, going to the theatre, and watching movies.

My dad, on the other hand, has always enjoyed playing and watching sports, collecting stamps, and doing crosswords. In his 50s, he randomly decided he wanted to run a marathon and ended up doing four. My mom has never run a day in her life.

However, they share a few fundamental values that have always kept them on the same page: a love of learning and acquiring general knowledge, a belief in seizing the day and making the most out of each moment, the importance of keeping the flame alive, and the belief that family always comes first, no matter what.

My husband and I are also polar opposites in many ways, but like my parents, our core values are aligned.

Growing up, I saw that conflict is normal and healthy

While I was growing up, my folks often had heated arguments. Sometimes, there would even be periods where they weren't speaking together because they needed to cool off.

However, my parents always resolved the issue with respect and open communication. Through watching them, I learned that conflict in a long-term relationship is unavoidable and normal. There are bound to be differences in opinion, values, needs, and wants, but it's how you handle and resolve the conflict that matters.

They showed me the importance of space in a relationship

My parents have always made a habit of giving each other space — space to pursue hobbies they enjoy, space to travel independently, and time alone to recharge when needed.

My mom is hugely independent. During my childhood, she worked hard, saved up, and took my sisters and me on international trips while my dad stayed home and continued working. She's always said that it's important to be your own person and to follow your dreams.

My husband and I are similar in that we both have our own interests and give each other space in our relationship. We take turns going on solo international kid-free holidays, then come back recharged and ready for family life. Having downtime from each other helps us to keep the spark alive and to appreciate what we do have even more.

I know that marriage takes work

No marriage is perfect. Most of us derail at some point in our relationships, but if you truly love each other, you can usually get it back on track.

I know there have been times when my parents' marriage has been on the rocks. There have been enormous life challenges to navigate, and both of my parents would admit they've made mistakes.

But ultimately, they love each other deeply. This all-consuming, enduring love has helped them tackle every hurdle together and emerge stronger.

Of all the lessons they've taught me about relationships, this was the most important: Love is worth fighting for. Always.

• My mom was recently diagnosed with Stage 3 uterine cancer and is going through chemotherapy.
• I join her for each chemotherapy treatment, and we talk about her exciting days in the Air Force.
• Her stories are the remedy we needed. They are helping us both cope with the pain.

As a child, my mother had a habit of pointing out various military planes in the sky and explaining their names and purposes.

I heard those same planes zoom overhead on various military bases when I watched her, clad in an Air Force uniform with her short red hair peeking out stubbornly under her hat, command the respect of fellow officers with an ease I admired.

It seemed like nothing could phase her — when it came to overseeing aircraft maintenance squadrons, Lieutenant Colonel Stinson — my mother — was in her element.

How ironic it was that after everything she faced fearlessly in the Air Force, cancer was the one thing that scared her.

Hearing my mom had cancer was a shock

Having retired as a lieutenant colonel after 20 years of service in the early 2000s, my mom had enjoyed post-retired life in San Antonio.

Early this year, she told me of pains in her abdomen that were unbearable. Her doctor recommended a hysterectomy, and during her operation, the doctor removed a large cancerous tumor on her uterus. However, some of her lymph nodes also looked concerning, so some biopsies were taken.

After her hysterectomy, my mom seemed more energetic, returning to the vibrant woman I remembered. During the two-week wait for those biopsy results, I truly believed they wouldn't show cancer. I was wrong.

One of her lymph nodes had cancer. Hearing the Stage 3 uterine cancer diagnosis shattered my delusion. A sense of shock surged through my body that left me feeling strangely numb. I heard the doctor say, "Chemo," and "hair loss," and after weeks of holding back tears, I started to cry.

No prescription can ease the shock of a loved one's cancer diagnosis. However, stories from my mother's past have become the remedy we sorely needed, as I sit with her through each chemotherapy treatment.

We got to talk a lot about the past during her treatment

The older I got, the more I told myself that I would record her story one day, but time slipped by. Then, when I heard the doctor diagnose her with cancer, time seemed more finite.

"You were doing the 'Captain Marvel' thing before it was cool," I'd told her one day while we were sitting in the chemotherapy treatment center.

Becoming a commissioned officer in the Air Force after college had always been my mom's dream. But as she jokingly told me, the Air Force wasn't exactly seeking experts in radio—her major in school.

Instead, there was a greater demand for aircraft maintenance officers. So, after graduating, she found herself in maintenance school — a path she hadn't planned for — and nearly failed out. Still, she was determined to succeed.

Despite the initial setback, my mom slowly but surely rose up the ranks. A combination of her hard work and aptitude for leadership, recognized by the performance boards of her superiors, determined who should be promoted.

Watching her eyes light up with every story she tells is medicine my heart didn't know it needed.

I had taken the stories for granted

My mom had repeatedly told me that she had two major life goals — one was to serve her country. The other was to be a mother.

She had dealt with her fair share of workplace sexism during her tenure, rode in a fighter jet twice as a passenger (another requirement for officers in maintenance squadrons), fallen asleep in cargo planes, helped found a Logistics Scho, overseen the flyover for the late senator Barry Goldwater's funeral, and been invited to be a White House aide.

I had taken her stories for granted growing up, and now I hungered for more of my mother's memories: how a wing commander visited her in the hospital after she gave birth to me, seeing a picture of her in uniform, back turned to the camera, walking toward a fighter jet with her hair firmly in place.

Lost in a sea of memories that weren't mine, I felt a spark reignite in my soul, a fire that had dimmed ever since I had heard the cancer diagnosis. Her stories kept the blaze of the future alight in us both, something more powerful than any fighter jet engine could muster.

My mother has always been a fighter, and she still is. I was doing her a disservice by being sad.

• After 14 years of working in public service, I just started a new career.
• With my new job, I'm outside my comfort zone, but it feels invigorating.
• The change has inspired me to get my kids more involved in the community.

I started to crumble when I was forced to change careers after 14 years of service in local government. I had worked and planned for a life of public service, but then life happened, and suddenly, I was in a new career field and way out of my depths.

The sudden change in careers forced me to take a hard look at how I had been living for the last 14 years. While I was reflecting and mourning my old professional life, I started to notice some other areas in my life that I wanted to change — mainly, my parenting.

Now that I'm in a new career and living outside my comfort zone, I'm pushing my kids to do the same so that we all grow together.

I've started a new job after years in the same career

After a decade in the same, stagnant public service position, my ambition got activated. Suddenly, I was applying for promotions, volunteering for projects, attending leadership seminars, and making myself into the traditional idea of a government professional.

I was given an opportunity to further those ambitions in a new role in a different city. But when that opportunity didn't work out, my 14-year career path came to an end.

I spent weeks analyzing where I went wrong. Were those ambitions ever really dreams of mine, or were they pursued because my peers and co-workers were pursuing the same paths? Was I ever good enough to do this work in the first place? Was this career ever really what I wanted?

That's when I decided to switch careers from public service to research and development. The change has felt like learning to pilot a commercial airline while having the professional credentials of a circus entertainer. But the challenge has been surprisingly invigorating.

It's making me consider how stagnant my professional life has become. Routines have been in place for years, and maybe the comfort of that familiarity is starting to become a hindrance to further growth. That realization made me wonder about how stagnant I am becoming as a parent.

I'm pushing my kids to get outside their comfort zone, too

Take community participation, for example. Despite being involved in Scouts and various church activities, my family had managed to be almost completely absent from most volunteer events and neighborhood activities. We had work (or school). We had extracurriculars, and the rest of the time was ours.

That had worked for us. But while I'm currently spending my work hours getting pushed further out of my comfort zone, I decided my family needed a similar shake-up if they were going to grow.

I should note here that both of my boys were already highly accomplished at school and their respective activities before my mid-life crisis arrived, so the decision to get them more involved in the community was equally based on addressing my own parenting weaknesses and a desire to provide them with new experiences and growth opportunities.

When summer arrives, I'm hoping to get the whole family involved in some kind of community service, like working in a soup kitchen or a community garden. We've been taking greater advantage of the opportunities presented through the Scouting organization, like weekend field trips and merit badge mini-camps.

I've already seen both boys grow as people through those experiences. But only time will tell if these decisions were made as a responsible father or someone struggling with their own career and life anxieties.

• I waited until later to have kids, and I thought it would mean slowing down.
• Instead, I feel more active as an older mom than before having kids.
• We're always moving our bodies and it makes me feel younger.

I never felt ready to have a baby. I kept pushing it to later in life, even though I met my husband when I was 31. I was 38 when I had my first child and 40 when I had my second child. I'm 43, but I feel younger because my kids have brought more movement to my life.

I didn't expect to feel this way as an older mom. I had thought I'd have less energy and struggle to keep up with my kids' activity needs. Instead, I often feel invigorated from moving my body all the time. However, the start of my motherhood journey wasn't like this at all.

My energy levels were low for the first few years of being a mom

It took a full year to recover from having my first child. Just as I had started to feel like myself again, I fell pregnant with my second. I had expected things to slow down, but I was kept busy chasing after my energetic toddler.

Once I had two kids under 2, I was exhausted all the time. Regardless of my age, it was a very busy and demanding time in my life.

Thankfully, I reached a turning point when my youngest turned 1. She was starting to walk, so I always had to be on my feet because of her newfound freedom.

We're always moving our bodies

I've always been very active, but mothering two young kids has taken it to the next level. My daughters, aged 2 and 4, are driven by an endless impulse to move. They're always trying to master new movements: My 2-year-old has just learnt to jump, and my 4-year-old is learning to ride a bike.

Through them, I now have a greater appreciation of the joy of movement. I feel like I'm undoing years of being taught that movement had to be done in a particular way. I've also stopped worrying about how I look when I move my body.

Incorporating more movement into each day has been an unexpected gift of becoming a stay-at-home mom. Since leaving full time employment, I no longer get tight hip flexors and lower back pain from sitting for extended periods. I've swapped short, intense bursts of exercise at the gym for an almost constant state of motion.

My kids and I walk, run, hop, and skip through our days together. My heart rate increases by chasing after them, especially when they run off in different directions. We wiggle our bodies to music, do yoga poses together, and challenge each other with obstacle courses.

It's not all play, though. I'm also kept active from continuously tending to my kids' needs and doing household tasks like cooking, cleaning, and running errands.

I feel tired toward the end of each day, but my kids usually have even more energy. They run around being silly ,and sometimes I'll join in. It's hard not to feel younger when I do the things that I used to do as a kid.

They motivate me to stay active

I like being active most days, but I also enjoy my downtime. I cherish relaxing in the evenings after my kids go to bed to prepare my body for the next day's adventures.

As an older mom, I'm both excited and nervous about the future. I'm curious to see how our movement changes over time when they're at school and I'm working full-time. But I'm also worried that one day I won't have the energy to keep up with them.

Because of this concern, I feel motivated to stay active and look after my mobility for my kids. In our moments of shared movement, everything feels right. I'm determined to hold onto that feeling for as long as possible.

• I was not sleeping well, overweight, overeating, and generally not physically or mentally well.
• I told my family I needed time away. I chose a wellness retreat for a week in the mountains.
• The retreat cost $6,900 and was worth every penny. I'm still seeing the benefits months later.

A $6,900 wellness retreat for a week in the mountains of British Columbia sounded indulgent, but I couldn't shake the feeling that something had to give.

I was burned out, foggy-headed, overweight, and feeling a little unmoored.

I'd recently had surgery, and while my doctor had given me the green light to return to all activities, including exercise, I was completely unmotivated to work out.

My sleep was also off, and my eating habits needed an overhaul. I generally eat healthily, but I'd slumped into a bad habit of overeating.

Adding to that, I'm a mom to two high-energy teen boys and had reached a point where I felt maxed out in the parenting department. I didn't hide it, though.

I was honest with my family and told them I needed a reset, that I wasn't feeling my best physically or mentally, and that this retreat was something I was doing for my health. They were supportive.

It's been over two months since the retreat, and I'm completely transformed. I don't have immediate plans to return, but the benefits were so amazing that I would consider going back. It was worth every penny.

Why this retreat was worth it for me

While the $6,900 price tag for Mountain Trek Health Reset Retreat is considerable, it covered everything: guided hikes, yoga, spa treatments, educational talks, and meals.

I learned about the retreat from a friend. It's caffeine- and alcohol-free, with limited sugar/carbs, and focuses on lots of activity, including hiking several hours each day.

I looked at other places, but what really sold me on Mountain Trek was the combination of physical activity, healthy eating, and expert-led classes on topics like sleep.

As a middle-aged mom, this sounded like exactly what I needed.

The retreat taught me how to improve my mental health back home

I have to say, there was something nice about not having to take care of my family and instead having someone take care of me.

I didn't have to plan meals or schedules each day, so the decision fatigue I was feeling at home was gone, and my mind could be more present.

Of course, when I returned home, decision-making turned back on, but I found a way to better manage it.

I now meal-plan on Sundays, which has significantly improved my mental health, and my mind is calmer during the week.

I also learned the phrase micro-dosing happiness. It's about creating happy moments throughout the day.

I never thought of happiness as a practice, but the more I sought out and focused on those small microdosing moments, the better it made me feel.

The biggest surprise of the whole retreat

The hiking is what attracted me to the program, initially, and turned out to be the biggest surprise of the whole retreat.

Hiking is my happy place: I've hiked the Inca Trail in Peru and trekked through Patagonia in Chile.

So, when we were told they divided hiking groups into four categories (1-4, fastest to slowest), I figured I'd fall into group 2, given my recent surgery and weight gain.

It was a huge wake-up call (and a hit to my ego) to find out I had to fall behind to group 4, the slowest. Turns out, group 4 was fabulous.

Because we hiked slower, I was able to take in the beautiful flowers, frogs, deer, and other wildlife while the women and I bonded over our various life struggles.

I grew to accept — and appreciate — the slower pace. And the connections I made with those women, as well as the rest of the people at the retreat (there were 13 of us, three men and ten women; Mountain Trek limits it to 16 total), were one of the best parts of that week.

My week in the mountains was the perfect reset I needed

Back home, I'm still seeing the benefits.

I've rediscovered my motivation to move and am committed to the gym five days a week, walking with a friend three to four times a week, and sitting less overall.

I break up my day with movement breaks, even if it's just going up and down the stairs for five minutes.

I also finally curbed my overeating habit. The retreat offered six small meals a day without second servings. I was hungry the first couple of days, but my body adapted after that, and I've kept my portion sizes smaller at home, too.

The new routine makes me feel more energized and less stressed. It's largely thanks to the retreat and admitting to myself that I needed a break, and being brave enough to take it.

I met several people on the retreat who were regulars, and I could see myself going back. I missed my husband and kids, but to spend a full week really working on myself — emotionally, physically, mentally — was a gift.

• My baby has been on eight flights and isn't even a year old yet.
• Our first flight was short, which helped us learn how to make future, longer flights a success.
• Now I know a travel stroller is essential for maneuvering in the airport and worth the investment.

As a person who travels quite a bit, I'll admit I was nervous about traveling with my first child. What if they cried? What if we disturbed nearby passengers? What if there was a diaper blowout? There was a lot to be anxious about.

Our first fight was just 90 minutes, but we survived it. Now, my baby is has already been on eight flights — domestic and international — and they aren't even a year old yet. Our goal has been to keep our baby safe and comfortable, while making sure the flight is peaceful and enjoyable for ourselves and the people around us. My family has accomplished this by following these simple strategies.

We started with a short flight

While this may not always be possible, it helped my family quite a bit that our first flight with a baby was a shorter one, just 90 minutes long. This allowed us to get our bearings, while introducing our baby to flying. Plus, it helped us to see if there was anything we might need to adjust for future, longer flights.

We always wear a baby carrier

If there's one item I wouldn't get on a flight without, it would be my baby carrier. There are many styles, but for flights, I prefer a wrap-style carrier for it's comfort and compactness.

I appreciate the hands-free experience through the airport, and, more importantly, they make it more comfortable to hold your baby throughout the flight if they are flying as a lap infant.

My own bag is super organized

Luggage organizing pouches are my best friend on a flight. I have several in my own carryon bag so I can keep snacks, headphones, sanitizing wipes, and more neat and organized. When everything is in its own bag I don't have to dig around searching for it when I need it, which can be a lifesaver.

On our last flight, my baby was asleep on my chest, but I desperately wanted my Kindle, headphones, and a snack. It was easy for me to snag them from my bag without waking the baby.

A travel stroller is essential

On our first trip, we didn't have a travel stroller. I didn't want to spend extra money on more gear and I thought we would be fine without it. That was a big mistake. Now we have an affordable model that is easy to use. It isn't as bulky as our usual stroller, but it's perfect for maneuvering through the terminal and provides an extra place to stash essentials while at the airport.

We check, and double check, our diaper bag

I always make sure we're set up for success with extra outfits that are warm and comfortable just in case we run into any delays or something gets dirty while we're traveling. A travel diaper changing mat is a must-have item that allows us to change our child no matter where we are. On our international flight, our baby had a diaper that desperately needed changing, but we were stuck in our seats. Thanks to our travel mat, we were able to get the baby back into a clean diaper right away. And, as all parents know, extra wipes and diapers are never a bad idea.

We don't skimp on toys

Of course, packing comfort items, books, and fun toys is a great way to redirect restlessness on a flight. I try to keep to items that are small, mess-free, and not too noisy and always add in a few new items that my child hasn't seen before.

We take advantage of early boarding

As soon as we get to the gate, one of us makes a beeline for the gate agent. We double check that our seats are all together and ask for any necessary accommodations. Many airlines let those traveling with young children board early, and we always take advantage of this. It's a lot easier to get down the narrow plane aisle with all of our stuff and a baby if other passengers aren't in the way.

We try to plan around naps and feeding time

Though this isn't always possible, we try to line up flights so they happen when our baby is ready for a nap. Recently, we selected a flight time not based on our typical preference, but based around our baby's sleep schedule, and it really paid off. Ideally, I'll be able to feed the baby during takeoff, which keeps them comfortable and happy and then they will settle into a nice slumber for the flight. We've used this strategy for a few flights, and it's been successful every time.

We do our best to stay calm

It may be easier said than done, but staying in a good headspace is what has helped me and my husband the most during these flights. We've both still had stressful moments, and that's when we try to help one another to take a step back and regroup. Our child picks up on our feelings and moods, so if we're anxious, they might be, too. Taking deep breaths, not rushing, staying calm has helped make the eight flights we've already been on a success and we can't wait to take more.

• Like most families, our clutter situation was getting out of control.
• It was hard for my kids to part with items, even if they were unused, so I came up with a plan.
• We now list our unwanted items on soiclal media and use the money to pad our family gift fund.

Over the years, my family of six has accumulated a lot of stuff — a lot. Clothing, toys, sports equipment, you name it, I probably had it somewhere in my house.

The pandemic only made things worse for us. After all, we were spending months upon months isolated at home. We needed to keep our four kids occupied while we worked. So we bought stuff, and more stuff, and more stuff.

Between that difficult time, plus many birthdays and other gift-receiving holidays, the clutter just just kept accumulating and I was drowning — until I came up with a decluttering solution my kids were actually into.

It's been hard for the kids to let go

Like many kids, mine do not like to part with their items, even when they are no longer used or don't fit. Then it dawned on me one day, why not sell the items with a goal in mind?

I motivated my kids to clean out their rooms and our garage by stating that any money we made from selling items would go into a group fund to buy them, and others, future gifts. Christmas is our favorite holiday, followed by our kids' birthdays. Finding the perfect gift for others is important to us and it's something we put a lot of effort into. Our goal wasn't just about ourselves, which was important to me.

Suddenly, my kids were highly motivated to part with too-snug sweatshirts, toys they never played with anymore, and even bigger items like outgrown bicycles. I was making progress.

The sales started adding up

I listed the items in Facebook groups designated for locals to sell to one another.

Within a few weeks, I had sold my own gently-used bicycle for $75. Not bad for something that had been sitting unused in our basement storage for over five years. It was silly to hang on to such big and profitable gear.

My kids quickly got in on the action. One sold a skateboard that had been gathering dust in the garage for over a year. My daughter sold her too-small soccer cleats, only used indoors and for eight weeks. And we all sold lots of youth clothing.

The challenge was fun

Our newer goal of cleaning up and making money for our gift fund felt like a fun challenge for the kids, which helped get them excited. Along the way, they have brought me items to sell that I've vetoed. With four kids, we pass down a lot of times, like winter coats. We aren't going to buy items, sell them, and turn around and buy another new winter coat, for example. I established the rule that I get the final say on if something is sold or not.

One key to making this gift fund successful is making sure our seller profile gets great reviews. Therefore, we make sure to accurately list the condition of items, price them fairly, and respond to messages quickly. Right now, we have 5 stars.

Some items we give away for free

Any items we no longer use and are in fair condition are listed on our local "buy nothing" social media page. For example, all four kids had outgrown a pair of snow boots that were still usable but appeared very worn. I listed these the day before we were supposed to get a foot of snow, and they were picked up within a few hours. Even when we can't make a buck off an item, my kids are now in cleaning-out mode, and someone else gets to enjoy the item.

We started our gift fund in January, and we currently have about $200 in it. This may not seem like a big chunk of change, but once the kids are home on summer break, I expect we will do a lot more organizing and listing.

Since so many people are always looking for a good deal, our plan was a win-win-win. Our home is less cluttered, we're padding our gift fund, and others get to enjoy the items we no longer use.

• My boyfriend and I have been dating for two years, and we've been long-distance the whole time.
• While it's hard being apart, we make sure to plan exciting dates when we see each other.
• We plan to live together eventually, but right now, we're focusing on our goals.

My boyfriend and I hit it off at a mutual friend's birthday party and went on a date a few days later. Though he lives in Boston and I live in New Jersey, we still wanted to keep seeing each other.

When I went to visit him about two weeks later, he asked me to be his girlfriend while we were at an EDM concert. But I was worried we were moving too fast, and I rejected him.

Things changed on the morning of our last day together. I had a seizure while we were having breakfast together, and he came with me to the hospital. It was then that I realized how serious he was about me, and we made it official in the emergency room. That was two years ago, and we've been together ever since.

We always say 'good morning' and 'good night'

Being five hours away from my boyfriend is difficult, but we have a lot of things we do to make it work. For example, we always say "good morning" and "good night" — this may not seem important, but being able to start and end our day with the thought of each other helps us remember that we always have one another.

We text and call as much as we can, but we also try to get at least one FaceTime call in a day. FaceTime helps us feel as though we're together physically, even when we aren't.

Despite our efforts, time apart is saddening. There is a certain type of grief that comes with a long-distance relationship. The physical feeling of losing your partner every time you leave each other is agonizing, even when you know it's just temporary.

We plan exciting dates when we're together

Sometimes, it can feel like I'm counting every minute of every day: the time we have until we see each other, the time we have together until he leaves, and then repeat. It can get exhausting, but it's also what makes our moments much more special.

In the limited time we have together, we try to do something exciting. We plan fun dates and go to concerts and festivals. Between visits, we plan almost every detail, like where we're going, how we're getting there, and my favorite, what we're wearing. We're both really into fashion and like to create matching outfits, especially for music festivals and raves.

We also plan low-key fun nights at home, which consist of a bottle of wine, watching anime, and listening to music. Sometimes, we do this while we're apart, but it's always better together.

Our time apart is just as important as our time together

I don't think a partner should define how I live my life, and the time we spend apart is just as important as the time we spend together. If I were to put all my happiness on the shoulders of my partner, it would be difficult to grow on my own.

My boyfriend and I are in our early 20s. He works for USPS while planning to finish school, and I'm looking for a full-time job. The distance gives us time to focus on our goals while supporting each other from afar. It also gives us the opportunity to have different experiences and talk about them when we come back together.

We hope to move in together soon, but we also know that we need to accomplish our goals so we can afford to live together without giving up the exciting things we like to do together.

It is hard not to have the opportunity to be together physically, but we're not in a rush, and for now, we've found ways to make it work and appreciate what we have, including our moments apart.

• We wanted to go to our friends' three-day wedding, but leaving our kids was going to be tough.
• We decided to rent an apartment big enough that my parents could come with us.
• They watched the kids while we went to the wedding events, and we all had a great time.

Parenting during the early years can be tricky, especially when your little one wants you and only you. Your social life often gets put on the back burner, and I struggled with this when I became a mom.

Last year, my husband and I were invited to our friends' three-day wedding on the Gold Coast, Australia, where my folks are based. These particular friends know how to throw an epic party, so we really wanted to be there to celebrate with them. My husband and I were also desperately in need of a little kid-free adult time, where we could let loose and reconnect with our younger selves again.

However, our youngest daughter was still quite clingy with me. Our older two kids were 5 and 9 at the time, so we knew they would be fine if they had a three-day sleepover at my parents' house, but the 2-year-old wouldn't hear of it.

In the lead-up to the wedding, my husband and I deliberated about what to do. Hiring a babysitter around the clock was out of the question, and it was going to be hard for my mom and dad to have the three kids at their place, which was about a half-hour drive from the wedding. So, my husband came up with a plan.

My mom and dad came with us to watch the kids

"Why don't we pay for your mom and dad to stay around the corner from the wedding?" he asked one night over dinner. It sounded like a good idea to me, so I asked my folks if they would mind, and they said they'd love to. After all, who doesn't want a mini-break in an apartment on the beach (even with three little kids to entertain)?

We rented the most perfect three-bedroom apartment with enough room for all seven of us so my parents could stay and watch the kids while we went to the wedding events. It had views of the Gold Coast and the occasional migrating humpback whale cruising past. There was a playground close to our apartment, and it was a short walk to the local shops. Best of all, the hotel where the wedding guests were staying was a two-minute walk away.

When the big day arrived and we checked in, the kids were so excited about the setting, they barely registered it that night when it was time for my husband and me to slip out to attend the first wedding event — a cocktail party.

We got glammed up, enjoyed a few drinks, and then returned to the apartment to kiss the kids goodnight before continuing the festivities. It was perfect.

The next day was the day of the actual wedding. We spent the morning with the kids and my folks on the beach, then walked two minutes down the road to the bus stop, where transport was waiting to take us to a picturesque wedding venue in the next suburb.

It was the perfect arrangement, and we all had a good time

We had the most amazing time at the wedding and loved that we were still close enough to go back to the apartment in a taxi if the kids needed us. Luckily, they didn't — they were having too much fun with Nana and Pop.

The third day was a recovery day. We had a boozy brunch at a local surf club, and then that night, we headed back to the same venue where the welcome cocktail party was held for impromptu post-wedding drinks with our friends. We had a ball and crept into the apartment at 3 a.m. feeling like two naughty 20-somethings.

Overall, paying for a larger apartment so our parents could stay with us and babysit while we attended our friends' wedding worked amazingly well. It meant we had people we trusted watching our kids, and the kids felt safe being with their grandparents, so they didn't need us.

We all ended up having an incredible three days. Mom and Dad made memories with the kids, while my husband and I danced and frolicked and felt like we were in our 20s again.

• My husband and I make good money and live on the Upper East Side but are frugal with groceries.
• We keep our weekly grocery bill under $100 a week, and that feeds us plus a Sunday dinner party.
• Our secret involves a mix of creative cooking and a little financial savvy.

When I moved from Nashville to New York, I expected new experiences. However, one thing I still can't get over is how casually people spend on food.

I noticed ordering delivery or grocery shopping daily to satisfy a craving was more common. At first, I was excited to explore the city's culinary scene and began eating out more and indulging myself.

However, I quickly grew tired of spending $14 for a tuna sandwich that I could make at home in four minutes for a fraction of the cost.

My husband and I make good money. He works on Wall Street, and I'm a food stylist, meaning I make food look beautiful for NFL campaigns, fashion editorials, and magazines like Bon Appétit.

At home, though, I cook like a freelancer on a budget.

We live on the Upper East Side, and while we could spend more money on food, we share a core value: our money should work harder than we do. So, we keep groceries simple — and cheap.

Our weekly grocery bill rarely tops $100, and that's including shopping for the dinner guests we host almost every Sunday. That $100 ends up feeding the two of us for five breakfasts and dinners, plus one dinner party for six.

Our secret? A mix of creative cooking and a little financial savvy.

Sunday supper is the key to my success

Each Sunday, I cook a meal for six and always take the time to make extra, ensuring there are leftovers. This food becomes the foundation of meals for the week.

Roasted veggies go into Monday's grain bowl. Extra herbs become a seasoning for homemade dressings.

All the meal prep I do for Sunday becomes ingredient prep for the rest of the week, saving me both time and money. No scraps or leftovers go to waste — we save everything.

On set for my job, there's a golden rule: never throw anything away. It's not just for sustainability, we might need to re-shoot a veggie sandwich eight hours later, which means rebuilding the exact same sandwich without needing to buy new ingredients.

That habit of saving partial ingredients to get the same — or sometimes better — results followed me home. Now I see leftovers as ingredients in disguise.

A few slices of cheese from Saturday's snack board top tuna toast on Wednesday. And with a quick broil, a sad tuna salad becomes a delicious tuna melt. That's $14 saved.

We used to eat out three or four times a week, but since I've stopped seeing leftovers as scraps for trash and started seeing them as opportunities, home cooking has become easier than takeout.

Now, we have to justify a date night because our fridge is full of food we want to eat.

We also save by stocking up on staples and buying in bulk

We love Japanese, Italian, and Tex-Mex cuisines, so we always have tamari, rice, tomato paste, olives, tortillas, and salsa on hand. With these ingredients, I can make something delicious from whatever's in the fridge.

Buying in bulk also helps. Our freezer is stocked with almond flour tortillas (half the price at Costco compared to the corner store). We get 10-packs of Beyond Meat patties for what two cost elsewhere. They're quick, versatile, and a lifesaver on busy nights.

A few Saturdays ago, we were short on time before heading to Yankee Stadium. In the fridge were kale stems, tired bell pepper slices, half an onion, mushrooms, and garlic. I sautéed everything with a Beyond patty and taco spices, then added tortillas, eggs, and leftover cilantro from Sunday's fried rice. In 15 minutes, we had protein-packed tacos that kept us full until we hit the concession stand.

The trick to spending less than $100 a week on groceries isn't restrictive diets or rigid meal plans. It's barely wasting a thing and using what we already have in smart, flexible ways. It's scrappy, satisfying, and surprisingly elegant.

• I'm a therapist and run a support group for moms.
• I know that even when their kids were going through hard times, they were still good moms.
• My self-worth is separate from my children's development.

As a therapist, I run a support group for mothers with guilt and low self-esteem related to their children's mental health or addiction struggles in young adulthood.

The mothers blame themselves. They express grief and jealousy when happy photos fill their social media feeds or the neighbors eat together next door.

I have celebrated and soothed alongside these mothers, hour by hour, year by year. Like most parents, their children had a variety of moments: power struggles, science fairs, sports achievements, and disappointing mistakes.

From my perspective, their children were navigating hard moments, but they were still good moms. I could easily list these women's parenting strengths. How could I convince them, though?

I don't like to hear 'Good job, Mom'

I was thinking about these themes as I brought my own adolescent daughter to the pediatrician. I thought things were going well, but I know adolescents can mask difficulties. When I was in the waiting room, I felt as vulnerable as the women in my office.

After a private chat, my pediatrician came out with a big smile. She spoke to me about my daughter's growth and confidence and said, "Great job, Mom! Keep doing what you're doing!"

At first, I grinned back. Of course, I am relieved that my daughter is doing well. We have worked hard to help her grow and thrive. I hummed along as I drove away.

But then I thought about other times when I left the pediatrician's office. Sometimes the pediatrician had lots of recommendations for me, because my child needed more care or different supports. No one said "great job" on those visits. In fact, I often felt lightly criticized or inadequate.

When my kids struggle, I'm still working hard behind the scenes

Although today's feedback felt nice to hear, I realized that "great job" is too broad, finite, and not necessarily true. The doctor saw my daughter on a good day at one moment in time.

My child's behavior at an individual snapshot in time does not reflect my parenting skills. Like all children, mine will appear to cope and smile at times when they suffer silently, or they might excel in one domain but struggle in another area.

Sometimes, I am the parent on the family bike ride, and we are flying along, excited and happy. Sometimes, I'm on the phone with a frustrated teacher or get an outraged text from a neighbor.

When my kids struggle, I'm working just as hard, if not harder, but my parenting skills and efforts go unrecognized.

Moms should give themselves compassion

My support group mothers connect well and have a lot of compassion for each other. As we meet each week in the safety of belonging and laughter, real truths start to emerge. The women are not "failing" at parenting. Young adults are not fully grown, and the relationship between parents and children can wind together and apart for many decades.

Young adults are complicated shape-shifters, not packaged products. Their bodies and brains grow for many years into young adulthood.

We cannot force our children to adopt our values or control what they choose to do with their young minds and bodies. For instance, I didn't choose to raise my children during a pandemic. I didn't choose to develop breast cancer. There are unpredictable factors in childhood beyond a parent's power, which can cause children to struggle in life.

From my perspective, skilled mothers are reflective parents who support their children with different supports at different stages. We create healthy boundaries that separate our self-worth from our children's developing identities.

We have to tend to ourselves with the same compassion that we turn toward our children.

• Over the past few years, I've attended at least nine weddings without giving a single gift.
• I typically have to travel great distances to attend my friends' weddings, which can get expensive.
• None of my friends have brought up not receiving a wedding gift from me.

My 20s and 30s have been riddled with invitations —  weekends booked with bachelorette parties, bridal showers, and weddings that stretch from one coast to the other.

Like many young people, I followed all the unspoken rules: show up, look good, and don't forget the gift. I felt obligated and, to be honest, wanted to give the impression that I, too, "had it all together."

Weddings are treated as a grand rite of passage into adulthood, and buying a gift felt like a way to show I was on the same page.

But as the invitations kept coming, so did the reality check. I wanted to be present for my friends, but the cost of attending, participating when asked, and buying a gift for weddings just wasn't compatible with my own lifestyle goals.

So, rather than resent my loved ones for the monetary burden, I opted out: no more wedding gifts. In the past six years, I've attended at least nine weddings without giving a single gift — and I have no regrets.

In my mind, the act of giving gifts at a wedding is outdated

Wedding gifts were originally intended to help newlyweds establish their first adult household. It made sense for guests to chip in on matching dishes or a set of good knives, but let's be real — times have changed.

Most of my partnered friends have built their homes and intertwined their lives long before saying "I do."

There's also a broader cultural shift to consider. Millennials and Gen Z are facing a different economic reality than previous generations.

Student loans, stagnant wages, and rising costs of living have made it harder for many of us to achieve the financial stability our parents had by the same age.

And yet, many expectations on how we spend our money for and at weddings have persisted.

I've chosen to be present instead of buying presents

Over the past six years, I've lived in three countries and five cities, including Washington, DC, Belgium, and now Mexico.

Even when I lived stateside, many celebrations required travel to nearby states or across the country. This demanded a lot of time, effort, and careful planning — not to mention money.

No matter the location, I made it a priority to commemorate my friends' milestones with my presence. Together, we reminisced, laughed, and made new memories. In my opinion, no material gift could ever top that.

Gift or no gift, I know my friends still love me

None of my friends have ever mentioned not receiving a gift from me, so out of curiosity, I recently asked a few how they felt about it.

The consensus was that they hadn't even noticed until I mentioned it. They were honored that I made the trip to celebrate with them and didn't care that I showed up empty-handed.

In fact, one friend only realized I didn't bring a gift because I wasn't on her list for thank-you cards. When pressed about the lack of a gift, she reiterated she was not offended, especially because I'd traveled from Mexico to New York for her wedding.

My takeaway is that people who care the most just want you there, standing by their side or leading the charge onto the dance floor.

Of course, when I can't attend, I will mark the occasion with a gift to share in their joy and demonstrate my support despite the distance.

I pride myself on being a good friend; however, I refuse to let societal pressure dictate that my love and friendship must come in the form of cash or a neatly wrapped box.

This story was originally published on February 20, 2025, and most recently updated on May 5, 2025.