“It’s a love story, baby, just say, ‘Yes.'”

Dear Miss Matters,

I’ve only had one real significant relationship in my life. While I’d been in love before this particular man came along, he is the first person who has reciprocated my feelings and started a formal relationship with me. The experience, while not without its problems, has been amazing. No trust issues, no coercion, but magical romance and dogged support at times of my life when the closest of friends and even family turned tail. After several years dating him, I think he is the man of my life. Things on his end are the same. I mean that he feels like I’m the person he’d like to spend his life with. I’m his first real relationship too, though he did date a little in his teens whereas I didn’t at all. We discuss and plan ahead, both dreamily when it comes to future dreams and hopes and with our heads on tight when we talk finances and stability.  Continue reading

How to Live the Life You Imagine

By Julie Lythcott-Haims

One summer evening when I was twenty-seven years old, I sat on the concrete slab porch of my house and bawled like a baby. I was living in Silicon Valley with my wonderful husband, and worked as a first year associate at a prestigious Bay Area law firm where I earned plenty of money and praise for my hard work. Yet, somehow, inexplicably, when it came to my work life (which felt like my whole life), I was miserable and had a knot in my stomach every Sunday night at the thought of going back to work the next day. To make matters worse, everyone seemed to think I had a great job, because of the money, prestige and other trappings of success that came with it. Moreover, I knew I had no right to be miserable—my parents were loving and supportive and they’d given me a great education. And with that strong foundation, I thought I’d done everything right—the right schools, activities, achievements, and now, job choice. As I sat on the cold concrete behind my house that night I tried to imagine my life as a map and then took an aerial view of it, and understood that somehow I’d ended up on the extraneous periphery of my own life. Continue reading