There's a looming, gripping, all-consuming, and sinister part of wedding planning that no one ever talks about. It feels sort of like when my high school boyfriend dumped me the week before Winter Formal, but I was hosting the group dinner, so all my friends came with their dates for a meal, and I sat alone at the end of the table and nobody mentioned what had happened. We ate catered fried rice and orange chicken in my parents' dining room and had a good ole time, joking and

I'll admit, I'm not a hiring manager. I’m sure there’s a lot that goes into it—far more than applicants ever fully see. Like online dating, it must be exhausting to sift through mountains of profiles, flirt over email, get excited about meeting someone, and then realize halfway through the date that they might be a dud. There’s also the opposite problem: when it’s going really  well. You’re surprised at how well it’s going, and you start wondering if there’s a catch. Is this

I sent the email  to my principal about not returning to teach in April of 2025. That’s crazy. Even crazier is the passage of time in one year. I feel like I’ve lived several years inside that one alone. Just before the start of 2025, I discovered some intense information about my personal relationships, which meant I began in January with just me and the dog. I shoveled the driveway during an actual blizzard, sat at home watching " Goodfellas ," drank tea, and rubbed Vaselin

As I sit here in my cozy little sunroom, soaking in the afternoon light before dusk settles in at 4 p.m., I’m guzzling ice water and stretching my legs over a foam roller. I ran a 5K this morning along the trail, just like I have almost three times a week for most of this summer and fall. It still makes me laugh, because for years I told people I wasn’t a runner. Yet here I am on Turkey Trot Eve, race packet and mini pumpkin pie on the table, raffle ticket in the bucket to wi

Recently—between my regularly scheduled doomscrolling—a post floated across my feed that genuinely sent me spiraling: Would you rather start over at 10 years old with all the knowledge you have today, or fast-forward to age 50 with several million dollars waiting for you? (For the record: not  billionaire money. Just “very comfortable and no more budgeting spreadsheets ever again” money.) Of course, the question had spawned the usual celebrity reaction memes. Insert my own re