Money is like love; it kills slowly and painfully the one who withholds it, and it enlivens the other who turns it upon his fellow man. — Kahlil Gibran
At seven years old I moved from upstate New York to Phoenix, Arizona with my mother. My dad was supposed to join us after he found a job, but it never happened. Three years later they officially divorced.
The marriage was chaotic and my childhood unpredictable, so I grew up like anyone in that environment — wired for anxiety and waiting for the other shoe to drop.
My mom bounced from…
What a timely read for me Felicia. As a solopreneur/business owner my value is often in question. My goal before revealing my fee is to make it evident that I'm worth it.
I’m taking off my angel wings.
I’m setting them down, and I’m sitting by the fire.
I don’t think it’s a mistake that we link love with fire because both can destroy, provide, advance species into vast and complex civilizations, and burn it all to the ground.
Love is like that.
I don’t want the helpless, relenting love. I don’t want to give myself up or to admit that you have me. To give my self up is to give in.
No. I will not do that. Not for you, or for anyone.
I will not give you control, yet…
I always wanted a different mom. What I mean is that I needed her to be someone else. I needed her to take care of me instead of the other way around.
She is who she is.
I stopped looking for women to fill that role — fantasizing that after the honeymoon stage I could put her in a glass case, where she’d be frozen in some angelic state of safety and purity.
I needed my partner to be different as well.
I stopped trying to change my dad, and I’ll never have the type of relationship with him that…
Something powerful has been lurking just below consciousness for a while.
It started with a phrase my long-time sponsor would say when I told him about my troubles: “Well that’s interesting.”
Of course, when I was really going through it I thought, “WTF do you mean, interesting!?”
I didn’t realize until much, much later that there was real wisdom in those words.
See, when we go through life, trying our hardest not to make mistakes but making them anyway, we listen to our inner critic, try to please our parents/spouse/boss/whoever, and assign meaning to our failures.
We think we’re worthless…
Yes, I call these "green lights." Guys need to learn how to pick up on these and also the signs she's not interested.
You cannot focus on how physically attractive you find a woman to sense whether she’s interested. You have to focus instead on her subtle nonverbal cues, including facial expressions and body language, to assess that.
Tara Blair Ball
What remarkable, intelligent, creative, and perplexing creatures we are. The same man that can land a rover on Mars is the same man that can ruin a whole day after buying the wrong paint. Identifying his self-worth with his mistake, he berates himself to the point where every little annoyance sends him into a rage.
“Where’s your fucking head?” he demands, wondering if this small incident is a sign that his telemetry calculations were off, and the whole mission is screwed.
His wife’s probably wondering for the millionth time why such a minor mistake would cause the whole family to…
“Nobody marries their best sex ever” proclaims Jennifer Wright in the title of a 2012 New York Post article.
Well I wouldn’t say nobody. I mean, it’s an American cliche — two people meet, have amazing, passionate sex for three months, and it’s off to the altar.
Two months later it’s off to the lawyer’s office.
But what if it’s mostly true? What if, for the majority of long-term pairings, people trade wild nights of unbridled passion for unrivaled parenting, and the process of making kids becomes secondary to raising them?
On the flip side, what if the pendulum swings…
I always hated myself afterward.
I’d meet a woman online, follow it up with a video chat, ice cream, or dinner, and if there was any mutual interest in self-help, psychology, or recovery, I’d summarize my life story then and there.
Sometimes she did the same.
We would rupture like two water balloons, spilling into each other like a puddle of TMI.
Or, if she asked me my *favorite* question, “Why are you still single?” …