Have we established that questions are marvelous, momentous things?
If so, can we agree that asking ourselves the right ones can have life-altering effects? If I answer, "No, I don't care what people think," I risk seeming arrogant.
I thought writing about those things would brand me as either a frivolous lightweight or one more hysterical female. I had a baby girl, and my father, after a 16-year battle with cancer, died at 56. I didn't want my daughter to see it in my closet and think it was a part of every woman's wardrobe.
Because have you ever noticed how questions prevent us from settling for less than we deserve? " is a great way to make things, well, a whole lot better? But if I answer, "Yes, I care too much about what people think," I risk seeming spineless.
That a bunch of our breakthroughs, triumphs and joys occurred when we asked a few big, bold, paradigm-shifting questions? Such a statement suggests that I've given away my power without even bruising my knuckles.
—Elissa Schappell, the author of the story collection Blueprints for Building Better Girls (Simon & Schuster). The meaning is something like "intended": the person who was meant for you.
We're not talking about a soul mate, though modern usage often spins it that way; the original meaning is more complicated.
That principle inspired the best wedding present my husband and I received: a set of Groucho Marx glasses/noses/moustaches to be donned in moments of marital discord.
It's been 20 years since I met my husband and 14 since we were married.
If you have a concern about how those choices impact you or your relationship, you take that up with her.
If you’re concerned about how much she drank or with who or for how long or what time she called you, those are issues between the two of you, and that’s where any discussion belongs.
I would never show up at his work and encroach on his business, and if I did I would expect he would address it with me.