• People often assume that my best friend and I are sisters, but our connection is a little different.
• She's the now ex-wife of my ex-husband, though we connected while they were still together.
• She has become my person, the one I turn to in good times and bad.

When my best friend Shelley and I are out together, people often ask if we are sisters, even though we look nothing alike. Shelley has dark hair, dark eyes, and very fair skin, and while I also have fair skin, I'm a blue-eyed blonde. We get the question so frequently that it's almost comedic.

"No," we tell whoever is asking, "we're ex-wives-in-law."

This always gets a laugh, and when we explain our story, it brings a moment of levity to whomever we've encountered.

Behind what we've made into a little joke for public consumption is a unique bond that a lot of people wouldn't understand. It's a bond forged by trials, reinforced by implicit trust and devotion, and topped off with a whole lot of laughter and joy.

Our connection is unique

"Our Husband," as we call him, was intent on Shelley and me getting to know each other before they married. He and I have two sons, and Shelley has two sons from a previous marriage who are about the same age as my boys.

This meant that we had many of the same interests as boy moms by default, but, as it turned out, we also shared many of the same tastes in music, art, and books.

One milestone event of my life occurred early in Shelley's marriage to Our Husband. Shelley and I went to see Prince in concert together shortly before his death. I will never forget that night, and I'm so thankful that I got to see him perform live. In retrospect, I could see the spark of our friendship starting to glow that night.

Strangely enough, though, the night that I count as the true beginning of our friendship was the night that the Diane Sawyer interview featuring Caitlyn Jenner aired. For me, this was one of those events in the cultural zeitgeist that seemed like it should be witnessed with someone else. As it happened, all four of our boys were on the swim team together, and the program aired on the night of a meet. So, I forced the situation. Our Husband was working that evening, and I told her I'd be over with food to cook dinner for all of us. I came to her house — the house that she shared with Our Husband, who was my ex, of course — and we made dinner for ourselves and the boys, drank some wine, and watched the interview. Our friendship grew from there.

Not everyone was on board at first

Shelley told me much later that she initially thought it was weird that, as Our Husband's ex-wife, I was so intent on being her friend.

She says her mother told her, "I think you might as well give in, I think she has decided you are friends." The truth is, I just plain liked her, and we had a lot in common, but her mom was right. I wasn't going anywhere.

The relationship evolved

Sadly, Shelley's marriage to Our Husband ended after four years. She has said that I put her back together after that all happened. I don't look at it that way. I simply was there for my friend. She emerged after that crisis like a butterfly coming out of its cocoon, and our friendship grew, battle-hardened, to a new level. Through all this, we shared parenting crises and triumphs, career battles and successes, and personal health scares.

Then, together, we went through something foundationally shattering for both of us. We both cared for our aging mothers, and connected even more deeply after they both died.

For a daughter, losing a mother is a life-changing event. On top of that, being a family caregiver, being involved in the deeply draining day-to-day process of shepherding a loved one toward and through their transition in death, is a solemn responsibility, the parameters of which are indescribable to anyone who hasn't experienced it.

As it happened, just by circumstance, Shelley walked those paths ahead of me and alongside me, and we held each other together through tears and laughter along the way. Shelley's mother died on March 18, 2019. My mother died on March 16, three years later. Shortly after she passed, Shelley, Our Husband, and I sat in my living room and toasted her with a round of her favorite drink, gin and tonics, in recognition of the valiant battle she had just completed.

Our Husband had thoughts

So how does Our Husband feel about Shelley and I being so close? For him, it's been kind of like the five stages of grief. First, he tried to deny that we were actually friends. Surely, we were just pretending to be friends — certainly, this was just a charade, we were just doing this to spite him. Then came anger. Apparently, we were friends, which just wasn't appropriate in his view. Next, there was bargaining. If we'd stop seeing each other, he'd be nicer. Then, of course, depression. Yes, Shelley and I were friends, and that just sucked. Now, there is acceptance. Sometimes, he refers to her as my "girlfriend."

Of course, a lot of time has passed, and I like to think that all three of us have grown a great deal. Shelley and Our Husband have been divorced for 10 years. My relationship with Our Husband has gone through many evolutions. He and I have been divorced for 14 years and apart for 17. Above all else, he gave me the greatest gift one human being can ever give another in making me a mother, and we have two wonderful sons who are young men now, out in society, being productive citizens.

Little did he know he'd also give me another wonderful gift when he got divorced for a second time. He gave me my best friend for life, my person.

• I'm Gen Z and have always valued rest, leisure, and finding balance in my life.
• My 86-year-old grandfather has worked as a doctor for 60 years and refuses to retire.
• His dedication has changed how I think about ambition, purpose, and growing older.

As a Gen Z, I have struggled with my work ethic. I have learned to optimize leisure, travel, and rest, and to get into a flow state. However, my grandfather's work ethic has made me rethink my approach.

At 86, my grandfather refuses to retire. For the past 60 years, he has woken up at the same time every morning, showered, dressed immaculately, had breakfast, and left for his work as a general physician in his private clinic.

Barring sickness and rare travel, he has never taken a day off, never deviated from schedule, and has an enviable work ethic that I have not seen in anyone. My grandmother, who was 70, died last year, and he was back to work in a week.

He is the eldest son

Born in 1940 in the small town of Gonda in North India, he was the eldest of six younger siblings. In 1966, at the age of 26, he began his medical practice after completing his MBBS.

From the beginning, he has been focused on his career and his responsibilities as the eldest son of a South Asian family. He worked in big hospitals, then opened a private practice a few years later, and he also established a Rotary Club Chapter in his city, leading it many times in the decades that followed.

There has always been a deep sense of empathy in him, which has made him a very considerate doctor for those who are economically marginalized. Because he charged less, took his time to understand each patient's issue, and prescribed medicines with great care, he gained popularity in his city very soon.

After six decades, the patients who were once young men and women bring their grandchildren from different cities to be treated by him. Only two years ago, he scaled back his work, working only till lunch. So now many patients come home in an emergency. "I don't like turning them away. Helping them makes me feel elated," he told me in one of our weekly phone calls.

He doesn't want to retire

From his work, he built a home for his parents and siblings, and another for his wife and children. He paid for the education of most of his siblings and put down a significant sum when it was time for them to get married. In short, he has been responsible for every role and relationship in his life.

He has three kids, two daughters and a son. They feel as if he should take it easy. "Why don't you retire?" My mother asked him a few years ago, and he shook his head vigorously, as if the thought itself was impossible.

"There were friends who were much healthier than me. They retired early, and I have seen many of them pass away," was his response to my mom. He also feels that being in a perpetual state of rest will dull his senses. Barring a partial hearing loss in one ear and a decrease in activity level due to age, he is fit and completely Independent.

He makes time to enjoy life

He can decide if he ever wants to retire because he has built his own practice, which is a privilege. However, he hasn't denied himself the pleasures of life either. He took time off to go on vacations and spent dedicated time with his kids, parents, and wife.

From him, I am learning that having a work ethic also means having a deep respect for your own life. It is not just dedication to his work; his ethic showcases his will to live as long as he can, independently. I want to live a purposeful and robust life, helping and guiding others and being of use till it's time to go. I want to eat clean, work out every day, put in the work to nurture my ambition, spend time with my loved ones, and focus on my goals. His work ethic has also shown me how he values his time. He nourishes it, nurtures it, and uses it to build a better life for himself. An honorable relationship with time and hard work has led him here.

He wants to be a functional part of society, and it has given me a fresh perspective on how I want to live my life. It is an odd thought, but I aspire to have a work ethic just like his and not retire.

• My older son got a phone when he turned 12.
• I ended up regretting it and wishing we'd waited another year.
• Still, our younger son got a phone at the same age, and I was glad we got it for him.

When our older son was 12, getting a phone seemed to be the trend. Many of his friends had phones before 6^th grade, but those who didn't received one at the start of middle school, so we purchased one too. Looking back, I regretted our decision, and wished we'd waited another year.

He didn't truly need one until school sports began in 7^th grade, when he was staying after school for practice and traveling around our county for track meets. Without a true need, a phone simply felt like another connection to the dangers of the internet; protecting him felt impossible.

Our younger son started middle school in September, and ever since his brother got his phone three years ago, he's expected to receive one at the same age.

I didn't want to give in

"He doesn't need it," I told my husband in August. "We know that now," I reminded him. He takes the bus to and from school, and I can track his morning and afternoon bus routes with the Here Comes the Bus app. School sports don't begin until next year, so we are responsible for transporting him to rec soccer practice and games ourselves; we don't yet need to communicate about exact locations or pickup times.

But like with our older son, his friends either had phones or were getting one, and he felt left out. I've found that much of parenting today involves striking a balance between what I feel is safe for my children and giving them the freedom to feel they belong.

I was concerned about him having consistent access to the internet and worried he wasn't responsible enough to keep track of a phone. Remembering the time he'd left his backpack on the bus, I pleaded with my husband, "He might misplace it — and then what?" But that was two years ago, and I wanted to believe that he was maturing. For his mental health, I also didn't want him to feel left out.

My son convinced his dad, who then convinced me

Convincingly, my son argued that it wasn't fair that his brother got a phone at 12, but he would have to wait. "I want to be able to text you if soccer is ending early and let you know when I'm on the bus in the afternoon," he reasoned. I thought these were simply persuasive tactics. I didn't believe he'd follow through, but he did.

Ultimately, my son convinced my husband, who then convinced me that it might be OK. And I'm so glad he did. He already has an iPad, and both devices are protected by parental controls, so we don't feel as though having a phone increases his susceptibility to online dangers. On his own, he devised a plan to responsibly keep track of his phone during the school day. He places it safely in his backpack when he reaches a certain point on his morning bus route — and it stays there until he gets back on the bus in the afternoon.

I'm actually glad we got him a phone

Each day around 3 pm, I receive the text, "I'm on the bus," and my heart feels content. Sometimes he also texts me about how a test went or his plans for tackling that evening's homework. Often, I send him an animated GIF to remind him that I love him, and I'll keep doing that until he asks me not to.

When he had an after-school event last week, I was able to tell him I was running late and that his grandmother would be picking him up. If he's arriving home before me, I can simply let him know that I'll be home soon. Giving him a phone has made him more responsible, given us the freedom to communicate schedule changes, and made him feel confident in his growing maturity. And best of all, his location is only a click away.

This as-told-to essay is based on a conversation with Jeff Kinney, the 55-year-old author of the "Diary of a Wimpy Kid" series, who lives in Plainville, Massachusetts. It has been edited for length and clarity.

Every year, when a new "Diary of a Wimpy Kid" book hits the shelves, I'm surprised that kids keep showing up.

I started writing the first book in 1998, while working as a computer programmer and game designer. I wanted to be a newspaper cartoonist, but that didn't work out, so I set out to get my cartoons published somehow. I was inspired by my own childhood experiences.

The first generation of kids who read my books is now almost 30 years old. It's wild to me that there's a new generation of kids encountering these books and finding them fresh.

As an author, I work within a few different spheres: books, my bookstore, movies, and development. I hop from one area to another.

Here's a day in my life.

I wake up before 7 a.m.

I don't set an alarm, so I wake up at that time naturally every day. I stay in bed for a while because after an ankle injury, I have some PT to do, like ankle stretches, while I'm in bed.

I meditate for about 10 minutes, set my intentions for the day, and organize my digital to-do list before I get out of bed.

I do two hours of exercise before breakfast

Right after I get up, I do about two hours of PT yoga, then weightlifting. I do that before I eat breakfast, which is often eggs and sausages.

I'm really committed to my morning physical routine of PT, PT yoga, and exercise. That's now become non-negotiable. I also do some journaling because it orients me toward the day, and it's a calming mechanism.

I've just had my most productive year, during which I wrote two books and two screenplays, so I attribute that to my morning routine. It grounds me.

I stay organized with a habit tracker

I've tried a million different to-do list apps that didn't work, including the pomodoro method and all sorts of others. Then I found a digital habit tracker.

I'm pretty diligent about checking off my daily habits. These include eating enough fiber, drinking enough water, waking up by a certain time, meditating, and doing stretches and yoga.

My workday starts at around 9:30 a.m.

I have about five or six workspaces, and I like to balance between them. One is a really colorful studio with my whole staff on the top floor of my bookstore, which is about three miles away from my home. When I'm not touring or working on a script, I go into the bookstore.

The bookstore is always top of mind for me, though the day-to-day operations are handled by the staff. Every so often, I'll get involved because we'll have a big author that comes to the store, and I'll interview them.

Another is my guest house, where I sit in the quiet living room. I also have a dark room in the basement where I'll go if I need to shut out everything. The other one is sitting in my car at the cemetery, where it's also very quiet. I can't listen to music because it occupies the same part of my brain needed for creating.

Sometimes I write for 8 to 12 hours a day

I feel most creative in the early morning hours, but sometimes I might write for eight to 12 hours a day.

If I'm illustrating, which I basically do all summer, I'll draw from maybe 9 a.m. until about 9 or 10 p.m. every day for months.

When I'm working on a book, I'll write the jokes first, then the manuscript, and finally I'll illustrate. I do all the illustrations myself. I don't usually combine those activities together.

I'm always stuck creatively, so I use a system

When I get stuck, I use something called systematic creative thinking, which helps me to produce material even if I'm not feeling creative.

I start with the components. If I'm writing about an airplane, I'll list the parts of the plane inside and out: the wings, the pilots, the lavatory, everything. Then I'll go through each component with a few different tools like subtraction and multiplication, and that's what gives me my raw material.

I'll use my iPad or my computer, or I have this device called a Freewrite, which is a super simple word processor that's not connected to the internet.

I don't stop for lunch

I only eat two meals a day, so I don't really step away for lunch — this is how I roll.

I do have an energy drink, but it's more of a habit than a need. I also don't typically take breaks.

I don't have many work boundaries

A good day is when I can get my to-do list to under 200 items, which is really hard to do. When I'm not illustrating, my wife might say, "Hey, let's have dinner," and that's my backstop for when I stop working.

Work is always on my mind, and I really don't have any boundaries. I don't tell people when I'm going on vacation because they'll reach me anyway, and I don't want to stop them from making progress. I usually make myself available, even if I'm away.

My team mostly communicates with me by text

Texting is how my team communicates with me. Email has become less useful for me because I get so many emails in a day that I feel like I'm a hockey goalie, and pucks keep whizzing past me.

I can really only answer emails right when I get them. Once they get too far down my list, I'll forget about them. I have a lot of challenges with executive functioning. I really struggle with having a lot of choices.

I've always answered my own emails, and I don't use AI to write.

I'm not often bored; I need stimulation

I don't play a lot. I sometimes go to Celtics games, or I'll go out to dinner with my wife, my friends, or my kids. I'm not often bored.

In fact, I feel very understimulated. I often feel like I'm not getting enough information, or there's not enough that's happening. For example, if I were to drive through the McDonald's drive-thru and get my food, I'd turn on the radio, tune in to some news program, and eat while reading the news on my phone.

Chicken McNuggets with sweet and sour sauce are probably my guilty pleasure. As far as watching TV goes, Survivor is always a staple in our house.

I go to sleep around 9:45 p.m.

These days I go to bed pretty early. I get in bed around 9:45 p.m., put in an earbud, and fall asleep with the news in my ear.

• As a sommelier, wine is my job — and sparkling wine is my favorite. Costco's a good place to get it.
• Costco has solid prosecco and cava, plus fancy vintage Champagne like Henriot
• There are also great sparkling wines from brands like Roederer Estate and Moët & Chandon.

I wasn't sure if my husband and I would be able to get the full value out of our Costco membership, but I was wrong.

Although not every location sells alcohol, our local Costco does — and I've found this bulk retailer has some of the best wine prices.

This comes in handy because, as a certified sommelier, I buy a lot of wine for tastings, events, and even my own collection. And every time I go to Costco, I seem to discover something new, whether it's a unique variety or an especially great deal.

Here are some of the best sparkling wines I've found at Costco so far.

Editor's Note: Prices and availability may vary.

The Kirkland Signature Prosecco feels like a steal.

Typically around $10 a bottle, Kirkland Signature's prosecco is one of the most affordable sparkling wines I've seen at Costco.

Don't let the price fool you, though. This wine is from the "Superiore" area of the Italian prosecco region, meaning the winemaking standards are higher.

The Kirkland Signature bottle is on the sweet side, and it's perfect for brunch mimosas.

Moët sells millions of bottles of its Champagne every year.

Moët & Chandon Champagne is probably the most iconic wine on this list.

As a sommelier, people often ask for a glass of Champagne whenever they want something fizzy. However, true Champagne has to be made in the Champagne region of France — trust me, it actually makes a difference.

The flavors are much more complex and layered than a standard sparkling wine. There's also something special and luxurious about Champagne.

This bottle is amazing on its own, but also shines with salty snacks such as potato chips, mixed nuts, and popcorn.

Kirkland Signature's Champagne is also hype-worthy.

You may not expect much from the Kirkland Signature brut Champagne, but it's hard to find another bottle like it.

It's true Champagne that I've typically seen for about $21 — it's rare to find a large bottle of the stuff at such a low price.

This variety is a little lighter and fresher than some Champagnes, but if that doesn't bother you, it's a total winner.

Roederer Estate makes a stunning $20 sparkler.

If regions don't matter to you, try this pick from Roederer Estate.

Some big Champagne brands purchase land and make Champagne-style sparkling wines worldwide. In this case, Louis Roederer bought property in Northern California's Anderson Valley.

Its sparkling brut is a delight and I've seen it for $20 to $30 a bottle. In comparison, the brand's true French Champagne goes for closer to $60 to $80.

I like the Californian Roederer Estate stuff so much that I served it at my own wedding.

If you've got Champagne taste on a beer budget, try cava.

Choosing cava is a great way to save money on sparkling wine.

The Spanish sparkler uses the same production method as Champagne but rarely costs more than $20 a bottle. Costco even has one from Blanchard Perez that I've seen for under $10.

Cava is generally dry, with little to no sweetness. I love serving it with appetizers and tapas.

I've also found solid sparkling rosés at Costco.

The only thing more on trend than sparkling wine is sparkling rosé, and Scharffenberger Cellars has a bottle for around $20 at Costco.

The affordable Californian wine is made from grapes grown in Mendocino County and has a cheerful effervescence.

It pairs well with light dishes such as salads, shrimp cocktail, and smoked salmon dips.

For when only fancy vintage Champagne will do, turn to Henriot.

I wanted to include one special, pricier wine on the list, and that spot went to the $150 bottle of Henriot I found at Costco.

It's a vintage Champagne, which means all the grapes were harvested in the same year.

Henriot has been around for over 200 years, and it's one of the few larger brands that's still independent and family-owned. For me, this Champagne hits all the marks for complexity, flavor, acid, and finish.

This story was originally published on February 19, 2025, and most recently updated on October 19, 2026.

• I thought it was important to teach my three kids obedience.
• Now that they're older, I know it's important to teach them boundaries, too.
• When one of my children respectfully says no to something, I make it a point to validate them and their choice.

As soon as children learn to follow instructions, we start teaching them obedience. I know that's what I did with my kids.

I asked them to share their things, take turns, and compromise even when they're not always ready to do so willingly. I pushed them to cooperate not only because I felt it was the right thing to do, but because I wanted to keep the peace and be seen as a good parent.

Sadly, it seems society only sees agreeable, generous children as good ones, so parents raise them with a give-in mindset. I followed that path until I realized just how my actions were shaping my children's personalities.

Now I am strongly focused on improving myself while developing a parenting approach tailored to what works best for my children.

I wasn't seeing the whole picture

At some point, I realized that constantly pushing my children to say yes to everything, acting like good children are meant to, is affecting their personal boundaries.

When my children were not allowed to say no, I noticed they felt uncomfortable, frustrated, and even angry. My older son had no interest in his weekend archery class, yet I kept forcing him to attend. Every Saturday morning became a struggle, as I spent a lot of time convincing him to go. Within a few weeks, I realized that instead of building discipline or a skill, it was creating unnecessary stress for both of us. So I let him opt out.

Since then, I make it a point to ask my children before enrolling them in extracurricular activities, so they spend their time doing things they genuinely enjoy rather than ticking boxes for me.

They're learning to set boundaries with others, too

I also noticed that my children were happy to share snacks from their cabinet with visiting friends, but became upset when someone opened it without asking. I taught them that there is nothing wrong with saying no when someone crosses a boundary or takes something that belongs to them without their permission.

Setting physical boundaries was another challenge. When relatives and friends would lovingly ask my children for a hug or a kiss on the cheek, I could see them becoming uncomfortable. I could see that they felt obliged to agree, not wanting to be impolite. Without questioning anyone's good intentions, I now let my children decline physical affection when they are uncomfortable. I simply remind them that they can respond with a high-five, a wave, or a smile instead. It helps them respect others' kindness without feeling they have to give up their own boundaries.

People sometimes judge my approach

I have been told I am spoiling my kids by letting them have their say. But because my children know their voice matters, I have watched them handle peer pressure with remarkable maturity.

Recently, when my son's friends urged him to climb a high wall and jump off it to retrieve a lost ball, he confidently refused. They began teasing him, but he later told me he stayed calm and simply replied that he wasn't going to risk a fracture for a ball. Standing up to peer pressure is hard, but because he knew he could set a boundary, it made things easier.

This practice starts at home, even with me. I now allow my children to respectfully say no to low-stakes matters involving personal preferences. Like it's fine if they choose to stay behind with their grandmother rather than attending an outing they won't enjoy. As their parent, I want to teach them that respectful disagreement is acceptable.

I'm also validating their choices

Whenever one of my children respectfully says no to something, I make it a point to validate them, reinforcing that their boundaries matter.

Of course, setting boundaries isn't a free pass for entitlement. It doesn't mean being extra picky about eating or saying no to their assigned homework and household chores. They know that while they are developing these healthy boundaries, I still expect them to demonstrate basic manners.

I want them to be confident individuals who show genuine kindness, but no one should be allowed to exploit it. They should be able to resist unhealthy pressure and hold firm even when saying no feels uncomfortable. I hope that this helps them live a life built with courage, clarity, and true self-worth.

• I made chili recipes from celebrity chefs Ina Garten, Ree Drummond, and Giada De Laurentiis.
• Garten's recipe, which didn't call for any beans, didn't really feel like traditional chili.
• One of my favorites had white beans and chicken, a far cry from a traditional beef chili.

Cold weather is always better with hearty meals, like a warm bowl of chili.

In search of the best one to make on repeat all fall and winter, I tried recipes from celebrity chefs Ina Garten, Ree Drummond, and Giada De Laurentiis.

Here's how the dishes turned out, and which ended up being my top picks.

I started with Garten's recipe, which didn't feel familiar to me at all

Garten's chicken chili recipe, which I found on the Food Network website, seemed fairly straightforward.

I needed easy-to-find ingredients like yellow onion, minced garlic, red bell peppers, yellow bell pepper, chili powder, cumin, dried red-pepper flakes, cayenne, basil, chicken breasts, and cans of whole peeled plum tomatoes in puree.

I simmered the onions and garlic until translucent, added the spices and herbs, diced bell peppers, and whole tomatoes, and cooked for about half an hour.

This mixture was very similar to a chunky pasta sauce.

Instead of roasting the chicken breasts, I sautéed them in a pan

Though the recipe said to split olive oil-covered chicken breasts and bake them in the oven, I decided to sautée them in a pan since it seemed more efficient.

I sautéed them for about 12 minutes on each side, diced them, and combined them with the tomato-and-pepper sauce.

I let the chili simmer for another 20 minutes.

Garten's recipe didn't quite satisfy my chili craving

This recipe wasn't as hearty as a typical chili and had a strong tomato flavor and a lot of bell-pepper chunks.

The chicken was juicy but could have benefited from a different, more potent seasoning blend.

Topped with shredded cheese, it was filling, but not what I would want if I were in the mood for a traditional chili.

A few of my Filipino relatives tried this chili and loved it on top of white rice without cheese, though.

The next recipe I tried was Drummond's, which felt like a traditional chili

I followed a recipe for Pioneer Woman's "simple, perfect chili" that I also found on the Food Network website.

Its ingredients seemed very classic for a chili with things like ground beef, chopped garlic, tomato sauce, chili powder, cumin, oregano, cayenne pepper, and canned beans.

I was surprised to see masa harina, a dried maize-based flour often used as a thickening agent, as an ingredient.

Drummond's recipe was super easy, though I made a substitution

To start, I browned ground beef in a large pot with minced garlic and drained the fat.

I added chili powder, cumin, oregano, and cayenne pepper to the meat and incorporated the tomato sauce.

After stirring, I let the chili simmer for an hour, adding a half cup of water when the mixture looked a bit dry.

I didn't have masa harina, which needed to be turned into a paste for this recipe, so I substituted it with corn grits.

To do so, I mixed the grits with water and stirred them into the chili. Then, I drained and rinsed my cans of pinto and kidney beans, and added them to the mixture along with more seasonings and salt to taste.

I let all of that simmer for about 10 minutes.

Drummond's recipe made an excellent traditional chili

Drummond's easy-to-make recipe was meaty, hearty, and filling.

It was nice and thick, and I liked the ground beef and texture from the pinto and kidney beans. The cumin and spices added a warm flavor, too.

For me, it checked all the boxes for a tasty chili.

De Laurentiis uses ground chicken in her chili recipe

Next, I tried De Laurentiis' recipe for white bean and chicken chili as found on the Food Network website.

The ingredients were fairly simple, including ground chicken, onion, cumin, chili powder, Swiss chard, canned cannellini beans (or other white beans), frozen corn, fennel seeds, chicken stock, and red-pepper flakes.

For serving, she suggested topping the chili with Parmesan and chopped parsley.

To start, I simmered chopped onions and minced garlic until translucent and added ground chicken, salt, cumin, fennel, oregano, and chili powder.

After the meat cooked through, I added the roughly-chopped Swiss chard, beans, corn, and chicken stock.

Per the recipe, I made sure to scrape the browned bits off the bottom of the pot

I let the mixture simmer for about an hour, added chili flakes, and cooked for about 10 more minutes.

When plating, I sprinkled Parmesan and parsley on top.

This chili had some great flavors

De Laurentiis' chili wasn't particularly conventional — with the Swiss chard, ground chicken, and Parmesan — but I thought it was tasty.

I enjoyed the savory flavor of the crunchy corn, tender white beans, and vegetal Swiss chard. The stock and ground chicken gave this a rich, meaty taste, too.

I thought this was the perfect, comforting bowl of chili.

For me, the recipes from Drummond and De Laurentiis tied for first place

I loved both Drummond's traditional chili and De Laurentiis' chicken version for their hearty, savory, and complex flavors.

They were different types of chili, but equally delicious for game day.

Though Garten's recipe wasn't bad, the chunky texture wasn't my favorite, and it just didn't do it for me in terms of what I look for in a chili.

Check out the other celebrity-chef recipes we've put head-to-head so far.

This story was originally published on February 11, 2022, and most recently updated on October 19, 2026.

• On paper, everything was going well with breastfeeding.
• However, even with a good milk supply and a latching baby, I felt intense rage during sessions.
• When I learned that there was a name for it, I realized I wasn't alone.

I had finally gotten the hang of breastfeeding: My milk had come in, I had a solid supply, and my baby was latching well. On paper, everything seemed to be going smoothly. But during nursing sessions, I wrestled with a nagging agitation I hadn't been prepared for. Sometimes, during the final feed of the day, it bordered on rage.

"I don't know if I can do this anymore," I texted my husband one afternoon while he was at work. "I feel like my skin is crawling. I want to run through a wall."

Though those feelings went away as soon as the nursing session was over, they kept returning during feeds more often than not.

Finding a name for what I was feeling helped me feel less alone

When I brought this up to my doctor during a postpartum checkup, she seemed puzzled. Eventually, Googling "breastfeeding rage" led me to accounts of "breastfeeding aversion" that sounded startlingly familiar.

One 2023 survey of more than 5,500 Australian women found that about one in five respondents had experienced this.

Finding a name for what I was feeling was validating — it helped me to stop questioning my love for my baby, or spiraling into shame every time I watched the clock, desperate for a feed to end.

But it also left me wondering: Why hadn't I heard of this before?

I tried to make nursing more manageable

After I learned a little more about breastfeeding aversion, I experimented with a few different strategies to help me cope with the negative sensations and emotions that kept coming up.

Distracting myself — say, with a podcast, a show, or soothing nature sounds for those middle-of-the-night feeds — definitely helped.

I also suspected that overstimulation might be part of the issue, so when distraction didn't work, I'd try nursing in a quiet room without a lot of sensory input.

But on occasions where I just didn't feel up to muscling my way through the discomfort, I gave myself permission to take breaks. That meant handing the baby off to my husband for bottle-feeding while I pumped.

Switching to pumping brought relief — and some guilt

About three months into my nursing journey, the agitation became so overwhelming at times that I had the urge to abruptly yank my baby off my breast.

And that's when it hit me. Breastfeeding was supposed to be a positive experience for us. But now, I wondered if "pushing through" the distress might actually do the opposite, breeding tension and resentment rather than bonding. I knew it was time for a change.

The decision to stop nursing was a complicated one — and one that came with a gnawing guilt. I knew so many moms who were eager to breastfeed, but struggled with supply and latching issues, so I felt I didn't have a "good enough" reason to stop. Within days of switching to pumping, though, a dark cloud lifted. For some reason, pumping didn't induce the same emotions and bodily sensations that breastfeeding did. More importantly, I no longer dreaded feeding my son.

My only regret now is that I didn't make the transition sooner. The idea that motherhood meant making sacrifices had cemented into my brain before my son was even born. I was so concerned about his needs that I hadn't given much thought to mine. But my experience mattered, too.

Funny enough, the closeness I expected with nursing didn't come until I stopped. One quiet afternoon at home, as I cradled him in my lap and fed him a bottle, he wrapped his tiny fingers around mine. I finally felt the connection I had longed for.

• Lauren Antonoff is the CEO of Life360 and uses the location-sharing platform with her family.
• She says she tried to mimic her mom's somewhat hands-off parenting with her own two kids.
• Giving kids space can help them develop agency and independence, she says.

This as-told-to essay is based on a conversation with Lauren Antonoff, CEO of Life360. It has been edited for length and clarity.

My mother was an awesome parent, but she was a person first. It was just the two of us for a lot of my childhood, between the time my dad died when I was 8, and my mom remarried when I was 14.

During those years, my mom was parenting while also in school, working, and dating. She was always there for me, but she wasn't trying to manage my childhood. She didn't do homework with me, for example. She made sure I was happy, loved, and well cared for, all while living her own life.

A lot of single moms might not have been open about things like dating, but mine was always transparent. I liked that I got to do my thing while watching my mom do hers.

My mom's benign neglect helped me develop agency

I didn't grow up knowing I wanted to be a parent. When I met my now-husband, he was already a father. Our daughter, who is now 27, was 5 at the time. I say I got her the easy way.

From the beginning, my husband was the primary parent. That really opened the door for me to feel comfortable having kids. About three years later, we had our son.

Once I became a parent, my mom and I would sometimes talk about this idea of benign neglect — the benefits of letting kids do their own thing, and figure it out. In my childhood, my mom's benign neglect allowed me to develop independence and problem-solving skills.

Because my mom was less involved than some parents, I created a sense of agency that's served me well throughout life.

I wanted to change the world, but didn't expect to be in tech

My interest in tech was an accident. I thought I would become a civil rights lawyer and change the world.

While I was in college in the early 90s, I purchased a Mac to write papers with. I was living in Berkley, and got sucked into this community of Mac enthusiasts. I understood the technology — though not as well as some people — and I could articulate things well.

My techie friends diagnosed me as a product manager. I had a desire to advance technology that was both intelligible to humans and useful to them. I started working at a startup that was bought by Microsoft.

I thought it would only be for a few years, until I went to law school. I ended up spending 19 years at Microsoft before joining other tech companies like GoDaddy and now Life360. I realized along the way that I have an impact on people's quality of life, at scale, by advancing technology that makes day-to-day life easier.

Location monitoring keeps my in-person connections close

At Life360, we talk a lot about agency, which was so important in my childhood, and which I tried to encourage for my own kids. For me, and a lot of our users, the platform creates agency while helping people boost their real-life connections.

Here's my favorite use case: my husband is still the primary domestic partner, and he brings me lunch most days. If I'm at work feeling hungry, I can check his location and see if I need to get myself a snack, or if he's around the corner with my meal.

Recently, I got a flight notification from Life360. It showed that my brother — who doesn't live locally — had touched down in LA. I hadn't known he was in town, but since I got the digital signal, we were able to get dinner. Ultimately, the platform keeps us closer in real life by creating those opportunities for connection.

I'm cautiously optimistic about the future

I've never seen tech as a bad thing. I had a TV in my room growing up, and a simple coding game that was so basic I had to retype the code each time I turned it on.

I was pretty liberal in how I let my own kids use technology. Looking back, I got my son — who's now 19 — a phone when he was probably too young. At the time, we wanted to play Pokémon Go as a family. I didn't think about how harmful some aspects of tech can be. I'm lucky that he turned out good despite that.

I'm cautiously optimistic about the future of technology. I'm also an activist. We get to shape what the future looks like, for our children and us — and there's a lot of power in that.

• Chris Williams was the VP of HR at Microsoft and is now an advisor and consultant.
• Williams uses a broad range of AI tools and encourages his clients to do the same.
• "Perhaps you'll find, as I did: AI can be better at deletion than creation," he says.

Practically every company is making AI tools available to their employees. As the former VP of HR at Microsoft and a leadership advisor with over 50 years of business experience, I'm amazed at how quickly this rollout has progressed.

Some people are all in, using the tools for nearly everything they do. Others have barely stuck their toes in the AI waters. I've been using a broad range of AI tools and encourage my clients to do the same.

AI isn't without controversy, and if someone is strongly against using it — for whatever reason — I'm not going to convince them otherwise.

But if you're wondering how and why you should use these tools, I'm here for you. Let's talk about three ways I advise all my executive clients to use AI effectively in the workplace.

1. Use AI as a second opinion

Use AI as a way to see things you might not have seen. Ask it, "What am I missing?"

I agree with many that AI is lousy at most creative efforts. Whether written or visual, AI results can be generic, mediocre, and often embarrassing. The output usually deserves the "AI Slop" label it gets. But to dismiss it entirely misses a core value.

AI is useful with, perhaps even because of, that generic, often obvious other perspective.

It can be amazingly helpful to simply ask: what am I missing? Since AI has a tendency to agree with me, I explicitly ask for pushback: "review this and tell me what I'm missing, tell me where I'm wrong." The fact that AI is so obvious, so average, is actually a core value here. I'm often surprised at the points I missed and the viewpoints I overlooked.

Even if AI doesn't find things you missed, a contrarian angle can be very helpful to shore up your own case. You'll be able to say, "Yes, I considered those things, and here's why my take on this issue is better."

In that way, AI can also help you prepare for your discussions with colleagues. With so many letting AI draft their arguments, it's very valuable to see their perspective in advance.

So no, I don't let AI make my case, but I always look for another perspective in what I do — wherever it comes from. Having a tool that can give me that on a moment's notice is incredibly useful.

2. Ask AI to summarize dense information

Long before AI, we all had that colleague who always told you far more than you needed to know. With some now using AI heavily, it can frankly be overwhelming.

You ask a simple question and get a blizzard of AI-generated noise in response. AI can be the worst over-explainer when simply left to run. You see the results in a seven-page response.

When I'm faced with one of these walls of text, I've learned there are really only two ways to respond. I can, and often do, ask the person to try again. What does this all really mean? Can you summarize your point in a couple of sentences? I occasionally get snarky and ask for the "non-AI slop" version.

Another way to deal with this is to ask AI to summarize it, whether AI tools or a wordy colleague wrote it. Importantly, I don't trust the AI summary to be the full explanation, but it helps me understand the key points. Which I then work to find in the original blizzard response.

Yes, this is a little circular. After all, why not just have the two AI systems have the discussion? Leave me out of it. But in a world where it seems everyone has a hard time getting to the point, any tool to cut through the noise is welcome. And AI is very good at that.

3. Let AI help you with tasks

In a similar vein, one thing AI does incredibly well is organize. This kind of rote task of sorting, filtering, and filing is right in the sweet spot for most AI systems.

I'm wary of letting AI systems automate tasks like filtering or filing things without my supervision. I'd never let an AI system automatically send emails, texts, or documents without my careful review. But I often have AI systems help me sort through mountains of accumulated debris.

I recently moved to a new computer system and had AI review what I was planning to move over. I discovered decades of accumulated cruft. Simply from a comprehensive list, I found gigabytes of programs, files, and settings, 90% of which I just left behind.

So if you have 8,000 emails in your inbox, or a documents folder that has grown a second life, let an AI system take a look for you. Don't just tell it to "deal with it." Your judgment is needed.

Rather, have it give you a review of it and another perspective. And once you've reviewed it, perhaps you'll find, as I did: AI can be better at deletion than creation.

So when your company rolls out the next new AI, use those tools to your advantage. AI can help you see another perspective, find the important points in the blizzard, and cut through the mess. I've embraced AI, use it with great care, and encourage everyone to do the same.

• Isaac Persky used a creative video to land an internship at Tarte Cosmetics in 2024.
• Maureen Kelly, the CEO of Tarte, was impressed by Isaac's video, leading to his internship offer.
• He returned for a second summer internship and started a full-time position this June.

When I was in college, I wanted a summer internship in New York City, specifically at one company: Tarte Cosmetics. My mom sent me a video of Tarte's founder and CEO, Maureen Kelly, calling on college students to apply to their summer internship program, and it sparked my interest.

I've been posting videos on social media in both the beauty and comedy niches for years, but I thought I'd left that behind when I started college at Chapman University to pursue a more 'serious' career. I was double majoring in economics and public relations and figured Tarte would be a fun way to spend the summer after my sophomore year before turning to a more traditional business or finance path.

I had one problem — I had no connections to Tarte, no family in the beauty industry, and no obvious way to stand out among thousands of applicants. In today's job market, especially for a sought-after position in beauty, it felt more likely I'd get struck by lightning than land an offer.

When I submitted my application in January 2024, I knew I barely had a shot.

This is where most applicants stop

They repeat the process with hundreds of applications, hoping to win the lottery of landing an interview and, ultimately, an offer.

I'm from Nebraska and attended school in Southern California. To be frank, going home for the summer was not an option. I didn't want to trade my glamorous coastal lifestyle for corn and county fairs. I couldn't rely on pure luck to be selected for an interview. I knew that if I could get in front of them, they would see how perfect I was for the role.

I decided to make a video

Since posting videos felt natural to me, I figured, what better way to show that I'm qualified for a marketing job at Tarte than by successfully marketing myself to Tarte. I decided to make something fun and entertaining. Inspired by the iconic Harvard admissions video from Legally Blonde, I created an "Elle Woods-style" application video.

I showed Tarte that I was passionate about working for them, willing to put myself out there, and could actually do the job that I was applying for. I admit, it felt a little ridiculous. I knew that all my friends would see it, and that there was a good chance it wouldn't work out the way I intended, but it was worth a try.

The video got the attention of Maureen Kelly

I woke up one morning in January 2024 to a notification that made me check whether I was still dreaming: a comment from Maureen Kelly on my post. It was a simple 'I 👀 u! OBSESSED,' followed by an email from Tarte's HR team saying they enjoyed my video and wanted to schedule an interview.

From there, I landed a paid internship with Tarte Cosmetics on their social media team. I moved to New York and worked at Tarte for three months. What started as a creative experiment became my entry point into the beauty industry.

The following winter, they offered me the chance to return for the summer of 2025. Despite my initial thoughts that my summer at Tarte would be a one-off adventure, I accepted their offer. It felt like I had found a career that combined my interests in comedy, public relations, and storytelling.

The experience also challenged some assumptions I had about internships

I expected to spend my summers doing small administrative tasks. Instead, I found myself contributing to campaigns with household-name brands and learning from the professionals who had built Tarte. I was particularly struck by Maureen Kelly, who took my ideas as seriously as she did her VPs' and shared her personal advice and can-do attitude with me regularly.

This spring, as I prepared to graduate, I received a full-time offer from Tarte without having to apply again. I officially started my full-time role with Tarte in June.

In college, much of the career advice my classmates and I were given emphasized professionalism and networking, but when employees at your favorite company are getting dozens of 'coffee chat' messages each week from people like you, that advice becomes outdated. Sometimes the best career move isn't sending another application; it's doing something creative with the skills you already have.

For most people, the idea of posting a video to get a summer internship feels embarrassing

To be honest, it was embarrassing. Putting yourself out there always carries that risk, but sometimes that discomfort is the price of trying something others might not.

Even if it doesn't work out, don't let it reflect on you. I find it best to maintain the mentality that they would be lucky to have you, and frankly, what a disappointment it is that they didn't get you.

Most importantly, I must acknowledge that all of this advice is coming from someone who has the job and got the internship. Yes, I was strategic, and I give myself credit for that, but I was also lucky.

• Heidi Widmer is a 35-year-old who moved into an apartment building in Los Angeles in July.
• For the first two weeks, she heard a loud sound from the apartment above and was annoyed.
• She found out the noise was being made by her neighbor, who has Parkinson's.

This as-told-to essay is based on a conversation with Heidi Widmer. It has been edited for length and clarity.

In July, I moved into an apartment in Los Angeles, exhausted from a six-day drive across the country from New York. All I wanted to do was get into the apartment and sleep, and luckily, my bed had been delivered on the same day I arrived.

Trying to fall asleep at 2 a.m., all I could hear was a loud noise coming from the apartment upstairs. It sounded as if someone was bowling. Although I was tempted to shout for them to be quiet, I held my tongue — I was the new neighbor and didn't want to be difficult.

But the noise just didn't seem to stop. Whoever lived up there also never came downstairs. Who lives up there? I thought to myself.

I realized my neighbor had Parkinson's

Two weeks after moving in, I heard someone coming down the stairs and had to get a glimpse of who lived above me.

Peeking out of my door, I saw Carole for the first time, slowly making her way down the stairs, shaking badly from what was clearly Parkinson's, and trying to carry a bunch of bags full of recycling.

Just as I was about to open the door to see if she needed help, she dropped all the bags with only a couple of steps left. I burst out of my apartment to help her.

"Oh my gosh, thank you," she said in her sweet British accent. "Did you just move in? Am I too loud for you?"

In that moment, I felt totally and completely humbled.

Having grown up in the Catholic church, I was taught never to judge a book by its cover, and with Carole, I hadn't even seen the cover. I judged her simply by the noise she produced upstairs. How could I be so judgmental?

It turns out that sound had been Carole rolling a three-wheeled, broken chair across her floor to get to her mini fridge — the mini fridge social services had given her when her refrigerator broke. She had to hoist herself out of her broken chair to get down and access the mini fridge.

That was the noise.

I was determined to figure out what I could do to help

Two days after we met, I knocked on her door. She peeked through and nervously let me in. The conditions inside weren't great.

Although she can live independently, she just needs a little help. I later learned that she doesn't like accepting help from people, especially social services. The fact that she is frightened of the very people meant to help her breaks my heart.

That day, I took all of her trash out for her, reassuring her I wasn't judging her at all.

In the weeks and now months that have followed, I have been up to Carole's to help with the trash, cooking (she'd only been having microwave meals), cleaning, and contacting the landlord to get him to replace and repair items in the apartment. We've decorated her apartment, too.

I raised $80,000 to help her out

Together, we made her an Amazon wish list, and I shared it on social media so that people could order things she needs and have them delivered directly to her. People have been so generous, purchasing things like an expensive Buddhist "butsudan" that Carole didn't expect anyone to buy.

We set up a GoFundMe, which has raised about $80,000, and we plan to use the funds to have a stair lift installed for her. Any leftover money will be spent on in-home care as she continues to age and her Parkinson's Disease progresses.

I know I've been helpful to Carole in these last few months, but she's been the perfect person at the perfect time for me, too. Moving to LA, I had hardly any connections. Lots of Carole's family members are either no longer living or back in the UK (she moved here in her 20s as an au pair).

Carole became the family I haven't had, and I became hers. We text back and forth each day, and I see her most days. She calls me granddaughter, and I see her as my grandmother.

When I've had a hard day at work teaching at a local middle school, Carole is ready to give me a big hug when I get home. She's been my safe space, and I've been hers. The universe knew we needed each other.

It's an unlikely connection, but it shows that when you lead with kindness rather than judgment, the person you were ready to judge can become someone you can't imagine your life without.

• My family of five moved from a small country town to a city earlier this year.
• I wanted to spend more time with my parents, and there is plenty to love about the city.
• However, I miss the slower pace of life and the close-knit community.

I've always been a city mouse, so when we decided to move from Melbourne, Australia, to Bright in country Victoria in 2021, I wasn't sure how long I'd last. Our family ended up falling in love with the slower pace of life and the people, and spent four years in the small alpine town at the foothills of the Victorian Alps.

But in January, we moved from Bright to the Gold Coast, where I grew up. My parents' health was declining, and I wanted to spend quality time with them before it was too late.

Moving from a small regional town of fewer than 3,000 people to a city of almost 700,000 was a profound lifestyle shift for our family of five. We had to make new friends, learn how to navigate a traffic light again (joking!), and get used to the buzzing city life.

Overall, we've gained a lot from moving to the city, and I feel it's been especially beneficial to our kids, as it's helped build resilience. But there are definitely things about country life that I do miss, if I'm being honest.

Life is full of trade-offs, and we've definitely made a few.

We've gained convenience and accessibility

In country Victoria, our nearest major retailer was an hour's drive away. If the kids needed new shoes or I needed new underwear, off we'd drive to the nearest major town. It often felt like a mission just to access simple amenities.

Nowadays, everything we need is at our fingertips. If we want to eat Italian one night and Nepalese the next, we can. The Gold Coast has all the amenities we need, and a good mix of beaches, hinterland hikes, nightlife, festivals, and an up-and-coming food scene.

There are more career and education opportunities

Cities generally offer better career and education opportunities, without a doubt. In our family, my husband has probably benefited the most in that regard.

When we moved here in January, he expanded his Muscle Freedom remedial massage and myotherapy business and started a clinic on the Gold Coast. Since then, the opportunities have been incredible, and he's treated some of Australia's biggest sporting identities. That would likely never have happened in country Victoria (unless they were holidaying there).

Likewise, our kids seem to be thriving at school and in their extra-curricular activities, many of which were unavailable where we used to live.

I enjoy the anonymity, and the diversity here is also a big plus

When I was having a bad mental health day in Bright, there was no escaping friends and family (bless them). Once, at the supermarket, I was weeping in the bread aisle, only to be greeted by my husband's cheerful colleague, who was keen to chat about the weather. I wanted to scream and run away.

In the city, I quite enjoy the anonymity and being a number in the crowd, especially on harder days.

I also love having access to a diverse range of art, music, entertainment, and food on the Gold Coast. After four years living in the country, I began to feel a bit starved of culture.

My kids are also mingling with children from different backgrounds and walks of life, which I am really happy about.

However, we miss having nature at our doorstep, and wide open spaces

Bright is surrounded by mountains, forests, rivers, and cycling trails, with gorgeous national parks a short drive away. It really is a smorgasbord of activities for outdoor enthusiasts.

The Gold Coast has plenty of sunshine and offers some spectacular natural scenery, but you do have to drive to access it. I've actually put on a few kilos living in the city, and I think it's mainly because I'm not walking or cycling as much.

When we recently returned to Bright for a family holiday, I realized how much I've missed those wide open spaces. The air seems to feel fresher there.

Living in suburbia on the Gold Coast, the blocks are tighter, and some areas feel like the properties are on top of each other. Even as I write this, I can overhear the next-door neighbor arguing with her husband about his messy household habits.

I also miss the close-knit community and slower pace

I've been lucky enough to make some wonderful friends on the Gold Coast. The kind who check in on us when we're sick or offer to babysit if my husband and I need a night out. But it also seems that people are busier in the city, and get-togethers happen less often.

In a small town like Bright, it's easier to catch up with people because everyone lives close by. I found that living in the country helped me form deeper connections with friends. That brought a sense of security, knowing that someone always has your back.

Since moving to the city, life has felt frantic. For the first six months, every weekend was jam-packed with catch-ups with family and new and old friends.

In a small country town, the pace of life was much slower. Recently, while we were holidaying in Bright, I felt my shoulders relax, and my stress levels decrease. There's something to be said for a simple life.

What our next chapter holds

We'd intended to give the Gold Coast 12 months and then make a call about where to base ourselves long-term. But now that we're almost at that mark, we've realized it's too soon to make a decision.

And so, we'll be spending 2027 here, then reassessing our options late next year. Part of me craves the open skies, fresh mountain air, and the stillness I took for granted in the country, but I'm also enjoying having Aldi a kilometer away and more choices overall.

I suppose at the end of the day, there's no perfect place to live, just places that suit you at different life stages. For now, the Gold Coast is giving us convenience, variety, and time with my folks, and I intend to enjoy the best of what city life has to offer.

• Sometimes I have to take my child out of school for healthcare appointments.
• Perfect attendance can depend on health, access to care, and whether a parent can leave work.
• I'd rather schools reward kids for showing up after hard times than for perfect attendance.

Whenever I schedule an appointment during the school day, I feel guilty.

I ask for their latest available appointment. If that doesn't work, I pull up the school calendar. Then I start doing the ridiculous parent math: How long is the drive? What class will my child miss? Can I get them back before the final bell? Is there some magical way to make a 10:30 appointment happen without blowing up half the school day? Usually, there isn't. So I take the appointment.

I'm a mother in rural North Carolina. Healthcare providers aren't always five minutes down the road, and appointments that fit perfectly between school dismissal and dinner aren't exactly falling from the sky. Sometimes the appointment you need is at 10:30 a.m. on a Tuesday. And sometimes you take it. I still feel guilty about it almost every time.

I want my child in school. Of course I do. I know how quickly one missed class can turn into a missing assignment, which then becomes another assignment they don't understand because they missed the first one. But I also have to take care of my child. Sometimes those two responsibilities bump right into each other. And that's probably why perfect-attendance awards have always bothered me.

My child is my priority

I understand why schools care about attendance. Kids need to be in classrooms. They need instruction, routine, relationships with teachers and classmates, and all the little pieces of school that are hard to recreate at home. When a child is missing a lot of school, I absolutely think families should be supported in figuring out why and helping that child get back into a routine.

But perfect attendance is something different. An unbroken attendance record isn't necessarily a measure of how hard a child tried. Kids don't choose when they get the flu. They don't control when the specialist finally has an opening. They can't give their parents paid time off, fix the car when it won't start, make the school bus come down a road it doesn't serve, or move a doctor's office 45 minutes closer to home.

The certificate may have a child's name printed on it, but there's a whole lot of family circumstance behind that streak. I work for myself, which gives me more flexibility than many parents have. I can move things around when an appointment pops up. That doesn't mean the lost work hours don't matter, but I can usually make it happen.

A parent working an hourly job may be making a completely different calculation. Can I afford to lose three hours of pay? Will my boss be irritated? How many times have I already had to leave early this year?

And that's before we even get into transportation, housing instability, access to healthcare, chronic illness, or any of the other things families may be dealing with that nobody sees when the certificates get handed out. Those circumstances matter. They just aren't evidence that one child tried harder than another.

One sick day shouldn't erase a year's worth of effort

As parents, we already have to make enough judgment calls when our kids are sick. Is this a stay-home sick or a send-them-and-see sick? Are they actually exhausted or just really, really not interested in going to math?

We're told attendance matters. And it does. We're also told to keep our kids home when they're contagious because sending them to school sick exposes others to illness. Both things can be true.

Then we turn around and give an award for never missing a day. That's where I get stuck. One fever in October can knock a child out of the running for an award handed out in June.

I don't want to hesitate before keeping my sick child home because some part of my brain is thinking about an attendance record. And I definitely don't want my child learning that dragging yourself through school when you feel awful is proof that you're more dedicated.

Sometimes staying home is the responsible choice. Sometimes missing school for an appointment is the responsible choice. And sometimes the impressive part isn't never missing school at all, it's coming back.

I'd rather see schools recognize persistence

I'm not suggesting schools stop caring whether kids come to school. Chronic absenteeism is a real problem, and families dealing with it may need more support, not less. But perfection doesn't have to be the prize.

Recognize the kid whose attendance improved from one grading period to the next. Celebrate shorter milestones. Acknowledge the student who had a rough stretch and worked their way back into a routine.

Despite my views, I know I'll keep doing the school-day appointment math. I'll keep asking for the latest opening. I'll keep checking the calendar. I'll keep trying to minimize what my child misses and help them catch up when missing school can't be avoided. And I'll probably still feel a little guilty every time.

My child may never earn a perfect-attendance award. I'm fine with that. I'd much rather they learn that taking care of themselves is responsible, staying home when they're contagious is considerate, and showing up again after a hard stretch is something worth being proud of.

• Of course I'm a fun aunt, but I've figured out a way to be so much more to my nieces and nephew.
• Spending meaningful one-on-one time with each of them has deepened our relationships.
• My "Auntie Emily Days" let each child enjoy personalized adventures based on their unique interests.

You know those TikToks about the childless, traveling aunt? The one who's somehow always at an airport, has a suspicious amount of money, occasionally shows up with gifts she definitely didn't need to buy (while carrying yet another new designer purse), and is never quite sure what time zone she's in? Yep, that's me.

For years, I happily embraced the stereotype. I'd swoop in for birthdays and holidays, always say yes to dessert (and extra dessert), create a little chaos, then head back to my own wonderfully independent life.

I assumed I understood the assignment. Bring the snacks. Buy the birthday presents. Show up to holidays with something fun tucked under my arm. Be loud, be silly, make them laugh, then hand them back to their parents when the day was over. It was the best kind of job. I got all the joy without much of the responsibility.

Or so I thought.

As my nieces and nephew got older, I realized something that surprised me: I wasn't really getting to know them as they were maturing into their own people. I had to ask their moms what they wanted for birthdays, or worse, I just bought out the toy section at Target and hoped something would stick. I also didn't know who they were when they didn't have to compete for attention or weren't trying to impress me with the farthest throw, the coolest dive into the pool, or the biggest burp. That's when "Auntie Emily Days" were born.

Their day reflects their personality

Rather than trying to squeeze meaningful time into crowded family gatherings, I started planning one-on-one adventures with each child — all seven of them.

Before we get together, they give me a guideline of what they want to do, and then I execute. Sometimes it's easy; dinner at The Melting Pot and a few hours spent at a cat café. Sometimes it's a bit more complicated with a sleepover at the Freehand (it has bunk beds!) and sightseeing in New York City.

Yes, I pull out all the stops I can, like ice skating at Wollman Rink and dinner at Bad Roman for one; an Oheka Castle lunch and manicure/pedicure with Starbucks for another; calling in a favor for on-field access for my nephew. Then each goes home with a little gift to remind them of the day.

But the itinerary is never really the point. The point is that each child gets a day built entirely around their interests. For a few uninterrupted hours, they don't have to compromise with a sibling or wait their turn. They feel seen, heard, and don't have to compete for attention. And that's when I started seeing parts of their personalities I might have otherwise missed.

They're different when they're one-on-one

While I have a firm grasp on all of their personalities, it was shocking to me how different they were one-on-one. Emma is the coolest kid and thankful for every experience, treating every moment as if it's the best she's ever had. Zoë can turn almost anything into a joke and somehow finds the fun walking through the most crowded street in New York. Jessica is analytical and technical, but away from her sisters, her wonderfully goofy sense of humor takes over. Jocelyn has a confidence and spunk that's impossible to ignore, yet she's remarkably intuitive. JJ is quieter than the rest, preferring to observe first and ask thoughtful questions later. Isabelle is sweet, demure, and quiet, and simply a joy to be around. And baby Isla is a force of nature I know I'm going to love hanging out with when she gets a bit older.

Without siblings or parents nearby, they open up completely. They tell me about school friendships, worries they haven't shared with anyone else, and things they're excited about. I may not run back and tell their parents everything, but it may give me a little sway over the Christmas list. It's amazing what children reveal when they feel like someone is listening only to them.

Connection isn't built at birthday parties

The biggest surprise wasn't how much I learned about them; it was how much they began trusting me.

I'm not their parent. I don't have to enforce bedtime, nag them to do homework, or beg them to get off their tablet. But I'm also not just the adult who appears a few times a year with presents.

Over time, they learned that our conversations stay between us unless they need my help. They've discovered that they can tell me about a bad day without worrying I'll immediately relay every detail to their parents. That doesn't mean I keep dangerous secrets. It means I respect them enough to let them own their stories. That trust changes everything and, I believe, will be vital as they age.

The moments that matter most stay with us

When I think back on our days together, it isn't always the tickets or the destinations that stand out. It's sharing French fries while they tell me their new favorite joke or something silly their sibling did. It is being absolutely frozen on the deck of the Staten Island Ferry staring at the Statue of Liberty because it was on our list. Or hearing an unfiltered opinion about school, extracurriculars, or something bothering them. It's watching them become confident enough to order for themselves at a restaurant — and then hearing they are doing that at home, too. It's nice when you realize a conversation we had in the car or a little encouragement during one of our adventures didn't end when I dropped them off.

For a long time, I assumed choosing not to have children meant I'd miss out on watching kids grow up. I couldn't have been more wrong. I get a front-row seat to their lives, just from a different seat. I get to celebrate their milestones, encourage their interests, answer the occasional hard question, and then, yes, send them home to their parents at the end of the day. It turns out that's exactly the role I was meant to have.

Showing up is more than just being around

I don't make every baseball game, I'm not in the audience for every cheer competition, I can't be there every Saturday. But now I know that the intentional time I had with each child carries a bigger weight than just showing up, saying hello, giving them a hug, and going home.

By carving out uninterrupted time with each child, I've been able to create something that doesn't happen naturally in the chaos of their family life, or in my own solo life.

Yes, I will always be the fun aunt, but instead of just "she was around," my intention has become "she showed up." I want them to remember having someone who listened without interrupting, who asked questions because she genuinely wanted to know the answer,; who made space for their interests, even when they weren't her own. Not someone who just said, "Sure, you can have another piece of cake, I don't care." (While still also allowing them to have more cake.)

• I've made it nearly 10 years into motherhood without telling my daughter a lie.
• I don't believe in white lies, even when telling the truth makes parenting harder.
• I think being honest has helped my daughter trust me and brought us closer together.

From where I stand, it seems like most parents lie to their kids, at least once in a while.

I am of the mindset that lying, whether to adults or to children, is wrong. Because I view it this way, I am uncomfortable with it and refuse to do it. My husband respects my stance, though he doesn't always follow suit and has told our child a handful of lies. But in the past decade since I became a mom, I have managed to avoid it.

I don't think I'm better than other parents, and I don't think anyone else is bad for harmless untruths. I just knew going into this that I wanted to approach parenting differently in a lot of ways, and this is just one of them.

Not lying doesn't equal to sharing every detail

This doesn't mean I divulge every secret. Kids don't need to know every detail about everything, even when they ask questions.

I was rather vague when she wondered why one of our relatives split up with her husband less than a year after the marriage, for example: "He did something really bad, and it hurt her a lot. She's not able to forgive him," I said, that was the end of the conversation.

I believe it is OK to keep some things a mystery indefinitely, to delay certain conversations or, when choosing to reveal things, to do so in an age-appropriate way (for example, where do babies come from?). But as far as not speaking any falsehoods, I have been consistent.

She asked me if Santa was real

I didn't tell her that Santa existed, but of course, as a toddler, she started believing through other friends, family, and Christmas marketing. I thought it was lovely and let her believe. Why spoil her fun?

But when she was a little older and asked me point blank if Santa was real, I replied in a curious tone "Hmmm, what do you think?" and instead it turned a situation where she started wondering aloud and trying to reason whether it was possible. I listened in the car, nodding along in the parent drop-off line at school. I also told her that a lot of people — including kids in her class — do believe in Santa, so it wouldn't be nice for their parents if she expressed her doubts to her peers. She agreed and went along to the classroom. Granted, I got lucky that it went in this direction. I was able to stay true to my "no direct lies" approach while not shattering a very magical childhood belief — one I remember fondly from my own youth.

And other common ones — like lying about a pet fish dying, or telling the truth when asked about a dinner ingredient, knowing there'd be resistance, or whether I remembered to do everything she asked of me — I don't lie about those either.

These were not always easy conversations (those situations alone resulted in her first lesson about death, her stubbornness to try some foods, and me disappointing her and admitting that "no sorry, I didn't babysit your stuffy while you were at school; I forgot this time.").

Honesty has brought us closer together

If she questions what I think of the makeup she did on my face, I enthusiastically compliment her creativity and say how fun it was to be in her makeover chair; I don't lie and say that the electric pink eyeshadow is the best color ever. I feel that it has built more trust between us and brought us closer. She knows that when she asks mommy something, I'm going to be straight up with her. She doesn't seem to doubt me or second-guess what I say.

As a parent, I understand that we are wired to protect our children. But with lying, I think parents are often trying to protect themselves. We want things to be easier, understandably. We want to say the place is closed instead of just telling the truth that we are just too tired to take them today. We want to tell our kid, "Yeah, the spider is gone now, honey," so they'll sleep well instead of saying that I actually have no idea where it went.

But avoiding discomfort is not a strong enough reason for me to lie to my daughter. It's not just that I believe lying is immoral; it's also about feeling that she deserves the truth. Plus, if honesty is one of the values that I'm trying to teach her, I want to set a good example by being honest with her.

• I'm a lawyer who decided to work in AI to try to get ahead of this technological curve.
• Over the last two years, I've struggled to keep up because AI is advancing faster than I expected.
• I feel overwhelmed and burned out by the constant conversations around AI.

For most of my career, I was a lawyer. There was something reassuring about how expertise worked in law. The longer I practiced, the more I knew.

But after years in a demanding profession, I burned out. It wasn't that I stopped enjoying law. I just needed a change.

Around two years ago, I started shifting my career toward AI because I thought it was the future. I didn't want to wake up 10 years later and realize technology had changed my profession without me.

It seemed like the smartest career move I could make. Now, I'm not so sure.

Joining the AI boom early seemed like the perfect career move

I made the transition while the AI boom was still gaining momentum. Ironically, I landed a job at a legal tech company thanks to a conversation with ChatGPT. It seemed like the perfect opportunity to combine my experience with my growing interest in tech.

My role involved testing the most advanced models, comparing their capabilities, and exploring how they could be used in legal work. I felt like I was ahead of a major change rather than trying to catch up with it.

I also became the go-to person for anything AI-related among my family and friends. People would ask me which tools to use, whether AI would replace their jobs, or what I thought about the latest developments. I enjoyed being the person who seemed to understand something that everyone was suddenly talking about.

But that feeling didn't last as long as I expected. Slowly, I began to realize that this wasn't just another new technology. It was something evolving at an almost frightening pace. And being close to it didn't necessarily mean being able to keep up with it.

What initially felt like an advantage was gradually becoming a source of pressure.

Things that took me weeks to learn or build became obsolete almost overnight

New frontier AI models and companies seemed to arrive every few weeks, each promising capabilities that the previous lacked. Just as I began understanding one model, another would appear, forcing me to reconsider everything I thought I knew about what AI could and couldn't do. There was barely enough time to breathe before "the next big thing" came.

What frustrated me most was how quickly my own work could lose its value. I spent weeks developing solutions to problems that a newer model could suddenly solve within a few minutes. Things I had carefully learned a couple of months earlier became unnecessary after a single product announcement. It was strange to put so much effort into something only to discover that the technology had already overtaken me.

And the constant learning didn't stop when I finished work. AI was everywhere. It was in the news, on social media, in conversations with friends, and in almost every discussion about the future of work. Sometimes, after spending an entire day testing models, the last thing I wanted to hear about was another breakthrough.

Yet I still felt an obligation to read about it, afraid that missing a single development could leave me even further behind. I was getting tired.

Accepting uncertainty became the only way forward

For years, I had measured my professional progress by how much I knew and how confident I felt about my abilities. AI challenged that completely. I began to question whether being good at my job meant knowing the latest developments or simply knowing how to adapt as everything changed. It was uncomfortable to accept that experience and hard work might not always provide the certainty I was used to.

I also started questioning how much of my personal time I was willing to sacrifice to stay relevant. I didn't want every conversation, evening, or weekend to become another opportunity to learn or talk about AI. I began making a conscious effort to disconnect after work, even if that meant missing an announcement or falling behind on the latest developments. For the first time, I was choosing not to know everything.

I don't regret moving into AI, but I no longer feel as certain about the decision as I once did. The technology isn't going to slow down. All I know for sure is that we are living through one of the most important inflection points in recent history, and perhaps that's what makes it all so overwhelming.

• I used to push myself at work, outearning myself year after year.
• When my dad died, and I heard how people talked about him, I reevaluated my approach.
• Now, I still make enough to cover what I need, but I'm living a fuller life.

I'm a reformed workaholic. I'd love to say I slowly came to realize that my value isn't monetary or based on how high I can climb a ladder, but that epiphany wasn't achieved in a growth-centric way. Instead, it was a surprising side effect of losing my dad suddenly in September 2024. He was there, and just like that, he was gone. And my willingness to burn myself out died that day, too.

In the flurry of administrative chaos and world-wrecking grief that follows sudden death, it took a while for me to notice the change. It was normal to work less while grieving. Except it's now almost two years later — and yes, I'm still very much grieving — but I am back in the flow of working. And it looks completely different.

I had been working hard for years

When I was balancing full-time teaching with a writing side hustle, I regularly pulled ridiculous hours, working from 7 am until late at night. Not only that, but I was also frequently working both weekend days and throughout school vacation. I even had an accident in May 2024 that put me out of work while my arm was in a sling to help the broken bones heal, but once I was back, I hit my highest earning month of all time. But then my dad died, and I just don't care the way I used to.

There wasn't an inheritance that suddenly made working optional. And it's not all-consuming depression either — the months that followed were immensely dark, but I'm doing really well from a mental health perspective now. Instead, there's been a reshuffling of priorities. My identity fundamentally shifted in 2024. I came entirely too close to dying in an accident while riding horses, where doctors couldn't fathom how I survived without paraplegia, and then, mere months later, my dad had a heart attack at 65.

The way people spoke about my dad made me want to live a fuller life

The eulogies poured in for my dad, who was a beloved doctor. Hundreds of people messaged us, telling stories of my dad's generosity, his kindness, adventurous spirit, talent, sense of humor, and utter chaos.

The sheer number of anecdotes was almost mythical, as it seemed impossible that someone could do so much with their time. My dad even started kitesurfing in his 50s because he thought it would be cool, and regularly drove hours out of town to reach the nearest dam to do it. His last kiting session was the week before he died. He was an astronomer, a chess player, an artist, a rugby fanatic, a dear friend, a dedicated husband, and the best dad anyone could wish for.

It made me look at my own life. I was out-earning myself, year after year. But I lived in a city that gave me little joy, and my hobbies were…well, just reading. And often, I was only reading self-help books to help me earn more or be more productive.

It's not that I took a step back from work. I just didn't step forward again. I have ongoing luxury travel copywriting clients. I still do a fair bit of journalism and a little bit of coaching essay writers. I ensure I earn enough to make ends meet — pay my mortgage, set aside money for my retirement, health insurance, and so on, but that's it. Once that goal is met each month, my foot comes off the accelerator, and I focus on life instead.

I moved to the coast and qualified as an advanced open water scuba diver. I knock off early on Fridays to hit the beach if it's a nice day, and I'm dabbling in surfing. I've started lifting weights. I have more friends than I've ever had before. I've started painting, and my guitar has been dusted off and tuned again.

I don't have it all worked out. I'm still trying to figure out what life without my dad can possibly look like. I just know how much life he crammed into the years he had, and the best way I can honor him is to try to do the same.

• Peter Csathy is a studio exec, startup CEO, media and tech advisor, music dealmaker, and podcaster.
• He calls leaving a Hollywood studio job for a startup the 'stupidest' decision of his career.
• In the long run, it led him to achieve higher heights of personal and professional satisfaction.

The following is adapted from a book excerpt.

I began my career as an entertainment lawyer in a major firm. It was a lucrative, predictable professional path that likely would have generated more money over time than my far more circuitous one —studio executive, startup CEO, media/tech advisor, music dealmaker, author, podcaster — has.

But early on, I chose a different path to pursue my bigger dream of playing a part in a major Hollywood studio. And after seemingly endless rejection, and through sheer tenacity and will, I scored the lottery when I found my way "in" — jumping the industry's velvet rope and landing in the senior executive ranks at Universal Studios.

And then, just a few years later, I left. I left to enter the great unknown of entrepreneurialism — into the world of internet 1.0 in the late 1990s where dreams were big, but salaries small. Never mind that; I was going to score big and fast in my inevitable IPO.

Only I didn't, and my decision to leave Universal in favor of an overblown internet startup (a digital greeting card company, for God's sake!) became my stupidest decision in my professional career.

My wife, Luisa, was pregnant with our first child, Hunter. It's not as if we had built a substantial nest egg up to that point. And I had been making a nice salary in Hollywood, with plenty of upward room to grow. When I announced I was leaving Universal, in fact, the big boss at the time offered me an important, prestigious new job with significantly more money. But I left anyway.

And then internet 1.0 crashed and burned — and my digital greeting card company with it. All while Luisa watched and wondered, "What the hell was he thinking?"

'Young, dumb, and done'

She was absolutely right, of course. She always has the better judgment and pulse on things. And so, at the time, we both felt that I had cratered both my career and our financial security. Young, dumb, and done.

But you know what? My worst professional mistake ultimately became my biggest professional and personal break — the best thing that ever could have happened to us (although we certainly didn't see it that way at the time, and for several years thereafter).

Here's the thing. My impulsive decision to leave Hollywood led me onto a completely different, non-linear entrepreneurial path. A path that led us down to San Diego for my next gig, pioneering online music company Musicmatch (which was acquired by Yahoo!). That's where we had our second child, Luca and settled in the beautiful hamlet of Rancho Santa Fe.

I didn't play it safe, and that decision to "go for it" opened up a whole new career path for me that I couldn't see at the time, one where I could have significantly more impact and be significantly more creative. It enabled me to take more risks, pursue more dreams, and achieve higher heights of personal and professional satisfaction (even as those risks also certainly led to more heartburn).

Now, we can't even imagine a life without Luca and his big sister Hunter anywhere else. Their lives — all of our lives — have been idyllic here in Rancho Santa Fe. Could I have been equally happy in a Hollywood studio and living in LA? Maybe. But we certainly wouldn't have had the wonderful life we've had in the same way. I'm grateful for that.

Pursuing dreams — putting yourself out there — is a far riskier way to live. But it all led to the personal and professional life I'm living today. For me, the trade-off was worth it.

Not all dreams work out — and that's okay

More recently, Luisa dreamt big and leveraged her deep spirituality to build a youth empowerment and community organizing business — something she was born to do. She's a quiet force of nature; people just gravitate toward her, effortlessly. And her business was beautiful — meaningful, impactful.

But ultimately it was all-consuming and didn't give her the satisfaction she was hoping for, because not all dreams do.

But Luisa acted. She tried it. No regrets. Who knows where that experience leads her next? It certainly expanded her network of people she respects, and those new relationships can lead to other new opportunities. It also gives us more priceless time to explore this country's great open roads together in our Sprinter van — which has always been another dream of hers. The Sprinter is her happy place when she takes the dogs to the beach, opens the back doors, and takes in the sunsets over the ocean. Now she can do all of it with no regrets of wondering, "What would have happened if I tried?" "No regrets" is a great way to live, even if there's some heartache along the way.

Our two children Hunter (now 26) and Luca (24), not surprisingly, are pursuing their own dreams too — Hunter as a creative in the entertainment business, making it entirely on her own, and Luca as a filmmaker, with no roadmap of getting from point A to point B. Both have chosen what many would caution as being an alternative, or even impractical, path.

But because we're all dreamers, Luisa and I believe they will be better and more fulfilled because of it, no matter what happens. It will add to their lore and expose them to entirely new things — all of which can add to their long-term happiness.

Gretchen Rubin, bestselling author of The Happiness Project, is widely known as being a leading expert on the subject. One of her famous mantras is, "Enjoy the fun of failure." She teaches that you simply aren't aiming high enough if you're not experiencing some level of failure or intense stress. I certainly did when my digital greeting card company flopped. Rubin's research shows that true satisfaction doesn't come from static comfort and financial security. It comes more from taking action and stretching your capabilities.

Meanwhile, research by renowned relationship psychologist Dr. Eli Finkel concludes that one of the single biggest predictors of marital success is when spouses support and champion each other's dreams. He calls this the "Michelangelo phenomenon" — a spouse's support sculpts away excess stone to help reveal the core essence of their partner's dreams. Those spouses who prioritize money over dreams, on the other hand, risk creating dangerous fault lines of toxic resentment and contempt.

How to dream big in your own life

Here are some ways to begin to "dream big" in your own life — whatever "big" means to you, because it certainly doesn't mean you need to make a career change).

1. Ask the question. This week, ask your spouse or partner, "What's a dream you've never pursued?" Then listen. Just listen, without arguing how practical it is. The "asking" is a small act of love by itself.

2. Name the cost. Every dream worth chasing costs someone something — time, money, stability, sleep. Be honest about what your dreams cost. Pretending there are none is how resentment grows. But resentment grows even stronger if you don't pursue them.

3. Create space for dreams. Don't wait until "things calm down," because they never do. Open up a specific block of time, money, or attention for one or both of you to pursue a dream in the next 12 months.

4. Cheer them on! Tell your spouse and kids that you believe in their dreams. They should never need to wonder. Silence smacks of indifference.

5. Separate the dream from the outcome. Luisa's business didn't go as planned. But the "win" was in the trying. Measure dreams by whether you acted on them, not by whether they paid off. Because many times the pay-off isn't the obvious one.

Adapted from 'Hiding in Plain Sight: 10 Secrets to a Happy Marriage & Family' by Peter Csathy.

• Taryn White is a freelance travel writer and the founder of travel and lifestyle brand The Trip Wish List.
• She's used points to book trips to places like Puerto Rico, Bali, Sydney, Prague, and Johannesburg.
• She shares her strategies for booking with points, including positioning flights and comparing options.

I've been collecting airline miles and credit card points for more than two decades, long before the influx of social media posts promising things like a "free" business-class seat to Europe.

Over the years, I've redeemed points for everything from weekend getaways to Puerto Rico to long-haul international flights to Bali that would have otherwise cost thousands of dollars.

Looking back, I realized that earning points is actually the easy part. The real challenge is knowing how to use them well, and I haven't always been strategic about it.

Here are the three key strategies I've learned that I use to travel the world for less.

1. Build a flexible points ecosystem

Don't put all your eggs in one basket when it comes to miles and points. One of the most important strategies in maximizing travel rewards is to build a flexible "points ecosystem" rather than relying on a single airline, hotel program, or credit card.

My current points ecosystem includes two American Express cards, one Chase card, and one Capital One credit card; co-branded airline and hotel cards for United, Delta, and Marriott; and memberships in dozens of airline, hotel, and rental-car loyalty programs.

Most of my travel credit cards have annual fees, ranging from $150 for my Delta SkyMiles Gold card to $895 for my American Express Business Platinum card. When the value I receive from the benefits — annual travel or hotel credits, free-night certificates, airport lounge access, checked-bag benefits, elite-status perks, and travel protections — exceeds the annual fee, the card earns a place in my points ecosystem.

2. Learn airline and alliance sweet spots

One of the biggest misconceptions about airline miles is that you should use the airline's own miles to book its flights. That's often not true; the exact same seat could actually cost fewer points through another loyalty program.

Many airlines belong to the three major airline alliances — Star Alliance, Oneworld, and SkyTeam — or have individual partnerships that let members redeem miles for flights operated by partner carriers. The number of miles and taxes or fees required can vary significantly from one loyalty program to another. It's worth checking multiple partners before transferring points or booking an award.

Similarly, I rarely book flights using points directly through credit card travel portals, because they usually operate at a value of one cent per point, and I can often get more value from my points elsewhere.

When searching for award flights, I almost always start with Roame Travel, a platform that compares redemption prices across multiple airline programs. I use a free account, which is more limited in search functions than their paid subscriptions, but it works for my needs.

For example, for Star Alliance flights, I check programs like Air Canada Aeroplan, Singapore Airlines KrisFlyer, and All Nippon Airways Mileage Club. I also keep an eye on Alaska Airlines Mileage Plan and Virgin Atlantic Flying Club because both frequently offer excellent partner award opportunities as well as awards on their own flights.

That strategy paid off while planning a trip to Africa in January this year. I transferred Amex points to Virgin Atlantic to book a one-way flight from Washington Dulles to Johannesburg for only 13,500 points, plus $229.40 in taxes and fees. It was the lowest cost long-haul redemption I've ever booked.

It also required far fewer points than a credit card travel portal would have charged; the same one-way flight would've likely cost around $1,000, or 100,000 points if booked through a credit card travel portal such as American Express Travel.

3. Don't be afraid of positioning flights

Many travelers search only for flights flying out of their home airport or exact departure city. Sometimes, though, booking a flight to a different airport — positioning to another city — means a better fare or cheaper award redemption. From there, you can use a budget carrier, train, or car to reach your final destination.

I've built entire vacations around positioning flights. Rather than a hassle, I see them as an opportunity to experience multiple destinations on a single trip.

On a family trip to Europe three years ago, I wanted to visit Croatia and Montenegro, but there wasn't any award availability for our preferred range of dates. Instead, I booked four one-way tickets on Lufthansa Airlines to Prague using 122,000 Singapore Airlines' KrisFlyer miles and $1,148.00 in taxes and fees. We spent three days in Prague before road-tripping through Slovakia, Hungary, Croatia, and Montenegro.

For the return journey, I booked our flights home from Heathrow because I found four economy tickets for only 98,000 Flying Blue miles and $804 in taxes and fees. We flew from Dubrovnik to London on a separate low-cost carrier the day before our flight home, turning the connection into a mini getaway in London, where I redeemed hotel points for a one-night stay.

Positioning flights require extra planning. Because the flights are booked separately, I always leave a generous buffer between them in case of delays or cancellations.

It's important to approach travel rewards wisely

Travel rewards credit cards can be incredibly valuable, but only when used responsibly. Always pay the balance in full every month — otherwise, the interest racked up on credit card debt can quickly outweigh the value of any points or miles you've earned. I've never viewed points as a reason to spend more. If I can't pay for a purchase immediately, I don't make it. The rewards are an added benefit, not the goal.

I've also learned not to chase every welcome bonus by churning credit cards, which is the practice of opening and closing credit cards for the purpose of getting lucrative sign-up bonuses given to new accounts. Sign-up offers can be valuable, but they work best when they align naturally with purchases you were already planning to make.

Today, my philosophy is simple: Earn points strategically, redeem them when they help me take a trip I really want to take, and don't obsess over squeezing every last fraction of a cent out of every redemption. The best use of miles isn't necessarily the one that produces the highest spreadsheet value; it's the one that gets you on the plane, lets you experience another part of the world, and leaves more money in your bank account for the next adventure.