• My 21-year-old son wanted to visit a lively beach club during our family vacation.
• I never expected my parents, both in their 70s, to get up and dance to ABBA.
• Seeing their joy reminded me that getting older doesn't mean giving up new experiences.

My 75-year-old dad told me he'll feel like he's closer to dying if our annual family vacations stop. He's not ready for that. Neither am I.

It stopped me in my tracks and frankly scared me a little. While I know my parents are aging, I haven't begun thinking about life without them, and I found myself spending the rest of the vacation looking through this new lens.

For the last 12 years, my husband, my parents, my son, and I have traveled all over the world on an annual multigenerational trip. And while the sights have been spectacular, what struck me most on this last vacation is just how much each of us has grown to value these trips.

I'm in the middle between my parents and my son

The dynamic has certainly evolved. My son was 9 when we started, is now 21, and brings his girlfriend along. My parents are now in their mid-70s, with some health challenges that require more patience and care. And I'm in the middle, adjusting the trip so everyone can still participate. I used to plan for adventure. Now I'm thinking about walking distances, downtime, unpacking, and what my parents can comfortably do, while still making it fun for the 21-year-olds.

But what I learned on this trip was that sometimes, when choosing something for the youngest generation, a magical memory is created for the oldest, like when we went to Nikki Beach in St. Tropez at my son's request. We had been there for lunch a few years prior, and we wanted to return, this time when we could see the true Euro summer beach club vibe in action, complete with waving white napkins and ABBA blasting from the DJ booth.

I never would have guessed it, but both of my parents were up and dancing that day. My mom has since declared the whole day one of her favorites. Who knew? Maybe all they need is a "darty" (day party, as my college kid tells me!).

These are not just vacations for my parents

After what my dad had said earlier in the trip, I watched him differently that day. Seeing him dancing with my mom, laughing and completely in the moment, I understood a little more of what he meant. These trips aren't just vacations to him. They are something he still gets to look forward to, proof that there are more places to go, more memories to make, and more life ahead of him.

The thing is, for the first few years of these trips, I just wanted to knock places off my bucket list. Now, I want to figure out how to bottle the time and have lasting pictures in my head because a time will come when they stop, when it is no longer feasible for my parents to travel, and when my son will be busy with work and his own family.

I know the finality of life all too well, as I still struggle with the loss of my son Jake after 15 years. I know firsthand the fragility of life and how it can all change in an instant.

My dad's comment also made me realize that I've been thinking about these trips mostly from my own perspective as planner and caregiver. I worry about how much walking they can do, whether they need an afternoon off, or if I've planned too much. He's thinking about something entirely different. He's thinking about what it means to still be able to go.

The goal is to spend time together

The success of these trips used to be measured by where we went and what we saw. Now they are measured by how much uninterrupted time we have together. As we've shifted from bucket-list places like Africa and the Galápagos, we've begun to choose places where we don't have to pack and unpack every three or four days, where we can settle in and spend time together.

We've all learned that the real moments of these trips do not lie in the over-the-top experiences. They lie in the moments after the excursion, when we are all having cocktails by the pool and sharing time, the most valuable gift we all have. It's in the final glass of wine, listening to music, or playing Flip 7 or Pass the Pigs. It's when we are tired from exploring and stop to have a beer on a random street in a random place that we may never find again.

I don't know how many more years the five, now six, of us will be able to do this together. I hope it's many. But my dad's comment made me realize that counting the years almost misses the point. We got this trip, and while we were there, everyone could still dance.

Perhaps the most important thing is that when my parents started this tradition all those years ago, they started something that won't end with them. I know someday these trips will be for my son and his family. I love knowing my parents gave us that tradition. I'm just in absolutely no hurry to inherit it.

• My husband is 23 years older than I am, but our age difference never bothered me before.
• Now that he's 61 and we're raising two young kids, I'm noticing our different energy levels.
• I love our life together, but I'm struggling with the realities of our age gap.

When my husband and I first met back in 2014, we had what many would consider a whirlwind romance. We met, fell in love almost instantly, moved in together after a year, got engaged six months later, married a month after that, and a little over a year later, welcomed our first child.

It was all very exciting, rushed, and filled with emotion and love.

I'm also a very rational person who doesn't get easily swept up in the moment. So we talked about a lot of the "hard" decisions that couples so often neglect to discuss at the beginning of a relationship. We talked about children, our future, and what we wanted our lives to look like. That's why, now, more than 12 years later, it's surprising to find myself struggling with something I thought I had already made peace with: our age gap.

He is 23 years older than me

My husband and I have a 23-year age difference. Yes, I was always aware of it. And, to be honest, it never really made a difference to me.

Especially when it came to the big life decisions, including having children, we had those conversations before we even got engaged. I knew exactly how old he was. I knew there would be things about growing older together that would be different for us.

But I guess there's a big difference between being aware of something that could eventually happen and actually living it.

Our age difference has been showing up in more ways than one lately, and there's a part of me that's angry with myself for being surprised by it.

It's not like my husband was always going to be the 48-year-old I met when I was 25. I knew he would age. I knew things would change as he got older. I knew there would eventually be a point when the difference between us became more noticeable.

I just don't think I ever wanted to admit to myself exactly how much.

He's in his 60s now

I knew he was going to be an older father. I knew all of this. But knowing something and seeing it firsthand are two very different things. Lately, I've seen just how much his 61 years are catching up to him, and it's been putting me in a strange place.

I keep a lot of things together for my family. We have two young children, and I have my own business. There is already a lot that weighs on me. But what I've noticed recently is my husband's physical health beginning to catch up with his age.

Don't get me wrong — my husband is in great shape for a 61-year-old. But at the same time, most 61-year-olds aren't running after toddlers or handling the daily insanity of school drop-off and pick-up.

And that difference is becoming harder for me to ignore. What bothers me most is how naive I feel. I knew this was a possibility. Quite frankly, my husband knew it, too. When we discussed having children, we were always on the same page, but he expressed his concerns about being an "old" dad. I heard him. We talked about it. We made the decision together.

And yet, now that I'm watching the reality unfold in front of me, I'm beginning to feel guilty. As though I've been selfish. As though somehow this isn't fair to my kids.

I see how much fatherhood — and, frankly, being a husband — can weigh on him.

The everyday insanity of being part of a household with a high-maintenance 8-year-old and a very independent 3-year-old is a lot for anyone, myself included. But it's especially a lot for a 61-year-old.

Sometimes he physically can't keep up with our 3-year-old, who runs at a pace that could outrun the best of us. Sometimes he mentally can't keep up with our eight-year-old, who talks at about a million miles a minute.

And those moments make the age difference feel very real.

It's not just the fatherhood aspect

I feel his patience with me beginning to waver, too, and I wonder how much of that is because we're simply in such different phases of life.

I have a thriving public relations firm, and I feel like I'm just getting started. I have energy and ambition and a feeling that there is still so much ahead of me.

He had a contracting firm for many years, but that chapter of his life is well behind him now. At his age, he should be enjoying retirement. Instead, he's a stay-at-home dad and handles a huge amount for our family. But he's far from retired.

He's the only one who drives, so he's the family's chauffeur. He makes appointments and handles logistical things. He oversees the renovations on our house. He does the grocery shopping. He does so, so much.

And the truth is, at this age, maybe he shouldn't have to.

Our relationship itself hasn't really changed. We are still very lucky to have an incredibly open and loving relationship. We talk about these things. We try to give each other space and understand where one another is coming from. We each do what we can mentally and physically for each other, for our children, and, just as importantly, for ourselves.

I think what we're realizing is that neither of us has ever been here before.

We knew there was an age gap when we met. We knew what it meant on paper. We talked about the difficult possibilities before we got married and before we had children.

At 25, I could understand that my husband was 23 years older than me. At 38, I can feel it.

• Years ago, I made fun of sports parents who went all out and spent thousands on their kids.
• Now I'm one of them.
• Last season cost our family over $8,800. Looking back, I have no regrets and would do it all again.

Ten years ago, I was the mom making fun of select sports parents. I thought they were crazy. Nuts. Over-spenders. People who didn't understand priorities, or budgeting, for that matter. Then I became one of them.

It didn't happen overnight, but gradually. My then-7-year-old son was asked to try out for a team. At the time, it seemed more competitive than the rec league he had been playing in, but not overly so. Practice times doubled. Costs also doubled. The following year, it happened again, and they doubled again. And now, I'm a mom of 5, with an 11-year-old who is obsessed with his select baseball team. Well, career. It's called a career, he's told me.

And that would be fine, but it's the unexpected costs that really caught me off guard. Over time, I got used to the idea that team fees would pass the three-figure mark. I was okay with that, because I saw the joy it brought him and realized that he's a young athlete who is more naturally competitive than rec teams typically allow for.

What I didn't anticipate were the extra costs. Here's how much it really costs to be a select sports family. And as select sports families might note, this isn't even for the most competitive, select travel teams in our area.

The real cost of select sports for our family

Growing up as a competitive gymnast, I look back and realize what it really meant for my single mom to shell out $90 for a competition leotard — and that was 25 years ago. Now, I see just how those extras add up and can tank a budget unexpectedly, one little overpriced concession stand hot dog at a time.

If I sit and add up the cost of the sport, which I do periodically, I find that it's a lot, even if I'm focusing on the more conservative end of our expenses. Here's how last season played out for us:

• Concession stand spending: $40 per game, estimated at $2,000 for last season. Our family of seven attends 40 to 60 games a season. Yes, we could pack our own food, but here we are, imperfect and flawed parents, just trying to find a uniform 10 minutes before warm-up.
• Gas: at least $700 per season. Our local practice field is over 20 minutes away so we do our fair share of driving for the sport. We also have tournaments in cities that are hours away, our furthest was about a 5-hour drive. In a season, this accounts for 10 to 12 tanks of gas, which of course varies with the price we pay at the pump. If we drive our large Sprinter van with the whole family tagging along, it's even more.

• Gear: around $1,250 last season. I consider myself a slightly scrappy shopper, having grown up on garage sale gear. So as an adult, I try to walk the line of buying new items, such as baseball gloves and pants (used pants at this age are often very worn), cold gear for chilly practices, hats, gloves, catcher gear (used on eBay), cleats, socks, and more. Then, there's gear from the actual team, such as belts and casual wear like hoodies and shorts. None of this includes the overpriced composite bats, which range from $200 to $500 apiece and come with the promise of "hitting bombs." Sure, we don't buy everything new every season, but looking back over my credit card bills reveals this past season was a pricey one.
• Private lessons: $300 a month for six months. As anyone with a semi-serious athlete knows, regular practice never seems to be enough. When my son became a catcher, we had to, well, catch up and learn catching. When he hit a mental block with hitting, his private lesson teacher scheduled extra sessions.
• Babysitting: $600 last season. When a game starts at 8 p.m. and ends after 10, parents with little kids need other options. Sometimes, we have our local babysitter chip in and help the other kids maintain a more normal schedule, including bedtimes. This can add up, but sometimes it's just nice to watch your older kid play without toddlers climbing on you with sticky hands. We pay our sitter $25 an hour and used them several times last season.

• Parent gear: $400 last season. Parents are the fan club, and they need to look the part. Even if each parent buys just an item or two from the team pro shop, it adds up. I might have also grabbed the super-cute Bauble Bar Perfect Catch Earring Set this year, along with team-colored HOKA sneakers for lugging gear around the city and getting some steps in during warmups. Finally, with so many kids, we invested in a double-decker wagon that hauls kids, chairs, drinks, snacks, and diaper bags from game to game.
• Hotel stays: $1,200 for four nights away. I know this is lower than many teams with a heavier travel schedule, but our cost is higher because we need a suite or two rooms for our large family. Teams often require these stays, and hanging out in the hotel pool is a big part of the kids' memory-making that can't be skipped.
• Registration fees: $900 per season. There are options to fundraise for parts of this, but I very rarely feel good about asking others to pay for my son's sports. I know it works for some people, but for me, going to the same people over and over to chip in feels off (aside from the grandparents who are always down to buy a coupon book).

The total isn't the point

When I say I really don't want to add this list up, I mean it. But for the sake of other parents who feel stressed about so much of their family budget going to sports, or those who need a real look at what it entails, I will.

Before I do, though, I have to acknowledge what all these extras mean for my son. The movement outside instead of getting addicted to screens: priceless. The self-esteem and confidence gained by overcoming stress in a high-pressure game: priceless. The camaraderie and friendships on a team: priceless. The bonding experience of watching the sunset with toddlers screaming their brother's name and number: priceless.

The grand total for the past season landed around $8,850, give or take a bag of popcorn or four. I'm off now to get a second job.

Spring signups are happening soon. I'll do what I can to save, and hope my son doesn't need a new bat, but I know I'll gladly be paying close to this again for yet another season. After all, the popcorn is decent, and my son's joy is contagious.

• My husband and I lived in NYC for six years before becoming parents.
• We have plenty of memories there, and recently went on a family trip with our two girls.
• We didn't get to do a lot of things on my itinerary, but I'm still grateful for our time.

New York City was home to my husband and me for six years before we had kids and moved to Asheville, and it will forever be a place that holds so much for us. That's why when the timing, cost, and opportunity aligned for our family of four to vacation there for a week recently, I was chomping at the bit to return, enthusiastic at the prospect of sharing this colossal, important place with our 4- and 6-year-old daughters.

It was easy to have high expectations for a trip down memory lane, but the reality is that any trip with kids will be what it will be, and we can only hope that something along the way — a bump in the road, a detour, a singalong — cements into their memories and crystallizes into sentimental gemstones that they turn over and over in their minds with time.

I created a full itinerary for our trip

Leading up to departure, I planned a weeklong itinerary with suggestions for each day on where to go, what to eat, who to see, and what to do. Knowing my kids would need some rest and recovery, I built in plenty of downtime — or so I thought. Still, as with all things parenting, I was rudely reminded that even with my experience and expertise as Mom, I could not foresee every breakdown.

By midweek, my daughters hit a physical, mental, and emotional wall. I had planned to take them to the Met, but instead, I was met with loud, convincing pleas to spend a couple of hours in the hotel room. Crestfallen, I agreed. They didn't know about the daydreams I'd had of walking them through the museum to see the Temple of Dendur, the Medieval Sculpture Hall, and rooms where Degas's ballerinas, Monet's water lilies, or Van Gogh's self-portrait lived. Sigh. I'm an art lover — I enjoy meandering through vast halls and admiring human creativity and intellect. It brings me great peace and joy.

I was disappointed that we didn't go to any museums

A few days later, I found myself in the same situation at the Whitney. My generally agreeable kids protested once again, so we switched gears. We took a stroll on the High Line, grabbed pizza from Chelsea Market, and landed at the Diller — von Furstenberg Sundeck & Water Feature between 14th and 15th Streets. There, they were all smiles — delighting in the sun, in the relief of cool water, barefoot, holding up their dresses, splashing, squealing, happy.

My kids are still young — 4 and 6 — and have only experienced small art museums. They don't even know what they're missing! So, naturally, when it was clear that we weren't going to visit any art museums, reality stung. This is one of the painful aspects of parenting: accepting that the things you really want to do just don't happen for one reason or another. Of course, you could force your child to do what you'd like to, but what memory does that create? What good does that serve?

However, I realized that there would be other trips and was grateful for the time we had

I let out another deep sigh and told myself, It's OK. There's always next time — hopefully. I smiled, thinking about the next time, and I began to daydream once again. All was well. What mattered most to me on this trip was visiting the place we once called home and introducing it to our girls — acquainting them with the place their mother and father made countless memories, befriended incredible people, grew stronger in their marriage, became parents during a pandemic, and tearfully bid adieu.

Parenting continues to be one wide and winding journey, where I'm constantly toeing the line between curating memories and allowing memories to make themselves in the most ordinary of places: on the 32nd floor of a hotel room, on a playground in Central Park, on a Subway train, on a city bus, on an airplane in the clouds.

In addition, I'm still learning that parenting is mostly a selfless act. Yes, there are moments we get to share with our kids that allow them to see what fills us up as human beings, but it's often an unwieldy and imperfect balance.

Many of the decisions we make come at a cost, and, for this trip (and future trips), I'd rather the cost be one that I pay — not them. Their joy is my joy. And, in this chapter of life, it's bigger, grander, more powerful than any selfish indulgence that life has ever afforded me, and, honestly, I'm here for it. I'm grateful.

• I'm an Airbnb Superhost with an average rating of 4.9 stars from 90 guests.
• Everyone is buzzing about the new rules that limit the chores hosts can ask guests to complete.
• I support the change. Guests are paying to use a space, their last memory shouldn't be a checklist.

The internet has been buzzing about Airbnb's latest policy change over restrictions on what a host can — and cannot — ask a guest to do before they check out.

I've been renting my home in the Hudson Valley for five years, and have been a Superhost since 2023. Currently, I have 90 guest reviews with an average rating of 4.97. That's not an accident. It's something I work hard at.

Though the property management company I work with hasn't always loved it, I've never been big on requiring guests to follow a strict cleanup policy. While we did ask for dishes to be done at one time, that hasn't been part of my guest instructions since 2025. For me, the most important tasks are to turn off the lights and return the key to the lockbox before guests leave. Beyond that, I don't expect much else, though I know that hasn't been the norm for some Airbnb users.

Guests are still guests

Somehow, the B&B part of the nomenclature appears to have gotten lost. I've seen users who fear bad reviews if a place isn't meticulously cleaned, voicing their concerns on Reddit and Facebook. For me, that's not something I think someone should have to worry about when they're paying to use a space.

While there are legitimate stories of guests destroying a place or leaving it in shambles, this hasn't been my experience. I believe the majority are good guests.

There is still a cleanliness rating for hosts to fill out about guests, so I imagine that even without imposed rules, most will do the dishes anyway. Leaving a bag of trash inside the house shouldn't result in a host docking a star or two from their review. It should be part of the stay, especially since hosts can set a cleaning fee for their property upfront.

I am glad the company has intervened on behalf of the guests. They are staying at a vacation rental, not a work exchange.

Hosts like me can have little time between bookings

I understand the rationale behind hosts who have lots of rules. There is often a small window between turnovers, and hosts want to make sure they have enough time to wash and dry everything before the next guests arrive.

It's something I worry about, too. That's why I keep extra linens and dishes on hand. They're there to use just in case there isn't enough time to complete everything between the bookings.

At one point, my property manager and I disagreed over what we wanted guests to do. I felt as if he was taking it personally if someone left dirty dishes in the sink or didn't sweep up. With this rule change, we'll no longer be at odds, and I'm glad.

Most guests have been respectful of the space

I am fortunate. I have rarely had a guest be anything less than tidy, and I have also had hardworking cleaners who have taken linens home to wash because turnovers have been so tight.

None of my guests have complained about my rules directly to me or in the comments they've left online about my property. I intend to keep it that way.

I host because I enjoy it

Everyone has their own reasons for getting into this business. For some, it is purely fiscal, but for me, it has been personal. This is my house, and I take tremendous pride in it and the surrounding area. I vet each potential guest personally and hand-pick a welcome gift for them. I want them to have a lovely stay, leave with fond memories, and maybe even a desire to return one day.

The last thing I want a guest to do is worry about a lengthy checklist of tasks before leaving. I don't want that to be their last memory of their stay.

Soon, a mother and daughter will be staying at my property for the third year in a row. In my emails to them, I wished them a safe journey and said we would take care of the rest — and I meant it.

• Jen Eaves' mother is 79 and lost more than $3,000 to online scams.
• Eaves now monitors her mother's finances and says that was a hard conversation.
• Digital caregiving is an important part of supporting aging parents, she says.

This as-told-to essay is based on a conversation with Jen Eaves, Digital Caregiving & Elder Fraud Advocate at Aura. It has been edited for length and clarity.

It's an odd shift in dynamic when you start caring for the people who always cared for you. My mother is 79, and lives with my brother, who handles most of her day-to-day physical care. I'm the one who handles the administrative side of care, like scheduling doctor appointments and keeping her safe online.

About six years ago, my mom had a stroke, and while she recovered fairly well, she wasn't the same cognitively as she had been before. Around that time, I began noticing her falling for scams online.

Once, she ordered a cure for diabetes, which she has. The product was supposedly being sold by a famous TV doctor. When she showed me the video ad, I could see it was badly done AI, with the supposed doctor's lips not matching his words.

There have been other scams and pitfalls, too: online orders that never arrive, or even a legitimate credit card that my mom opened without realizing what she was doing. All in all, she's lost about $3,000 to scams, though I've been able to recover most of it through her bank.

I've realized that I need to take a more proactive approach to digital caregiving to protect my mom's finances. Here's what I'm doing.

Approaching from a place of help and dignity

After my brother and I had taken my mom's keys away, her phone became her connection to the world. I wanted to respect that. While some people have to restrict their older parents' access to phones, that didn't feel right in my case.

It was critical to me that my mom kept her dignity and as much independence as possible. At the same time, I saw there was an emotional side to falling for a scam: she would feel frustrated and confused when it happened, and I wanted to spare her those negative emotions.

I never want my mom to feel like I'm parenting her. Instead, I pointed out the patterns I was seeing and emphasized I'm here to help if she's willing to let me be involved. The choice, ultimately, is hers. This would be a lot harder if she wasn't willing.

Talk about scams

My mom wasn't particularly tech savvy, even before her stroke. I've had to educate her about what scams look like. When she shared the famous doctor video, I pointed out the aspects that seemed AI-generated to me. I remind her that if it sounds too good to be true, it probably is. I emphasize that urgency is a big sign of a scam. The bank, I tell her, is never going to call you.

Once, she had a scam caller claiming to be Apple support. They asked for her Apple ID and password, which would have given them access to pretty much everything she has online.

Because of our conversations, my mom hesitated. She patched me into the call and asked the scammer to explain the situation to me. I was very proud that she recognized the scam and knew to ask me for help.

I monitor my mom's accounts

I worked in cybersecurity at Aura, which offers a lot of great products for keeping kids safe online. But my experience with my mom made me realize we were missing a whole vulnerable population: older adults.

I helped develop Trusted Family Access, which allows family members like me to see alerts from their loved ones' accounts, with permission. This gives me peace of mind that I can catch any issues quickly. It's also made other aspects of caregiving easier, like handling medical appointments, because I have access to all my mom's information in one place.

When my mom was scammed, it felt like I was a victim too. I spent hours calling her bank and credit cards to get her money back. If she were to lose her savings, it would impact the whole family. I'm grateful we've found a solution that empowers both of us to keep her finances safe.

This as-told-to essay is based on a conversation with Siobhan MacDermott, a 56-year-old tech founder based in Menlo Park, California. It's been edited for length and clarity.

I've never been underqualified for any job that I've applied to.

I was vice chair at Bank of America and principal at EY. I held senior roles in cybersecurity at AVG and McAfee. I've sat in boardrooms with Fortune 500 CEOs, advised governments, and built practices from scratch.

Then, in early 2024, when I was 54, I had to relocate from New York City to California for family reasons, leaving the management consulting job I'd held as a partner at The Consello Group. I didn't anticipate what could happen when someone tries to re-enter the institutional world in their 50s — particularly as a woman in a career space that doesn't fit neatly into a job description.

The most surprising barrier has been the gap between what I've actually done and what the market knows how to categorize. I'm worried because I'm not sure where the economy is heading, but I'm an absolute eternal optimist.

I'm not going to accept anything other than staying hopeful.

I felt like my job application was going into the ether

It's been frustrating to watch organizations that desperately need exactly what I've built not hire me.

When I started my job search, I reached out to my network to try to figure out what I could do, who'd vouch for me, and where open positions were. A lot of senior roles were being downsized, but I had a lot of people who initially wanted to help me find something.

The strategies that were a complete waste of time were LinkedIn Easy Apply, recruiter calls that went nowhere, and any process that involved a 45-minute competency-based interview with someone who'd never heard of the big companies I've worked for.

I spent the better portion of every day for over a year applying and looking for jobs. I obsessively searched on LinkedIn for new positions, applying over and over again on the site, company websites, emails, and more, but getting nowhere.

I sent out countless résumés and barely got any responses. These are jobs that I know I'm qualified or overqualified to do, but sometimes I didn't even get the courtesy of the automated "thank you for applying" response.

It was like my application went into the ether. I'd try to find the head of HR for these companies on LinkedIn and reach out to them because I wanted the feedback.

I started trying to think of interesting ways to get attention

The strategy that worked the best during my job search was bypassing HR entirely and using direct outreach to CEOs and board members.

I'd send them letters not even related to a job, but more of an observation of their company to get their attention. I tried to be crafty, saying, "Based on my external assessment of your company, here are some things that I think you should be doing as you think through your next quarter."

Reaching out to CEOs got me in the door, but then they'd send me down to somebody who was pretty junior who'd say, "You're overqualified for this job." They'd courtesy interview me because they'd been told to, but it didn't go beyond that.

Sometimes a CEO would send me to HR, and HR would look at my skill set and say, "It doesn't quite match."

That happened quite a few times.

I adjusted my LinkedIn profile to get a better response, and that helped

I changed my gender to male and back to female a bunch of times to see if it made a difference — I didn't change my pronouns, just my actual gender. I felt like I had more responses on LinkedIn being thought to be male than female.

I also think being in Silicon Valley, you age out a lot faster than you do in other parts of the US, and it's definitely a highly male- dominated space. I had those two things working against me from the get-go.

So I removed the first six years of my career from my work experience on LinkedIn, and I took the dates off of my degrees so that people couldn't tell my age. This made me seem seven to 10 years younger, potentially. Once I took those dates off, I felt like I got more engagement on the site.

My job search in Silicon Valley went nowhere, so I decided to pivot and launch my own venture

I started my company out of necessity, and also out of intellectual boredom. I felt like my brain was starting to rot.

It happened about a year into job searching, when I started feeling financial pressure and frustration. I didn't want my full-time job to be looking for a job. My search wasn't looking like it was going anywhere in the foreseeable future, especially out in Silicon Valley. If you're a computer scientist or an engineer, there are jobs available, but I couldn't find a lot out here not in that space.

I started thinking, what am I good at? What do I know? What are all the pieces that I could put together? What problem can I identify that needs to be solved? That came together pretty quickly, and I launched two companies — Khaos Holdings, a strategic risk-intelligence company, and TeenAegis, a child-safety intelligence business, in January.

We're raising capital, and if the capital comes in, that will be the end of my job search. If the capital doesn't come in, then I'll keep searching — but I've decided that whatever I do will be adjacent to the problem I'm trying to solve now.

One good thing came out of the 2 years since my last job

Being out of work for two years shifted my retirement timeline eight to 10 years from digging into savings. However, since my job search started, I've really homed in on what I want to do with the rest of my career.

The journey I went on was a little bit of a midlife crisis. I asked myself, "What's my purpose in life?" as opposed to "What job do I want to have?" and then identified what skill set could bring me to that.

What led me to where I am was really thinking through questions like: What are all the issues that matter to me? What legacy do I want to leave? How do I want to think about my future for the next 10 or 15 years? How do I want to show up every day?

In the beginning, I was going to apply to anything that I could qualify for that would get me some money. Now I'm not going to do that because I don't think that's going to actually be fulfilling or make me happy. My sense of stability has required a deliberate reframe — from "security comes from a salary" to "security comes from what I've built and what I know."

I'm determined to make this work, but I also realize it may not

The hardest thing is maintaining a positive attitude day after day. If my company doesn't work out, then it's not like I can stop trying.

Taking mental health breaks is important because it's overwhelming, lonely, and hard. You lose your sense of self-worth when you're in this position; people look at you like, "Oh, you're the person who's still looking for a job." So it's hard to continue to put yourself out there.

Still, I do believe there's light at the end of the tunnel. It's just the question of how long the tunnel is.

Do you have a story to share about navigating your career in your 50s? If so, please reach out to the editor, Manseen Logan, at mlogan@businessinsider.com.

• Over the past decade, I've traveled solo to all 50 US states and most major US national parks.
• Although I've found beauty in every state, there are some that I want to visit over and over again.
• I love traveling to places like New Mexico, Montana, New Hampshire, and Arizona.

Over the past decade, I've successfully visited all 50 US states solo, and have even made it to most of the major US national parks along the way. Because of this journey, I'm often asked which states I'd recommend to travelers.

Although most international travelers gravitate toward states like Florida and New York, I've found fantastic beauty and history in every state.

However, these are the 10 I always return to.

New Mexico boasts a surprising variety of stunning landscapes.

New Mexico is always at the top of my list of recommendations. Nicknamed "the land of enchantment," it lives up to its moniker — and then some.

Those who haven't visited New Mexico may think of the state as a mostly barren desert, but it's actually the diverse landscapes that keep me coming back.

From the otherworldly dunes of White Sands National Park to the snow-capped Sangre de Cristo Mountains, there's beauty to be found around every corner.

Outside the natural beauty, the state is chock full of history, art, food, wine, and culture.

California is full of diverse landscapes and experiences.

Every time I visit California, I feel like I'm entering a completely different reality.

The sheer size and diversity of the state are impressive, and it has gorgeous beaches, cities, forests, deserts, mountains, and even volcanoes.

I love road-tripping up the coast, visiting Yosemite National Park, taking a boat to the Channel Islands, and wine tasting in places like Napa and Sonoma.

Montana is a must-visit state for any outdoor enthusiast.

With its vast open spaces, majestic mountains, and endless opportunities for outdoor adventure, Montana is a must-visit state for any outdoor enthusiast.

The state is home to the breathtaking Glacier National Park and parts of Yellowstone National Park. The sky is vast and open, the mountains are towering, and the lack of development makes me feel like I'm entering another world entirely.

I've returned to West Virginia multiple times.

Although it may not get as much attention as some of the other states on this list, I've returned to West Virginia multiple times since my first visit.

The state's natural beauty is stunning, from New River Gorge National Park to ample lush forests, underground caverns, historic small towns, and over 200 waterfalls.

Wisconsin is home to beautiful scenery and great dining options.

Wisconsin has so much more than first meets the eye, from the natural beauty of the Apostle Islands and the 15,000 lakes in the state to the classic cheese curds, breweries, and wineries that dot the landscape.

I love spending time along the shores of Lake Michigan and Lake Superior, dining at one of the state's famous supper clubs, and exploring the many Wisconsin state parks.

There's no place quite like the Maine coast.

There's so much to love about Maine, but my favorite part of the state is the coast. With jagged and dramatic cliffs, lighthouses, and lobster shacks, visiting the Maine coast is an unforgettable experience.

It's easy to find peace in the state that sees the first sunrise of the year and is home to Acadia National Park, which is one of the country's most-popular national parks.

I love to road trip up the coast, stopping in beautiful towns like Kennebunkport, Bar Harbour, and Lubec.

As my home state, Colorado will always hold a special place in my heart.

I couldn't write a list like this without including my home state of Colorado. The state has so much to offer, from beautiful views to fun activities.

On the Front Range, I enjoy hiking in Boulder and exploring Cheyenne Cañon. I like to spend the night at the The Broadmoor hotel in Colorado Springs before heading over to Great Sand Dunes National Park.

In the Rockies, I love driving Independence Pass to Aspen, as well as exploring the underrated Grand Mesa, which is the biggest flat-top mountain in the world. I also enjoy taking road trips to the charming mountain towns of Telluride, Buena Vista, and Steamboat Springs.

No matter where you find yourself in Colorado, there's no shortage of incredible natural beauty and outdoor adventure.

New Hampshire boasts some of the best skiing and hiking in the Northeast.

The Northeast is famous for its fall foliage, but I can't help but think that New Hampshire is sometimes overshadowed by its neighbors, Maine and Vermont.

I was stunned by its natural beauty during my first trip to the state. From the White Mountains to Franconia Notch State Park, the state boasts some of the best skiing and hiking in the Northeast.

Utah is home to five major national parks.

Utah is a state that you have to see to believe. With five major national parks, 46 state parks, 15 ski resorts, and hidden gems at every turn — you'll never get bored here.

I love visiting Moab to hike in Arches National Park, Canyonlands National Park, and Dead Horse Point State Park before heading south to Bryce Canyon National Park, Kodachrome Basin State Park, and Zion National Park.

I also like making stops in Park City and Grand Staircase Escalante National Monument.

Arizona is the perfect escape for adventure and relaxation.

Arizona is well known for the Grand Canyon, but the state has much more to offer. From Flagstaff's high-altitude forests to Sedona's iconic red rocks, Arizona's diversity is surprising and worth a trip.

I love hiking among the cacti in Sedona or Scottsdale before heading to one of the many resorts to jump in a pool or hit the spa — the perfect escape for adventure and relaxation.

This story was originally published on April 5, 2024, and most recently updated on October 23, 2026.

• After my divorce, I wanted something special for my first mother-daughter trip with my 8-year-old.
• We decided to spend a week at a luxury dude ranch in Colorado.
• The trip helped me show my daughter

Resting by the heated pool in my cowboy hat, breathing the fresh mountain air, I watched my daughter laughing with her new friends and felt something I hadn't in years: a sense of peace.

Earlier that year, my husband and I inked our signatures in separate rooms, ending our 16-year marriage. Our divorce was one that could be labeled "volatile," and not just for us, but for our 8-year-old daughter.

When it came time to plan our first summer vacation with just me and her, I knew it would likely be a splurge, but I needed it to be special. We needed activity. We needed reconnection. We needed a dude ranch.

This was our first big adventure for just the two of us

My research led me to an all-inclusive ranch in Colorado. The website had footage of horses running across a bridge over a winding stream. It looked perfect.

Although I was apprehensive about the two of us traveling from Texas during the week of July 4th, I inevitably found it liberating. Wheeling luggage stuffed with heavy cowboy boots while lugging backpacks through airports, shuttling to the rental car, and navigating unknown mountainous switchbacks could have been disastrous, but we managed it well. It was our first accomplishment in independence.

We encountered some surprises

"You have arrived," the navigation system announced in our rental as we turned onto the dirt drive lined with quintessential log cabins with thick white chinking, set on manicured lawns before the Rocky Mountain backdrop. Each porch had bright pink, purple, and red petunias hanging in baskets above shellacked wooden rocking chairs. It was just like we imagined it.

After parking our red Wrangler, we were greeted by ranch staff in full cowboy gear who guided us past the soft pink peonies nestled between the grayish-white aspen trees to check in.

At check-in, while planning our next seven days, I discovered that children eat dinner most nights with the other children and their counselors and take separate trail rides twice a day. This concept is great for families, giving mom and dad a chance to reconnect over gourmet meals, but I wasn't so sure how our new life would fit into this scenario.

Initially apprehensive about the separation, my daughter and I soon discovered this daily dose of division was liberating, forcing us to foster new friendships.

Our expectations were exceeded

Later, we met the director of equestrian operations, and she asked about our riding experience and personalities to best match us with one of her cherished horses. We were excited to meet our horses the next day.

Meanwhile, our newly renovated western chic room was complete with leather-branded throw pillows, a fireplace, and a welcome basket full of healthy snacks, a red bandana, and a bottle of wine.

We quickly fell into a daily routine, bonding with our horses, riding and grooming them each day, and creating connections with other guests. We also tried out fly fishing (I caught three trout), hiking, archery, and ziplining. I especially enjoyed relaxing at the outdoor spa in luxury tents built over the creek, immersed in nature's music of bird calls and horse neighs.

We danced into the night and our next chapter

The whole trip was exceptional, and our favorite event was an evening barn dance. We dressed in full cowgirl fringe and ended the night with an elaborate fireworks display just for the resort. Sitting on the lush green grass watching red, white, and blue explosions just a few, yet safe, feet away, she and I weren't just celebrating our country's freedom, we were celebrating our own.

I had not realized until that moment I was introducing my authentic self to her — the woman I was before my marriage unraveled — and reminding myself of that version of me. Free. Capable. And full of adventure.

• I've worked as a wedding photographer for years, and I've seen couples make the same mistakes.
• Too many people schedule the day to the minute and don't get the chance to enjoy their wedding.
• Not budgeting for the right photographer and videographer can lead to disappointing results.

I've been photographing weddings for over a decade, so I've witnessed countless ceremonies and receptions — some disastrous, others impeccable.

Throughout the years, I've also watched couples make the same mistakes over and over. Here are a few I wish they'd avoid.

Filling the day-of schedule with way too much

Couples have to find time for the ceremony, photos, eating and drinking, dancing, talking to the people they invited, and connecting with each other.

When you try to fit too many things into the day, no one — especially the married couple — has time to breathe and relish the moments. The day can feel rushed and more focused on activities than the celebration of love.

A packed schedule often leaves couples stressed, with no time to eat because they've been pushed from one 15-minute window to the next.

However, your wedding day shouldn't be a blur. You should have time to soak in every moment. When you map out your day, prioritize traditions you love and estimate how long each will take … then add buffers.

I also recommend working with a wedding planner or coordinator to plan your timeline, or consulting with your photographer and other vendors when arranging your schedule. They've experienced countless weddings and know firsthand how much time each activity usually takes.

Letting small mishaps and issues ruin the whole day

One of the things I always tell my couples right before their wedding day is that something will go wrong.

I don't say this to scare them or make them worry, but mostly to adjust their expectations. No matter how much planning you do, people are imperfect, the weather can be unpredictable, and life happens.

By the time the day comes, couples have done all they can to make sure it's how they pictured it. All that matters after that is that they enjoy their wedding.

Missing flowers or a cake that's the wrong flavor can throw off your day — but these unexpected mishaps shouldn't be so consuming that they're all you remember from your wedding.

I don't want to witness any more miserable couples desperately trying to fix details that will never be exactly right. Please try to roll with the punches on your wedding day.

Hiring the wrong photographer or videographer

I may be a bit biased, but I strongly believe having important memories properly documented in photo and video form is priceless.

I've also heard from countless married couples who regret booking a subpar photographer or skipping a videographer.

When hiring any vendors — especially these — choose carefully. You're paying someone to use their physical and creative energy to tell the story of your wedding.

Ask a ton of questions and make sure you love their style by viewing their portfolios and websites. It can also help to hop on a phone call or video meeting — couples should esnsure they vibe with their photo and video team on a personal level because they'll be spending a lot of time with them on the big day.

Planning the wedding they think they should have instead of the one they actually want

Weddings are for the couple, so they should do what they want.

I see so many of them spend thousands of dollars and devote countless hours to planning, only to celebrate their love the way they think they're supposed to — not how they'd actually like.

Your wedding should be unique to you, and it doesn't need to look like everyone else's. If you wish to elope in the forest or plan a ball inspired by "Bridgerton" in a mansion, go for it.

The couple is at the core of the celebration, so why shouldn't everything be based on who they are and what matters most to them? 

Consider this my official public service announcement: Your wedding can — and should — be fun, unique, and meaningful to you. 

This story was originally published in June 2021 and most recently updated on October 23, 2026.

• Getting rid of just five things a day can make decluttering feel much more manageable.
• Small daily efforts add up, helping clear crowded drawers and surfaces over time.
• The key is consistency, not trying to organize your entire home in one weekend.

The holidays are around the corner, and soon the chaos of hosting and travel will start. If tidying the house and reducing your clutter are things you thought you'd get to this year, let's take the pressure off and do it as gently as possible, before it ends.

I help my clients get rid of clutter year-round. Here are a few strategies to make a tough task easier.

Be realistic

One thing that can derail your decluttering project is false optimism. Have you ever said, "We'll clear out the garage on Saturday and w'll do something fun Sunday!"? Taking care of stuff that has resisted management for years won't be done in an afternoon. There are so many choices to make when you're trying to get rid of things, and that's where confusion and exhaustion make a seemingly simple process into one that's hard to face.

But don't despair — you can make progress and get things tidied up before next year. Imagine not having this task on your list when spring's optimism returns.

Slow and steady is key

You remember the tortoise and the hare? Slow and steady wins the race, and it will also get your home feeling more spacious and tidy. Try the five-a-day (or three-a-day, or two-a-day) method. Put a cardboard box in your back hall, garage, or other staging area. Choose five (or three or two) things every day and toss them in the box — or the trash.

These items can be anything; on a challenging day, you might get rid of an old dried-up glue stick, a charging cord that doesn't match your current phone, and a stack of expired coupons. When you wake up one day feeling motivated, you might look for five pairs of unworn shoes and also choose five books you don't want anymore.

It might feel like these small movements won't make a dent in the problem, but they will. After a couple of months, you'll find that drawers are less crowded and you can start to see surfaces again. Just keep at it.

Do not fear the garbage can. Recycling is important, but at a certain point, things do become trash. Holding on to them because you feel guilty about the landfill isn't helping the planet. If you want to make a difference, try buying less.

Schedule the hard stuff

Maybe you've got a broken lawnmower. Is there a place in your community that recycles old equipment? Maybe there's a high school shop class that would take it. Maybe a handy neighbor can fix it up. Spend a little time doing your research, then choose a day to take the lawnmower to its next home.

Getting those challenging items out of the house is a huge help. Accept that it might take a little ingenuity, time, and energy; if you don't expect it to be simple and instantaneous, you won't be so easily discouraged.

Maybe it makes sense to hire someone to haul away the unwieldy stuff. Great! Just do it.

Gamify decluttering

Waiting for the coffee to brew? Look around the kitchen. Surely there is one thing that can be thrown away. Waiting for the shower water to heat up? Find one thing in the bathroom you can do without. Try getting rid of one thing in every room in the house. Then do it again tomorrow.

Make a bet with your partner, roommate, or kid. Who can get rid of the most stuff in a day or a week? Initiate challenges! Hand out prizes! Turn home management into a game instead of a chore.

Tidy in phases

Maybe it's not just clutter making your life difficult. Look, you're tired, life is challenging. If your house is consistently untidy, try this: stand up and put 10 things back where they belong. Glass in the dishwasher, shoes in the closet, magazine in the recycle bin, etc. Set an alarm for a half hour, then get up and do it again.

Call it lazy or call it realistic; if the work gets done, it's done, whether you did it in an hour or five. Who lives in a perfectly tidy house, anyway? Don't let those TikTok feeds fool you; very few of us enjoy curated spaces with zero clutter or dust. We're living in our homes, and life is inherently messy.

Do yourself a favor; spend as much time actually managing your stuff as you do berating yourself for not doing it. You'll improve your mental health and your house will feel better.

• My husband and I have different approaches to investing.
• He's risk-tolerant, and I'm a bit more risk-averse.
• Still, we've managed to talk through financial decisions and find a common ground.

The conversation started because of a windfall: it was the first month that we didn't have the preschool tuition payment because my son was starting kindergarten. "I'd love for this money not to just disappear into the monthly budget," I said to my husband.

He nodded, and immediately had a suggestion. "What if we used it to start up a brokerage account? It'd be good to have some investments that are accessible without penalty before retirement."

Our approaches to investing differ

I knew, deep down, that this was a reasonable response to my point: we both already were on board with the idea of paying ourselves first, where we commit to an amount ahead of time for savings and retirement investments and then live on whatever we earn above that. This strategy served us well, and I wasn't opposed… exactly.

"I was actually hoping to use some of it to add to our emergency fund," I told him slowly. "And maybe getting some additional solar panels I've been looking at."

We have recently lived through instability that made me really appreciate the kinds of standard comforts that are currently easily accessible. Our family experienced the impact of a major hurricane only two years ago (Hurricane Helene), and when water, electricity, and telecommunications were interrupted for days and then weeks, I realized that a relatively modest amount of money and supplies would have made weathering a period of instability easier.

This is the place where my husband and I diverge: I tend to see things somewhat pessimistically, believing there's a good chance supply chains will be interrupted more than a few times during our lifetimes due to a variety of factors.

My husband has a generally optimistic, risk-tolerant approach to life. He knows we've made a solid plan for retirement, so he sees that a brokerage account offers promising returns (not guaranteed, but based on historical data) on funds that we've worked hard to earn. I'm sometimes fearful of the possibility of losing everything in a stock market crash.

I don't think either of us is truly at odds with the other person: my husband witnessed Helene and set to work setting up a battery backup system for our solar panels, an impressive feat and investment that falls more in line with my own risk-averse nature.

And I've never squashed his goals of investing for both short and long-term stability, even if, deep down, I want all our savings in high-yield savings accounts with FDIC protection.

We've learned how to figure out what's right for us

In order to make these conversations civil and positive, we tend to follow three steps.

First, we each get to make the case for why this investment, and why right now.

I think some of the way that we both get over our anxieties about spending or saving well is that we want to be heard, so he hears me out when I want to construct an expensive greenhouse on our property to grow more food, and I hear him out when he identifies that our current ages merit a somewhat risk-tolerant strategy so that we can reap the benefits when the market jumps higher.

Frequently, this process of hearing each other out helps us find an in-between pretty organically, and finding an in-between is the second step. Sometimes, we realize that, for instance, we are too busy to take full advantage of a greenhouse right now and should table it for a year or two. However, maybe this is a good year to invest in a higher-speed home charger for our electric car. Because many of his goals are "invest as much as possible," it's usually possible to buy some portion of the physical items I want while still contributing to our investments.

When I'm advocating for a deeper emergency fund, housed in a high-yield savings account rather than a market-invested brokerage account, I typically ask that we contribute in a percentage-based way. If I ask, for instance, for a windfall to be split 30/70, he gets to invest 70% of the money toward higher yields, and I get 30% in a very secure account. It's not exactly what either of us would like, but it ultimately gives us some benefits of both risk-averse and risk-tolerant strategies.

Finally, any time we find a split that really feels aligned for us, we see if we can make it a rule for the future, the third step. No one loves having to reinvent the wheel every time new money conversations come up. When that 70/30 split worked well for us once, I've returned to it for later money decisions, and while it sometimes needs to be adapted, it lets us balance each of our needs without a long discussion. My husband, famously of few words, likes when we can keep the conversations a little shorter and get back to playing a board game or watching a silly TV show to relax.

When we hear each other out, find a useful middle ground, and operationalize the result for future use, we find ways to invest in both a more secure and a more growth-focused future, favoring methods that work well for both our risk tolerance levels.

• Makeup and beauty routines have never been very important to me.
• My daughter is obsessed with self-care and knows a lot more about products than I do.
• I'm always happy to indulge her interests in this area; it gives us a nice way to connect.

"Can we go to Sephora?" my daughter asks, with her rather flawless teen reflection in the mirror standing on a blush-stained rug. Excited that she asked me into her room, I think, "Sephora again?"

With no room for more makeup around her cluttered sink, I question the need for any more beauty products. At the same time, my daughter is asking to spend time with me. "Pick up the towel off the floor and pull up your Oliva {Rodrigo} playlist," I say, smiling as I walk out the door. "We are leaving in five."

I learned to embrace the suck

As the true definition of a tomboy, now in my early 50s, my makeup knowledge ends with applying lipstick and mascara — without smudging.

Walking through the aisles of makeup and skincare products, I read the labels, dumbfounded. What even is skin milk? Would I apply that before or after serum?

Just as I tell my daughter the coined elementary school phrase, "The power of yet, you can't do it yet," when she struggles with things, I have learned to accept that I don't feel confident applying makeup or following my skincare routine yet. Not long ago, she flipped those words back on me, the ones I so often tell her, as I struggled to apply eyeshadow while we got ready for a concert together: "Accept that struggle is part of the learning process." If embracing the suck means more quality time with my daughter, please sign me up over and over again.

I let her lead

Life lessons, especially in the tween and teen years, come fast and often. Relating to teen interests and experiences is also harder than it used to be in this modern, technology-driven world. My daughter's obsession with self-care has given her a chance to teach me a thing or two about what matters to her. She's created a space for us to share experiences on a platform she understands and values.

On a recent trip, I fumbled through the 20 or so shades of skin tint with SPF. Putting up my I-give-up hands, I watched my daughter take my wrist and rub a shade of tint on the back of my hand. "You need something a bit darker," she said, grabbing a darker shade and taking the lead with the confidence of a well-trained beauty store employee.

Who would have thought the back of your wrist was a good place to match your face foundation? I sure didn't. I'm not raising my hand in the back to say I know the difference between essence and face oil, but ask my daughter, and she'll exude self-assurance and rattle off the answer with a smile.

I have savored our time together

Between work and school commitments, friends, and extracurriculars, it's hard to find time to just hang with my teen. Besides a before-school Starbucks run, a trip to the beauty store is one date my daughter never says no to.

I know the last time we do our Sunday self-care routine of gossip, masks, and eye patches will come. Some day she might even want to shop for makeup just with her friends. For now, I'll keep singing Olivia at the top of my lungs with her in the car on the way to and from the store. Even if I always feel like a fish out of water in a beauty store's sensory overload, I will embrace it all for some one-on-one time with my daughter. Plus, my skin has never looked better.

• Tiffany Tang founded DrinkFolks after a transformative journey across Asia in 2023 and 2024.
• Tang's layoff in 2023 led her to Bali, where she decided to extend her 30-day trip to over a year.
• DrinkFolks, inspired by Tang's travels, supports women-led farms and brings jamu to the US market.

This as-told-to essay is based on a conversation with Tiffany Tang, the 30-year-old founder of DrinkFolks. It has been edited for length and clarity.

I'm the founder and CEO of DrinkFolks, which brings jamu, a 1,300-year-old Indonesian herbal remedy, to the US as a prebiotic root tonic.

For the first two years of my career, I was an assistant director at a gallery owned by the first female fine arts dealer in America. From 2017 to 2021, I worked at Christie's International Real Estate in marketing and communications roles.

For the next year, I was a senior communications manager at CSM Sport & Entertainment before taking on a similar role at a fintech company that helped millions of Americans sustainably build their credit scores through rewards.

I felt positively about that job, but I was laid off in May 2023

I was grateful to work there. We were doing big things, and I really learned what it was like to be at a mission-driven company.

The most interesting thing about my layoff was how incredibly calm I felt upon hearing the news. Our CMO told me first, and she was a friend, my college professor, and an executive I admire and respect.

When she told me, I said I didn't blame her, and this was a time for a reset. Turns out, the layoff was the best thing that could've ever happened to me.

A few weeks after my layoff, I booked a one-way ticket to Bali

For a long time, my self-worth was my net worth — my title, my salary, my career trajectory. When the layoff hit, I lost my sense of self. Reflecting afterward, all I could think was: who am I without the high-paying job?

A few weeks earlier, I had watched the movie "Eat, Pray, Love." When the layoff came, something in me said that this was my moment. I opened Kayak, found a one-way ticket to Bali for around $1,000, and booked it. Bali felt approachable and warm.

What was supposed to be a 30-day reset changed the course of my life

I originally planned to travel in Southeast Asia for a month but ended up staying from June 2023 through August 2024.

My awakening happened on day three. One of the first things I did in Bali was a Panchakarma, a full-body Ayurvedic detox at a retreat in Ubud. There was an optional silent day; one of the first times in my life I rooted and looked inward.

Sitting with my journal, I knew I had to stay. I was still negotiating my severance, so I did the math: my savings, my investments, what each month would cost. When my severance came through a few weeks later, it jump-started the journey.

The deeper turning point was Hong Kong

Everyone I met understood me on an indescribable level. It was the only time in my life I was speaking Cantonese to people outside my family, reconnecting with my heritage. By the time I came home for the holidays, I had decided: I was moving to Asia.

The spark for the company was the women I met. Across Indonesia and Southeast Asia, I sat with women quietly building something of their own. I wanted to help these women build generational wealth for their families. I built DrinkFolks as a way to sustainably invest in them — 3% of every sale goes to women-led farms and nonprofits across Southeast Asia through our FolksFund — while supporting health stateside by bringing ancient wisdom into people's homes.

I started the company in January 2024, took every jamu class I could find in Bali, visited the source of jamu in Yogyakarta, and reformulated recipes in my Hong Kong kitchen.

By October 2024, I was back in the US, working with California food scientists to scale up my home-tested recipe. We launched in NYC in October 2025. Today, we're in 70+ stores across the US.

Living in Southeast Asia made the math work

My salary before the layoff was $160,000 a year, plus equity. When I set off, I had roughly $14,000 between savings and severance — my spreadsheet calculated 4.6 months of runway — and I felt comfortable investing that in myself.

I budgeted like it was my job. I tracked my actual spending obsessively for the first four and a half months and came in at roughly $7,700 total.

All-in, I averaged about $1,300 to $2,300 a month, including flights, lodging, food, everything. My money stretched furthest in Cambodia and least in Hong Kong, which was financially similar to New York City. For comparison: my overhead, including my mortgage, maintenance, electricity, and WiFi in New York today is about $2,500 a month.

In terms of cost of living comparisons, here's my breakdown

Healthcare was the biggest surprise, in the best way. I got into a motorcycle accident on the Pakse Loop in Laos, and seven stitches cost me around seven dollars, including painkillers and a week of antibiotics.

Cambodia was the best value. It's the most adventurous, outdoorsy country I visited, and I didn't want to explore alone, so I stayed in hostels for as little as $6 a night — partly a budget move, mostly a way to meet people. It's also where I met my first fellow Americans of the entire trip.

Hong Kong was the opposite — groceries and eating out gave me real sticker shock. I softened it with a genuine energy exchange: I moved in with a college friend and threw dinner parties several times a week, cooking meals for them in exchange for a place to stay. It was worth every dollar — I met some of my truest friends and future business partners there.

The layoff was honestly the best thing that ever happened to me

It gave me the confidence to build DrinkFolks, a better sense of my heritage, and a version of myself I'm proud of. I've learned to never say never, but right now, I'm exactly where I'm supposed to be.

My advice is to use your layoff as your launchpad. Things happen for you, not in spite of you. If you have even the slightest chance to live in that moment for yourself — for me, that was travel — take it as a gift and a blessing, not a crisis to survive.

Treat budgeting as freedom, not constraint. My money stretched so much further than I imagined. Clear parameters gave me the space to figure out who I am outside my job.

• My husband and I enjoy hiking, but our kids, 7 and 10, often complain along the way.
• On a visit to Finland, we went hiking with a guide, and my kids were engaged the whole time.
• It encouraged me to change a few things about the way I approach and plan family hikes.

It was an hour into our hike through Southern Konnevesi National Park in Finland, and neither of my 7- and 10-year-old daughters was complaining. It was glorious.

Normally, within the first hour, I would have already heard the question "How much longer?" One of them would also declare, "It's boring. We're just walking."

So what was different about this hike? Why weren't they complaining? It's because I took a different approach to this hike than I have with past ones — and it worked. Here's what I did.

A stranger motivated them more than I ever could

For this hike, we had a local guide with us, and my kids hung on her every word. They were asking questions non-stop and following her down the trail without a single complaint.

I almost laughed when I saw them literally stepping in her footprints and mimicking every move she made. This is not what my husband and I were accustomed to.

When she leaned on a rock to hear "the whispers of the forest," my kids did the same. When she found edible berries, my kids rushed there to try them first.

I do my best to make hikes interesting for my kids, but I am also a first-time visitor to most of the places we explore. No matter how much I research beforehand, I usually can't predict what they will find interesting along the trail. By contrast, this local guide knew exactly how to keep them excited, which kept them moving along.

Having a job kept them interested

I also noticed that the guide occasionally gave them "crucial" jobs along the trail. Who could find the next patch of berries, who could spot mushrooms growing on a log, or who could hear a bird singing?

When we are alone, I try to do these things too, but I cannot always answer the questions that ultimately follow: "Are these berries edible?" "What kind of mushroom is that?" or "Which bird is singing?"

I know my kids are naturally curious, but I wondered why my kids seem uninterested when it's just us. I began to realize they stopped asking me questions because they knew I didn't always have answers. Since our guide did this time, they asked her. They were eager to learn.

I tailored the goal to their needs

I also noticed they had not asked the dreaded question, "How much longer?" Not even once on our 2.5-mile hike.

I kept thinking about my usual responses. I say things like, "Look at the beautiful forest. Just enjoy the view and breathe in the fresh air," or, "Come on, we're almost there. It'll be worth it when we arrive."

Kids care about what's happening in the next five minutes in a way that's different from how my husband and I approach things. I was expecting them to hike like adults, getting from one point to the next. If they can discover something new at every step, they will relish the journey and won't feel time passing slowly. That's something I'm planning to incorporate into our future family hikes.

On a different trip, we tried forest bathing with a local guide in Austria, which lasted over three hours. When it ended, my kids frowned and said, "That was so short. Can we keep going?"

We allow time for free play along the way

After these experiences, I became much more careful about which trails I choose when hiking with my kids.

I know now that the best trails for my kids are the ones that offer exciting experiences along the way: a lake where kids can swim with tadpoles, a stream to cross, or rocks to scramble over.

I've also learned not to rush the stops. My daughters love spending time throwing rocks into a lake, sending leaf rafts down a stream, balancing on fallen logs, building hearts from flowers, or watching frogs or insects.

The biggest change for me has been to stop measuring a hike's success by how far we get and start measuring it by how much fun we had.

In Finland, I realized my kids already enjoy hiking. They just enjoy different things during a hike than I do as an adult. I should never forget that sometimes the part they remember most has nothing to do with the trail itself.