• I followed cinnamon-roll recipes from famous chefs Alton Brown, Ree Drummond, and Sandra Lee.
• Brown's recipe was solid, and Lee's recipe required the least effort, but the rolls were just OK. 
• Drummond's recipe was my favorite, but was so messy I'd only make it again for a special occasion.

Imagine sweet, cinnamon sugar swirled into pillowy-soft dough, all dripping in glistening icing — is your mouth watering yet?

When that craving for cinnamon rolls kicks in, you could certainly grab a can from the grocery store — but there's nothing better than gooey, homemade ones filling your whole house with comforting smells.

In search of the ultimate cinnamon roll, I tested recipes from famous chefs Alton Brown, Ree Drummond, and Sandra Lee to see who has the best one. 

Read on to see how each recipe turned out, and which was my favorite. 

Brown's recipe calls for fairly simple pantry staples

Brown's recipe on the Food Network website asked for some super basic kitchen ingredients, many of which I already had on hand.

I needed ground cinnamon, light brown sugar, butter, eggs, flour, instant dry yeast, salt, and sugar for the dough and filling. For the icing, I only needed cream cheese, powdered sugar, and milk.

The ingredients are so standard that I happened to have enough on hand to make two batches, which later came in handy when I ran into some trouble with my first attempt.

These are meant to be prepared the day before, which makes morning prep easy

Brown's recipe is for "overnight cinnamon rolls," so I started prepping them the day before I wanted to eat them.

I like the idea of starting these rolls in the evening, letting them chill overnight, then finishing them in the morning. Splitting up the steps makes the process seem much easier.

However, it didn't make it any shorter. I made the dough the day before, let it rise for two and a half hours, and chilled it overnight.

For my dough, I used instant yeast that someone had shared with me from a larger package. I'd stored it in a clear, resealable bag — but it turns out that opened instant yeast should be refrigerated.

As such, my instant yeast was worthless. However, I didn't realize this until it was too late. 

My first batch was a bust, but I learned a few lessons

In the morning, I let my rolls rise further in a cold oven along with a pan of boiling water for 30 minutes. Then I baked them for 30 minutes.

The first batch was definitely wrong. As I foreshadowed, the rolls never rose due to an issue with my instant yeast. The dough looked rather dry from start to finish, and the cinnamon rolls stayed small throughout the process. 

They didn't rise in the oven and came out looking undercooked and dry — but at least they worked well as an air freshener.

The icing smelled sweet, but it looked thin with clumps of cream cheese. I wondered if maybe the cream cheese wasn't soft enough, even though I'd left it out for a few hours.

These cinnamon rolls were difficult to cut into and incredibly dense.

The taste was fine — buttery and filled with a sweet cinnamon flavor — but the texture was just hard and dry. The icing was also a turn-off because of the clumpiness. 

I decided to try Brown's recipe one more time 

After my failed first attempt, I made a second batch. This time, I tried using active dry yeast as a substitute for instant yeast by following the simple instructions on the yeast packet. It worked perfectly. 

I combined active yeast with warm water (I made sure the temperature was between 100 and 115 degrees Fahrenheit) and sugar and let it sit for 10 minutes before adding it to the mixer to make the dough, per the recipe's instructions.

The second time around, the dough definitely came out fluffier and stickier. It rose very well and was a bit harder to work with because it was so soft and sticky.

My first attempt was a letdown, but the second batch of Brown's rolls was excellent

These came out of the oven looking and smelling delicious.

The brown sugar in the filling leaked out more in this batch, causing the bottoms of the cinnamon rolls to become slightly overdone. 

Otherwise, the rolls were so soft. I wish the filling didn't leak out and pool in the bottom of the pan because I would've loved more cinnamon and brown-sugar flavor.

For my second attempt at the icing, I tried letting the cream cheese sit out even longer to soften, hoping it would be easier to integrate with the powdered sugar and milk — but it still got clumpy.

In the future, I might try topping these with whipped cream cheese instead.

Overall, this recipe resulted in soft, pillowy cinnamon rolls that could use more filling. 

Drummond's recipe featured unique ingredients in high enough quantities to feed a crowd

The Pioneer Woman is often whipping up recipes for a crowd on her cooking show, so it makes sense that her original recipe on the Food Network website yields 40 to 50 cinnamon rolls.

I cut the ingredients in half, and this recipe still produced the most cinnamon rolls of the three recipes I tested.

For this dough and filling, I needed a lot of the same basics, like flour, butter, cinnamon, active dry yeast, sugar, and milk. It also used baking powder and baking soda.

However, there were some more unconventional ingredients for the icing, including maple extract and "strongly brewed coffee." I used cold brew because I already had some made in the fridge.

Oddly enough, this is a one-pot recipe

Although some mixing bowls are needed for the icing, the dough is actually made in a single pot on the stove. This made for a pretty easy start, even if it seemed strange to me.

I made the dough on the stove as directed, then moved it to a mixing bowl to proof. It rose so well that I had a hard time getting it to stop rising.

The rising dough overflowed out of my mixing bowl, and it was very difficult to roll out because it was so fluffy and sticky.

I wrangled it as best I could and packed my dough strips with filling before putting them into the baking pans to rise further. 

Although they seemed far apart in the pan, I knew they'd rise even more once they began baking. 

The smell of these maple cinnamon rolls was unreal — and the taste was even better

Despite the mess and frustration, these rolls came out nearly perfect. They were golden with gooey centers, even though they looked a bit pathetic and misshapen going into the oven.

Drummond's maple icing was easy to make, but next time I plan to sift the powdered sugar to prevent it from clumping. 

The edges of the cinnamon rolls were just the slightest bit overdone. Aside from the slightly crisp edges, the rolls were perfectly soft with sweet fillings and ooey-gooey centers.

The first bite I took from the middle of one of these rolls was indescribably good, and the maple icing was so delicious I could eat it straight from the bowl. 

For just my partner and me, I don't think I would go through the nightmarish mess of this recipe again. However, these cinnamon rolls would absolutely impress a crowd.

Lee's cinnamon rolls were unsurprisingly quick and easy to make

True to her semi-homemade fame, Lee's recipe on the Food Network website calls for frozen bread dough. My grocery store typically carries one brand of frozen white bread dough, but it was out of stock when I went shopping.

Luckily, in a 2020 Yahoo interview, Lee said you can swap out the frozen bread for biscuit dough in this recipe.

I decided to use buttermilk biscuits because I figured the buttermilk flavor, which is a tad acidic, would balance out the sweetness of the cinnamon rolls

The dough was harder to roll out than I expected

At first, the biscuit dough felt tough to roll out because it's so dense. However, once I finally flattened it, adding the brown sugar and cinnamon filling was easy — and so was shaping the rolls.

The dough was easy to slice, and doing so created beautiful, nearly perfect rolls. This was a nice break from the other batches of cinnamon rolls I made, which mostly fell apart as I cut them.

I followed the recipe's instructions and left the cut rolls out for one hour to proof. They didn't appear to rise at all during that time, so I'm not sure how necessary this was.

In the meantime, I made the icing with softened butter, cream cheese, vanilla extract, and powdered sugar. Like with Brown's recipe, I found the simple cream-cheese icing I prepared to be lumpy.

The cinnamon rolls looked great, but the centers were too undercooked

These came out golden brown, and the lumps in the icing dissolved once they met the hot rolls.

Unfortunately, the dough was so dense that the centers didn't bake well and were too underdone and doughy. However, with more time in the oven, I predicted that the edges would burn. 

Next time, I might cover these with foil for a bit or bake them at a lower temperature so they don't burn but can cook through.

The buttermilk flavor did help cut the extra sweetness from the excessive filling, but otherwise, these tasted quite similar to store-bought cinnamon rolls.

As such, I'd probably skip buying a can of biscuit dough to make these rolls and just opt for a can of store-bought cinnamon rolls. 

I'd totally make Drummond's cinnamon rolls again, but only for a special occasion 

In general, making homemade cinnamon rolls can be a lengthy and messy affair.

Personally, I don't mind grabbing a can of cinnamon rolls from the store or buying them from a local bakery or restaurant. I'll likely continue to do so, but for special occasions and large gatherings, I'd make Drummond's recipe in a heartbeat.

It resulted in such decadently sweet cinnamon rolls, and the maple icing was such a unique touch that really made them next-level.

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

This story was originally published on TK and most recently updated on TK.

• Yolanda Williams, 46, bought 3 acres in Arkansas and moved there with her daughter.
• She invited another single mom she met online to live on the property with her two kids.
• They now share expenses, childcare, and emotional support in what they call a "mommune."

This as-told-to essay is based on a conversation with Yolanda Williams, 46, who lives in central Arkansas with her 9-year-old daughter on a farm with another single mom and her two kids. They help each other with childcare, mental support, and more. This interview has been edited for length and clarity.

In 2021, after my daughter Gia and I got COVID, we decided to take a drive one day. I came across this one little road that I fell in love with.

We kept coming back, driving around this neighborhood in Arkansas, and it became our Sunday thing. We'd get in the car and get ourselves a sweet treat — me a coffee and her a cinnamon roll — and drive around for an hour looking at all the different farms and houses and really just visualizing the life we wanted.

We did that for two years before I found our 3.19-acre land in rural Arkansas. After visiting it, I purchased the land in 2023 on Facebook Marketplace, For-Sale-By-Owner. It cost $40,000 to buy, and I put down $12,000.

It was fully forested raw land, so I could only see part of it, but I used a real estate agent for the process. At the end of 2024, I secured a grant to help pay for the infrastructure, and I spent 2025 getting the land ready to move into. We didn't move until March 2026 because the land needed clearing and practical things such as a driveway and utilities.

The process was expensive because I didn't have much money left to build anything on the land. We got an RV as a place to stay, stash money, and build in the next five years.

Before I'm 50, I would like to have a permanent home built on the land

I'm from Southern California, and when I left in 2017, I was paying $600 to rent a guest room from my friend. Now, I pay $485 for my land mortgage and $400 for my RV payment a month. So, all in all, for me to be on this land, it's around $885 per month. Utilities run about $150 to $200 a month in the summer, and then $100 for water. It's exponentially cheaper to live like this, especially in Arkansas.

Here we have the freedom to roam and to be outside. I'm always in the garden. I've actually lost 30lbs since March because I move so much, and I didn't even realize it. I'm getting a lot more sun and exercise — so is my daughter. I feel more content, I feel more at peace.

However, this move has turned into so much more than that for us. I've been a single mom since my daughter Gia was born. She's 9 now, and I've never truly felt what it's like to have support, to have someone around all the time. By chance, that all changed this year.

I'm not sure who followed who first, but I met a single mom called Sunnie on Threads

She posted on the social media app Threads about wanting to buy land, and I commented back that she should consider Arkansas. I explained to her that land is cheap out here, and I gave her a bunch of information.

A few months later, I randomly saw her posting on Threads that she was in Arkansas with her two kids, who were 11 and 5 years old, looking for land, so I slipped into her DMs, and we exchanged numbers. I texted her to arrange a meet-up and to show her my land. Mind you, this was before I had actually moved onto the property.

The first time we met, we had pizza with the kids. They had a look around, and the kids played really well together. Gia likes the pizza crust but not the actual pizza, and one of Sunnie's kids likes the pizza but not the crust, so it worked out perfectly.

They helped me around the property as I was in the main stretch of getting everything ready for me to move on to. That's when we got to talking about her potentially living here while she searched for her own land.

Sunnie lived in a different city about an hour from me, and she didn't know anyone in Arkansas. I offered her the chance to stay with us to avoid spending money on hotels and Ubers. Although she wanted to buy her own land, I made it clear that she was welcome to stay with me as long as she wanted to. We now split the mortgage and utility costs in half.

That's how our "mommune" started.

Although we didn't know each other for long, I felt a strong connection and vibe

I loved that she was very much like, "I want to put my gloves on, and I want to help you," when it came to laying the foundations around the property, such as weeding, spraying for ticks, building planters, and sowing seeds. Now we garden together and grow as much as we can — like comfrey, lemon balm, mint, and basil. We even make our own fertilizer.

And you know, that's what's missing. A lot of people want this life, but they don't want to actually roll their sleeves up and get dirty to help one another.

Sunnie was essentially a complete stranger. But what I've been trying to do is listen to myself and trust myself. I really felt a great vibe from Sunnie, and my daughter really took to her. We got along, and it just felt right.

Yes, it's hard to build trust because you can't really trust anyone until you start to be around them all the time, but the whole thing with Sunnie is she came, and we sat, and we had a discussion about money and about expectations and about childcare. You just have to be willing to have the hard conversations in order to build a community, and I want to be around people who understand me.

We're now growing food together and raising wildlings.

This is our matriarchal community

What I always try to tell people is we need to decenter and deprioritize romantic relationships and just focus on relationships in general, whatever that support looks like.

Whether that's friendship or family, focus on building that community, and we will get the support we're looking for, but if you're only focused on needing a man or a husband or partner to have security to feel supported, then a lot of people will miss out on invaluable support with friends or other women.

For example, I was having a really hard time this Mother's Day — it's just a hard day for me. Sunnie saw that I wasn't in a good space, so she took the kids and left so I could get some alone time. Having that support and knowing that I can say "hey, I'm having a hard time with motherhood right now" and someone will not only understand but will help me through that by watching my kid for me, taking her to the park, or giving me some space — it has been life-changing. It's the support that I need.

We really just help each other out. When I have to leave and go somewhere, I'll ask her to come inside the RV or to watch Gia play outside, and she does. Vice versa — if she needs me to watch her children, it's really not a big deal. We just ask each other for favors like: "If you're out at the store, can you get me this?"

We communicate really well with each other, and we help each other out any way we need to, and that includes having dinner together sometimes, watching TV together, and I will let her kids come over here so she can have a break and be able to be in her RV by herself, or we'll go to the park so she can be by herself sometimes.

Ever since I met Sunnie, I can just tell there's a change in my nervous system. Having someone here means I can tap out. I'm 46 this year, and I wouldn't trade this mommune we've built for the world.

• Gary Brecka is a biologist who worked on predicting mortality for insurance companies.
• He's 56 and hopes to live to 120.
• He's purchased hyperbaric chambers and red light beds, but says sleep and community are more important.

This as-told-to essay is based on a conversation with Gary Brecka, co-founder of Ultimate Longevity Center. It has been edited for length and clarity.

I'm a biologist, and for years, I worked helping insurance companies try to predict exactly when their customers might die. I also expect to live to 120 — and I'm only 56 today.

Everyone on earth has a predicted life expectancy, based on large-scale data. When I worked for insurance companies, I used their data to analyze the specific factors that affected individual life expectancy.

What I found surprised me. For example, high blood pressure wasn't always associated with increased mortality. A lot of data from insurance companies ran counter to mainstream medical dogma.

My work was sometimes grim. One day, I found a potentially deadly medical error in a patient's chart, but I had no means to tell her. That was the day I decided I wanted to stop working to predict death and start helping people live longer, happier, healthier lives.

Skip the diets and cleanses, but move daily

A lot of longevity work isn't flashy. It's about the same healthy habits that we all know we should practice. If you show me someone's daily habits, I'll show you where they'll be in three to five years.

There's no evidence for dogmatic dieting, whether that's following keto, carnivore, or any other dietary trend. What extends life is the absence of processed foods. Likewise, you don't need to cleanse: if you're peeing, pooping, and sweating, you're already living a detox lifestyle.

Unsurprisingly, exercise is critically important. I know from working in insurance that a sedentary lifestyle is one of the biggest risk factors for death: sitting is the new smoking. Daily mobility is non-negotiable for me — I block off time for it on my calendar daily.

Put sleep on the calendar and don't use your phone in bed

Sleep is one of the most critical aspects of longevity. It's our human superpower, the time when our brains clear waste and form memories. And yet, sleep is the most bullied part of most people's calendar. It happens only after everything else is done.

I take the opposite approach: sleep is the first thing I put on my calendar. I am meticulous about keeping a solid sleep schedule, and I make my bedroom a sanctuary. To get good sleep — and all the health benefits that come with it — your nervous system needs to be regulated and relaxed.

I bring my phone into the bedroom, but put it on airplane mode. I don't scroll, watch TV, send work emails, or do anything else that could put my nervous system on high alert.

Build community around healthy habits

How often have we heard a story about spouses who have been married for decades, dying in quick succession? That's because relationships are critical to longevity — and they're something money can't buy. Your community and connections have a huge impact not only on your lifespan but also on your health span.

My kids range in age between 18 and 28, spanning all of Gen Z. Their peers are realizing how important community is. Run clubs are becoming more popular among that demographic. It's not just about physical health — anyone can lace up their sneakers and run a 5K — but about the community building that takes place before and after exercise.

We should all take a page from their books. Building social space with like-minded people who share your passions and purpose will help you live longer.

I've spent big on health technologies

The basic tenets of longevity — sleep, community, exercise, and unprocessed foods — will allow me to live a happy, healthy life. And they don't come with an unattainable price tag.

Because I have the means, I also use expensive technologies that can further support my health. I've spent well into seven figures on health technology, including saunas, cold plunges, red light beds, and hyperbaric chambers at my two houses.

I'd rather have a hyperbaric chamber than a Ferrari, and a red-light bed than a Rolex. But I also know that you can't skip the basics of healthy living, no matter what cutting-edge technology you have access to.

• Maria Sentmanat, 55, quit her six-figure job this summer without another job to go to.
• She started Why Not Wild, giving guided tours of the South Florida wilderness.
• She's not making any money and living off her savings, but says the move has saved her mental health.

This as-told-to-essay is based on a conversation with Maria Sentmanat, 55, who is based in Miami, Florida. It has been edited for length and clarity.

I'm a high school dropout who came from a single-parent family. My upbringing was filled with chaos and instability. I never thought I'd end up being the type to earn a six-figure salary, but that's exactly what I ended up doing — and walking away from this year.

On paper, I was definitely successful. I had a $153,000 paycheck managing one of the largest 5K races in the country, a job I'd held for the past five years. I could have made up to $180,000 next year if I had stayed on.

The job was a new opportunity when I really needed one

You could argue it was the culmination of the fitness career I had spent 16 years building, after becoming super overweight following the birth of my daughters. I became a personal trainer and ran my own wellness-focused fitness studio. I'd created something special.

But then the pandemic happened, and I lost everything. I couldn't run my studio anymore, and struggled to build it back up again once the restrictions were lifted.

The founder of this race event was a friend, so when she told me she needed a new race director, it felt like an opportunity life was giving me. I completed all the required certifications and threw myself into this new role, which was both incredibly stressful and rewarding.

But things started to change. I started to dread going to work, and my stomach was always upset. I felt myself going into "fight or flight" mode, with the trauma from my childhood resurfacing, that I just didn't need.

I felt heavy, and my daughters — who are now 25 and 27 — could see it. I would go out into nature to decompress, but I was always thinking, "What am I going to do with this massive thing hanging on the side of my neck?" I got to a state where I just felt numb, even though I was continually asking myself, "What are you going to do? How are you going to keep doing this?"

I quit with no other job lined up

I resigned in August 2026, with no other job to go to, which some people called crazy.

But I had a strong feeling that I needed to find purpose and passion again. I knew that would be through nature. That's where I heal. That's where I can find a place that I feel seen, heard, understood, and held.

So I knew I had to build something that centered on connecting people with nature, so "Why Not Wild" was born. I take people into the wilderness around South Florida, but it's not packages. It's completely personalized. I want to talk to you and find out what you need.

I'll take you hiking through the Everglades, but it's not like, "oh, look at this nice trail". You will have to walk through water, and for some people, that is a big thing to overcome. For people who don't want to hike, I do motorcycle adventures.

I want people to reconnect with an entity we have caused so much destruction to. I want to be the bridge. I'm using my social media platforms to create awareness of what's beautiful out there.

I'm finding purpose again

Financially, I'm OK. I've been super strict about my savings, even while paying $4,700, helping my daughters, and paying my SBA loan from my previous business. I owned a home in Mount Dora that I sold last year too. I could live comfortably for six months, even a year, but then I'd have no savings left.

My ex-husband and I divorced when the girls were young, but we still co-parent very closely. He has a key to my place, comes over to eat several times a week, and we even go on vacation together. Our kids haven't had that typical divorce experience, which we worked hard to be intentional about. He and the girls are happy that I have done this — they have complete faith in me.

I'm not making any money right now, but I wake up excited about every day. What door is going to open? What's going to happen? Even if this doesn't work out, I was brave enough not to get caught up in what was, in effect, a bad marriage. I'll know that I was brave enough to try.

I have lost all that income and future security, but I have gained so much more. I feel better mentally, physically, and spiritually.

• As a sommelier, I love trying new wines at restaurants, but they're not all winners.
• Many miss out on Italian whites, which are some of the most underappreciated wines in the world.
• Skip bottles from popular wine regions and order from their neighbors instead.

It can be overwhelming to be handed an extensive wine list at a restaurant. Multiple pages with small print can be an overload of information — anxiety ensues, and you're not sure what to order.

But as a sommelier, I've trained to understand all those little details, so you don't have to.

Here are the mistakes I see people make when ordering wine — plus advice for what to do instead next time you're dining out.

Ordering something they can readily buy at their local grocer

Sommeliers work hard to curate thoughtful and interesting wine lists at restaurants. If you can get the wine at your grocery store or any retailer you frequent, skip it while you're out.

Dining out is a time to explore and discover something new. This can be a grape you've never had, a producer you've never heard of, or a wine from a new-to-you region.

Sure, you've had a Tuscan red wine, but have you had a red wine from Oltrepò Pavese made from pinot-noir grapes? At Italian restaurants, I always look out for bottles of La Genisia pinot.

Exclusively sticking with overpriced bottles from major wine regions

Bordeaux is widely considered one of the finest wine regions in France, and Napa Valley reigns supreme in the US. So, it's no surprise that their wines often have price tags to match their elite status.

Instead, I always look for areas near these benchmark regions to expand my horizons and save a few bucks.

Just outside Bordeaux is a region called Cahors, which is known for making wines from the malbec grape. Crocus Wines is a reputable brand to try.

In terms of Napa alternatives, I tend to reach for bottles from the Anderson Valley in Mendocino. Classic producers include Goldeneye Winery and Husch Vineyards.

Only ever ordering white wines within their comfort zone

Ubiquitous, "comfort zone" white wines like chardonnay, sauvignon blanc, and pinot grigio tend to have cultlike followings.

If you're open to branching out and are in a white-wine rut, I say start by taking a closer look at the menu. For example, Italy has a treasure trove of "under the radar" varieties.

The country is home to over 1,000 native grape varieties, but my favorite Italian regions to look for on menus include Sicily, Collio, and Lugana.

Planeta and Monteleone are two of my favorite brands in Sicily. Primosic and Terre del Faet are top producers in the Collio region. And in Lugana (an all-white wine region), Ottella and Selva Capuzza reign supreme.

There are so many great varieties worth trying if you know a few keywords to look for.

Going for the full-bodied, high-alcohol reds

Over the years, I've observed that American wine drinkers really like big, assertive reds.

The problem with ordering such wines at many restaurants is that the bottles are often too young. They'd benefit from some aging, but restaurants need to sell their wines, so it's a bit of a conundrum.

My solution is to dapple with light-bodied reds that are ready to drink when bottled. The best examples include gamay, Cinsault, and valdiguié wines.

Some of my favorites include Camins 2 Dreams' gamay, Two Shepherds' Cinsault, and J. Lohr's valdiguié.

If it's hot out, consider enjoying these reds lightly chilled. Have the sommelier put the wine on ice while you peruse the menu and order your food.

By the time your appetizers are served, the wine will be ready to enjoy.

This story was originally published on September 15, 2024, and most recently updated on October 26, 2026.

• I dreamed of being a mother for a long time; it is what I wanted most in this world.
• I have two beautiful children, and I think the world of them. They are my greatest joy.
• They are also my biggest burden, and that's never going to change.

My children bring me more joy than anything else. It's not an exaggeration when I say that I would do anything to make them happy.

Ever since I was a little girl, I dreamed of becoming a mother. I played with baby dolls and treated them as though they were real. My dream was never to have a big, fancy job or travel the world. I wanted to be a mom.

That dream came true in 2018, when my daughter was born. Five years later, my son came into the world, and my heart grew in ways I hadn't known were possible. My children are my greatest blessing, the loves of my life, and the source of a happiness I had imagined since childhood.

They are also my biggest burden.

Two truths can exist

I know my words might sound harsh. How can the people you love most in the world also be a burden? Before you judge, let me explain.

I am happily married and have been for going on 10 years. I have a thriving business, I have friends and hobbies, and we travel quite a bit as a family. I have many things in my life to be grateful for.

But none of those things bring me the kind of happiness, pure joy, and love that my children do.

But along with that kind of love comes something else. A burden, if you will. As long as I am a mother, I will worry about my children. It doesn't matter how old they get or how far away they go. They will always be a part of me, and a part of my mind will always be occupied by them.

My feelings will evolve

The worries will change, of course. Today, I might worry that they will fall at the park, come home crying about a bad grade, or have a fight with a friend.

Tomorrow, I may worry about whether they can find a job, if they are happy in their relationships, or whether they are struggling under the weight of life.

The older they get, the more I will have to accept that there are parts of their lives I cannot see, decisions I cannot make for them, and difficulties I cannot always help them overcome.

That is the hardest part. I can love them, guide them, support them, and do everything in my power to protect them. But I cannot guarantee that they will always be happy. I cannot shield them from every disappointment or make sure that life will be kind to them.

This is the burden I am talking about. Not my children themselves, but the weight of loving them so deeply that their happiness and well-being will always matter to me.

This is a feeling I can't turn off

I will never stop thinking about my children. In that sense, motherhood is a mental burden. It is the constant awareness of someone else's well-being, the knowledge that there will always be someone to worry about, even when there is nothing immediately wrong.

Sometimes, I think about the freedom of having a mind that belongs entirely to you. To be able to sit quietly, enjoy a moment, or make plans without a part of your mind wandering toward the people you love and wondering whether they are OK.

If I had only myself to worry about, I would surely still have problems, fears, and anxieties. Life would not suddenly become easy. But there is a difference between worrying about yourself and worrying about someone else, especially someone you brought into this world.

There is no real escape from this responsibility. I can be on holiday, enjoying a beautiful day, or sitting quietly with nothing pressing to do, and still find my thoughts returning to my children. The responsibility does not disappear just because, in that moment, there is nothing I need to do.

I chose this and have no regrets

Motherhood takes away a certain kind of freedom, but I wouldn't have it any other way. I wouldn't give up the joy, the love, or the privilege of watching them grow just to reclaim that part of myself that existed before I became a mother.

But I can acknowledge that something has changed. Becoming a mother has meant that I will never again experience life in quite the same way. My heart is no longer concerned only with my own happiness. It is tied to two other people, and it will remain so for the rest of my life until the day I take my final breath.

Maybe this is what it means to be a mother: to carry a love so great that it brings you your greatest happiness, and your greatest worry, all at once.

• Having lived in Alaska for over 35 years, I've seen many visitors make the same mistakes.
• Many tourists underestimate Alaska's size and think the state is more drivable than it actually is.
• A lot of visitors don't realize that some attractions and activities are seasonal.

As someone who's lived in Alaska for over 35 years, I see why tourists love traveling here. From the beautiful national parks to opportunities to see the northern lights, the state has something for everyone.

However, as a local, I often see tourists make the same mistakes — like expecting to drive everywhere or forgetting that some activities are seasonal.

These are the six most common mistakes I've seen tourists make when visiting my home state.

Thinking Alaska is small and drivable

I'm always surprised by how many visitors think Alaska is small. In reality, Alaska is so big that if you split it into two states, each half would be bigger than Texas. You can easily spend hours driving from one large community to the next.

However, Alaska has a shockingly limited road network for such a huge state. If we say a community is "off the road system," it means you can't drive there — instead, you'll have to catch a plane or a boat.

Trying to do too much in one trip

People traveling to a new location often feel pressure to visit as many destinations as possible. But if you never take a minute to enjoy just being here, you're missing out on a big chunk of the Alaska experience.

Plus, having a little flex time in your schedule helps accommodate when excessive wind, rain, or rough seas keep you from doing planned activities. I recommend giving yourself two or three days in a community before moving on.

Not learning the local vocabulary

In Alaska, we have a lot of local lingo that can be helpful to know. For example, if someone says they're going outside, they're not just leaving the building — they're leaving the state.

To us, outside means "Outside" with a capital "O," which is anywhere that's not Alaska.

Another thing to remember is that we don't typically use road numbers for our highways (no matter what your GPS tries to tell you). Instead, we use the names of highways.

Forgetting that some attractions and activities are seasonal

Some of the biggest attractions in Alaska are available for only a few months of the year.

Two big ones to keep in mind are bear-viewing season, which typically peaks with the salmon runs in July and August, and aurora-viewing season, which runs from roughly late August to late April.

Missing out on Alaska Native culture

The umbrella term for Alaska's Indigenous people is Alaska Native. Most towns have at least one cultural center where visitors can learn about Alaska Natives in that region.

These facilities are part visitor center and part museum, and they offer a celebration of Native traditions and culture. I always recommend tourists take the time to explore these centers.

Expecting the wildlife — or the weather — to be predictable

Alaska tour guides often field sincere questions like "When are the moose scheduled to show up?" That makes sense in a controlled environment like a zoo, but Alaska's wildlife is, well, wild — so they come and go whenever they like.

Our weather does pretty much the same thing, so if you're determined to hide inside until the rain and wind stop and the sun comes out, you'll miss out on a lot.

Dressing in layers can help visitors stay comfortable, no matter what the weather is doing. I recommend lighter layers in the summer and heavier layers in winter, but a weatherproof outer layer is always a must.

This story was originally published on July 26, 2024 and most recently updated on October 26, 2026.

• Chefs and bakers shared tips for how to make store-bought pies look homemade and taste even better. 
• Melting a bit of butter or sprinkling salt on top of a pie can help balance out its sweetness. 
• Decorate your pie with a dusting of powdered sugar, frosted lettering, or a drizzle of caramel. 

Not everyone has time to make a delicious pie from scratch.

Fortunately, some store-bought versions can be pretty delicious — and pass for homemade if you know a few handy tricks.

So, Business Insider spoke with chefs, bakers, and other culinary professionals about their favorite ways to elevate premade pies.

Here are a few of their best tips that you may want to write down before your next neighborhood potluck or holiday dinner.

Create a herbed caramel sauce to add a gourmet touch to a store-bought pie.

Professional baker and winner of TLC's "Cake Boss: Next Great Baker" Dana Herbert, told Business Insider that he recommends adding an herbed caramel sauce to ready-made pies.

"Add some cinnamon, rosemary, thyme, ginger, or cardamom to warm caramel sauce and serve it with the pie," Herbert said. "Even traditionally savory herbs can complement sweet desserts." 

If you're not sure whether a particular herb would pair well with your pie, Herbert recommended closing your eyes and smelling the herb or spice — if you can detect something sweet in the scent, it's probably OK to use.

Use salt to balance the sweetness of certain pie varieties.

Carlo Lamagna, chef and owner of Magna PDX, said that a dose of salt can help tone down the sweetness in syrupy pies. 

"Salt helps accentuate flavors and balances out often overly sweet items," Lamagna said. 

If you don't want to sprinkle pure salt on your dessert, you can opt for crushed salted nuts, like peanuts or cashews, which will still do the trick and add extra texture.

Remove your store-bought pie from its packaging to make it look homemade.

Alexandra Lourdes, co-owner of Saint Honoré Doughnuts and Beignets, told BI that the easiest way to elevate a store-bought pie is to simply remove it from its original packaging. 

"Make sure you take it out of the box it came in," Lourdes said. "If you place it in a new box, add a ribbon, or arrange it on a beautiful cake stand, no one will ever know it's not homemade."

Top cherry or blueberry pies with a dollop of lemon curd.

Lemon can elevate a premade pie, making its flavors feel more complex.

"Make a super tangy lemon curd with lemon juice and plenty of zest," Herbert said. "The sourness will cut through some of the excessive sweetness found in store-bought blueberry and cherry pies." 

If you don't have time to make your own lemon curd, you can buy it from the grocery store. Just stir in a bit of fresh lemon juice to make it taste more homemade.

Serve your pie with a homemade whipped cream.

Chef and sommelier Melissa Smith told BI that serving a premade pie with fresh whipped cream is a great way to make the dessert taste and look gourmet.

All you need to make it is a whisk, heavy cream, and powdered sugar. Consider using a piping bag to add the whipped cream to your pie for a more elegant look. 

Smith said doing so will make your pie look "modern and classy, like something straight out of a magazine."

For bonus points, she recommended garnishing the piped cream with a few flakes of edible gold or a smattering of citrus zest.

A light dusting of powdered sugar is a fast way to dress up your pie.

Instead of making your own fresh whipped cream, you could also just grab a spoonful of powdered sugar. 

"A simple dusting of powdered sugar can really make your pie look more appetizing than if you simply served it bare and straight out of the container," Smith said. 

For a flawless presentation, use a sieve to ensure an even coating of sugar, and a stencil if you want to use it to create clean, clear designs.

Try to add sugar right before serving so it doesn't dissolve.

Melt butter on top of a pie for extra richness.

Kevin Cabrera, corporate executive chef at The Save Mart Companies, told BI that melting a bit of butter on top of a ready-made pie can help give it a homemade richness.  

"Halfway through warming your pie, directly insert thin slices of butter into the venting slits of the pie," Cabrera said. "This will give it a nice, moist flavor."

Adding too much butter might oversaturate the pie and lead to a soggy crust, so start with a tablespoon or two, and add more if necessary.

Melt cheddar cheese onto the crust of your apple pie.

If you feel like taking some culinary risks, Lamagna suggested mixing up a classic store-bought apple pie by adding some sliced or shredded cheese.

"I grew up in the Midwest, so we would always melt a slice of cheddar on the top of apple pies," Lamagna said. "Don't be afraid to experiment with unconventional pairings."

Moderation is key to pulling off cheesy apple pie — don't layer on too much cheese, or you'll end up with an oily, salty crust.

Add homemade lettering on top for a personal touch.

Just because your pie came straight from the grocery store doesn't mean it needs to look generic. 

"I'd add homemade lettering to the pie to make it your own," Lourdes said. "You can also add gold flakes or edible food glitter to make a statement." 

Add your chosen phrase with frosting, or make chocolate letters at home using silicone molds.

Sprinkle bacon bits on top of your pie for a savory kick.

If you love marrying salty and sweet, adding a light dusting of bacon pieces to your pie might be a mouthwatering move. 

"The perfect way to improve an apple or peach pie is to grab your favorite bacon, cook it up, and toss it on the pie," Herbert told BI. 

For a more Southern-inspired dessert, Herbert suggested using bourbon-flavored bacon on a pecan pie. 

Top pie slices with ice cream for a pleasing temperature mix.

If you're serving a pie that's meant to be enjoyed warm, adding a scoop of high-quality ice cream can enhance the taste.

"Hot and cold foods are a dynamic pair," Cabrera said. "After warming it up, serve the pie with a generous scoop of slow-churned ice cream for a delectable dessert." 

Cabrera said that you can't go wrong with vanilla ice cream, but you can also pick a rich chocolate or a fruity sorbet.

Add fresh fruit to cream pies for a vibrant touch.

Liven up drab cream pies by topping them with chopped fresh fruit for added texture and color. 

"Find a fruit that would complement the type of cream pie you purchased," Lamagna said. "Cherries tend to go well with chocolate cream, and coconut works with banana cream."

Other tasty combos include peaches with vanilla cream, raspberries with lime cream, and bananas with peanut-butter cream.

This story was originally published on November 3, 2020, and most recently updated on October 26, 2026.

• Kate McNeil opened All the Tropes, a romance bookstore, six weeks after quitting her job.
• Despite concerns about market saturation, All the Tropes thrives as a niche community destination.
• Passion, perseverance, and local support helped McNeil launch her business.

This as-told-to essay is based on a conversation with Kate McNeil, a 41-year-old small-business owner based in Atlanta. It's been edited for length and clarity.

The idea to open a romance bookstore started during COVID.

I joined an online group of fellow romantasy readers, looking to connect with other people who also enjoyed my favorite form of escapism. That group had over 2,000 members, and it was difficult to feel a sense of community. Eventually, it broke off into local chapters.

After COVID, I didn't know of any dedicated space for these same readers to meet in Atlanta. That's how I started the journey to opening the first romance bookstore in my neighborhood. In the two years since I opened, more romance bookstores have opened up, including one less than two miles away.

I thought I'd retire from my teaching job

When I launched All the Tropes bookstore, I was working a job I thought I'd retire from. I taught theater at Decatur High School for six years. My students always came first. I didn't want those kids to feel like I wasn't present or that they didn't have my undivided attention, so the bookstore was a back-burner idea for a few years.

I'd get home from rehearsal at 11 p.m., conduct business research until 2 a.m., then get up at 6 a.m. and go to work the next day and teach.

I took my time to gain a full understanding of the market, but there were still challenges

I learned about dealing with publishing companies and book distributors, connected with local artists to showcase their work, and reached out to local authors. One of the biggest challenges was finding a place for the store.

I knew that I wanted to stay on the east side of Atlanta because I lived in Kirkwood and felt very connected to the community.

In 2024, I found a location a four-minute walk from my home, and I knew it was time to make my idea a reality. In May of that year, I quit my teaching job and prepared to open the bookstore by the end of summer on Romance Bookstore Day.

I had 6 weeks to get the store ready for opening day

I received the keys to the bookstore six weeks before the day I planned to open. The timeline I had for opening day came with a lot of risks. I had cashed in my retirement fund, quit my job, and had a large preorder of "Onyx Storm" before there were bookshelves in the store.

There were many times my friends and I didn't leave the store until 4 a.m. A local artist painted the shop; I printed my merchandise at a local shop in Kirkwood; and I created the fabric wall. There were many nights I had doubts that All the Tropes would come to fruition.

I was a mom with two young kids opening a niche business that, to my knowledge, would be the first in the state, but I was prepared. I had my accounts with publishers, and my branding was complete. Perseverance, my husband, my village of friends, and an invested community got me to opening day.

All the Tropes opened August 17, 2024, on Romance Bookstore Day. In the span of a few months, I went from a passionate high school teacher to the owner and operator of a romance bookstore.

An increase in niche romance bookstores in the city concerns me

Even in a city like Atlanta with several thriving independent bookstores, I wonder about the percentage of residents who read for fun and, more specifically, read romance. While becoming a general indie bookstore would allow me to sell so many other things, I still believe All the Tropes can continue to thrive in a niche market, despite oversaturation.

Unlike a large book retailer, All the Tropes is a destination spot people can come from out of town to visit. Our social presence and promotion of local writers and artists also offer something unique to readers.

All the Tropes could pivot to general fiction, but so far, more stores opening has not impacted store traffic or sales.

4 Things helped me turn my business idea into a reality

All the Tropes continues to thrive because of my original vision of creating a community space for romance book lovers to connect. We now have eight active book clubs and continue to see consistent revenue.

Passion, trusting my gut, therapy, and a supportive group of friends are the reason I was able to turn an idea I brainstormed late at night into a successful niche business ready to grow.

We are now ready for a larger space and to expand our three-person team.

Do you have a unique small business story to share? Email the editor, Manseen Logan, at mlogan@businessinsider.com.

• Nikita Chernetskii moved to New York City from rural Moldova when he was 18.
• He joined the Army and worked as a combat medic, which gave him a sense of purpose.
• He was worried about affording med school and starting a family.

This as-told-to essay is based on a conversation with Nikita Chernetskii, a medical school student at New York University's Grossman School of Medicine. It has been edited for length and clarity.

I've wanted to be a doctor since I was a little boy. In Moldova, where I was born and raised, you apply to medical school right after finishing high school. As I was applying for medical schools, my parents won the green card lottery, giving our family the chance to come to the US.

Suddenly, I had a huge choice in front of me. Do I take the chance to go to the US, or keep pursuing my dream? I'd always been raised on the idea that the American dream was alive and well. I was also young and naive: I thought I could just apply to medical school once I got there.

I'll never forget landing at JFK in August with my parents and sister, who was in fourth grade at the time. I'd never seen a building taller than nine stories, and suddenly I was looking at the Manhattan skyline. It was surreal. I can still remember the smell as we left the airport, of hot asphalt and summer in the city.

I felt like I was in limbo, seeing my friends chase their dreams

Living in the US was a shock, to put it mildly. New York was so, so different from the rural area of Moldova where we'd lived. I'd gone to an English-speaking high school, but it was set up according to old Soviet standards. Once I was in the US, I realized that I'd been taught English for people who would never speak English: my grammar was excellent, but my vocabulary was very limited.

I knew life wouldn't wait for my dreams. My dad and I started working as porters, making about $500 a week. Part of the job was taking out the trash to the dumpster, but I was pretty happy doing that. The pay was more than I would ever make in Moldova.

I realized that going to med school in the US wasn't realistic. I didn't have the money and didn't understand how college worked here. That sent me into a period of limbo. I would work and save money just to go visit friends in Moldova. I saw them moving toward their goals, while my life stayed the same. Psychologically, it wasn't the greatest time for me.

Joining the military reaffirmed my desire to be a paramedic

On one of those trips home, a friend suggested I join the military. Within a month, I was marching in basic training. My poor English meant I couldn't always understand the directions. I just ran where the other recruits ran, and hoped it was right.

I scored well enough on my aptitude test to become a medic. The work was so fulfilling to me, and helped me cope with the rushed decision to join the military in what was still a foreign country to me.

I was deployed in Germany when the pandemic hit. I'd work 24-hour shifts, sleep for four hours, and get back to it. That's when others started telling me I should become a doctor. I realized that desire was still burning inside me, and I wouldn't be able to sleep well if I didn't at least try.

I leaned on every connection I had to help get into med school

I used the GI bill to pay for college. While I was there, I was accepted into the New York University internship program that pairs aspiring doctors with faculty. I worked with a trauma surgeon at Bellevue Hospital and knew I wanted to spend my life doing what he did.

When it came time for me to apply to medical schools, I knew I needed to be at NYU. I shook all the trees I could. I had no shame and asked anyone for help. The whole process was so stressful that it was almost a blur to me.

The idea of taking on half a million dollars in debt for medical school was frightening. I think I would have done it, but it would have meant delaying other goals, like having children with my wife.

This year, when I was accepted to NYU's Grossman School of Medicine's three-year, tuition-free medical program, it was surreal. When I dreamed of practicing medicine as a boy, I thought I'd be making $300 a month doing old Soviet techniques. Now, I'm learning cutting-edge science that feels like it's plucked from a sci-fi movie. I'm the happiest I've ever been in my life, and I'm well on my way to my American dream.

• I thought being a good mother meant being fair and treating all of my kids the same way.
• But each of my six kids has different personalities and abilities and needs their own set of rules.
• It can be hard for my kids at times, but I am no longer compelled to make everything even.

For years, I thought being a good mother meant being a fair mother. And being fair, I assumed, meant treating all of my children exactly the same.

With six kids, this seemed especially important. I didn't want anyone keeping score — or, more accurately, I didn't want to give them anything to keep score about. If one child had a certain bedtime at 9:00 p.m., surely the next one should, too. Chores should be divided equally. Consequences should be consistent. Privileges should come at the same ages.

Equal meant fair. Except it didn't.

My thinking evolved

The longer I parented, the harder it became to ignore what was right in front of me: I wasn't raising six versions of the same child. I was raising six completely different people.

One of my children thrives when given independence. Give them a responsibility and some space, and they'll usually rise to the occasion. Another needs more structure, more reminders, and more check-ins. That doesn't make one child more responsible or the other less capable. They simply need different things from me.

The same is true of privileges. I used to think that if one child earned a later curfew at a certain age, every child should automatically receive the same privilege when they reached that age. Now I understand that age isn't the only factor. Trust is built through choices. A child who has consistently demonstrated responsibility may be ready for freedom that a sibling at the same age isn't ready for yet.

Sometimes, I feel guilty

My decisions can be hard to explain when the inevitable "But they got to!" comes flying across the room. And sometimes, if I'm being truthful, the difference has nothing to do with the children at all. My youngest gets more bedtime stories than my oldest did.

That realization could easily become another entry on the endless list of things mothers feel guilty about. But my oldest didn't have the same mother my youngest has. Back then, I was younger, less experienced, and more concerned with getting everything right. I rushed through routines because there was always something else that needed to be done.

Six children later, I understand how quickly those routines disappear. I linger a little longer now.

That doesn't mean I loved my older children less. It means motherhood has changed me. The mother raising my youngest has learned things the mother raising my oldest hadn't learned yet.

I know this is the right way for me to parent

For a while, parenting my children differently felt like admitting I was inconsistent. Now I see it as evidence that I'm paying attention. My 8-year-old, who has always been an early riser, requires more sleep than some of his siblings, so he is the first to go to bed, while his younger siblings stay up a little later. It is unusual from the outside looking in, but it is what best meets his needs.

Fairness doesn't always mean equal chores, identical consequences, or the same privileges at the same ages. Sometimes fairness means giving more guidance to the child who needs it and more independence to the one who is ready for it. It means recognizing that one child may need encouragement while another needs accountability.

My children still notice the differences, of course. They are children. Keeping track of who got what seems practically written into the sibling job description. But I no longer feel compelled to make everything even.

My job isn't to make sure all six of my children receive exactly the same childhood; It's to know each of them well enough to give them the childhood they need. After years of trying so hard to be equal, I've finally realized that might be the fairest thing I can do. I won't always get it right. I'm still learning these six very different people as they grow and change—and trying to grow and change with them. Maybe good parenting was never about getting everything exactly right. Maybe it's simply about paying attention, loving them well, and doing the best I can with the mother I am today.

• Matthew Kelson, now 43, grew up in Michigan and opened his first cinema in his 20s.
• He went on to work for Netflix in Los Angeles before getting transferred to Japan in 2020.
• After leaving his job at Netflix in 2024, he renovated a kindergarten and founded a cinema in Japan.

This as-told-to essay is based on a conversation with Matthew Kelson, now 43, who was transferred by Netflix from Los Angeles to Tokyo and is now the founder of CineYama, an independent cinema in Uenohara, Yamanashi Prefecture, Japan. His words have been edited for length and clarity.

Japan isn't new to me. In middle school, I spent two weeks living with a host family as part of an exchange program. I returned a couple of times as an adult.

I was working at Netflix in Los Angeles when the company relocated me to Japan in 2020. I was based in Tokyo for two years before moving to Uenohara, a small town about an hour and a half by train from Tokyo. I still spent time in the capital for occasional meetings and traveled extensively across Asia for screenings. Otherwise, I worked remotely from home. After a company restructuring, I left Netflix in 2024.

I wanted to stay in Japan. My daughter was six months old when my wife and I moved, and my son was born three years later. We thought it was a great place for them to grow up. I started thinking about how I could utilize my expertise in cinema and give back to the community.

While scouting for locations, I came across an abandoned kindergarten. In 2024, I started plans to turn the old school into a cinema. And in December, I got my permanent residency in Japan through the highly skilled professional fast-track program. A year later, I formed my company and spent another year renovating before opening a cinema in March.

Building my career in film

I spent most of my childhood in Michigan, in the Detroit area. My father was a professor of international business. He traveled for work often. It got me curious about the world around me.

At 23, I came across the Detroit Film Center and took a filmmaking course. A year later, I became a teacher and worked as a projectionist there. Through that, I started working at an independent art theater in the Detroit suburbs. I started as an usher, then became the theater manager.

Within the two years of working there, I fell in love with the film world. At 25, I renovated an old school's auditorium into a theater in Michigan using my savings. The theater ran for two years, but after disputes with the landlord, it closed.

I was looking for a fresh start, so in 2011, I moved to Los Angeles. At first, I knocked on the doors of all the film distributors I'd worked with until I met some people at an independent film distribution company. I joined as an intern and worked my way up. I landed a job on Netflix's creative team two years later.

The journey to opening a cinema in Japan

Getting the permit to renovate the abandoned kindergarten was a long process. I had to negotiate with officials at city hall and the residents about how I'd use the building, establish the company, deal with fire and health regulations, and construction in a language I don't speak fluently.

I learned that pushing harder is not necessarily what gets things done in Japan. It was about patience, building trust, and showing people that I was serious and that the project wasn't going to disappear in six months.

There were days when I wondered why I had chosen to make my life so difficult. But every milestone, from getting the building, the inspection, installing the projector, and finally opening the doors, made me more determined.

When the cinema first opened, the elderly residents seemed cautious. After a preview, they told me they were impressed to see the place cleaned up and put back into use. It's important for me to have screenings that kids and families can come to and enjoy the space.

Tickets cost 1,500 Japanese yen, or about $9.50. We offer a discount to seniors and residents. I stick with showing content that is harder to find elsewhere, so that it gives viewers a perspective on other ways of life and culture.

It's mostly family-run. I manage the operations, and my wife helps out sometimes. My kids stamp the tickets when they're around.

Living up to the challenge

Opening the theater in the US was different from doing it in Japan. I was in my 20s, had little money, and was just figuring things out in Detroit. The one in Japan came after 15 years of working in film distribution, creative production, and international screenings.

It's been exciting living over here, having the cinema, and meeting people from all over the world. While life in the US would've been much easier, I like the challenges in Japan. That's why I was at Netflix for so long, because it wasn't an easy job either. I learned life in hard mode.

• Lonni Pike got sober at 51 after years of addiction and felt ready for a fresh start.
• She rejected expectations that older women should dress conservatively or fade into the background.
• Now 62, she's a fashion influencer, Twitch gamer, and advocate for aging on her own terms.

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

Eleven years ago, when I was 51, I got sober after years of struggling with addiction. I felt vibrant again and ready for my life to start.

What I was met with was messaging on TV, social media, and even in day-to-day life that I had missed the train. I was too old, too boring, and I would just need to move along.

Everything associated with women and aging seemed to be negative. Even women themselves were negative about aging, and started hiding away, blending in, or getting treatments to chase youth.

But that wasn't going to be me. I was tenacious and determined to live the life I had another chance at.

I started expressing myself through fashion

Loving fashion, I started finding clothes that told the world who I was. Fashion is much more than clothing — it's the way people feel about themselves.

Most women my age had given in to the expectation that an aging woman is meant to be drab and boring.

For a bit of fun, I went to a clothing store and asked a staff member to help me find something to wear. She chose a pair of tan pants and a button-up, plain top, with a pair of loafers.

We are told not to show our arms because they are too flabby, not to wear miniskirts because our legs should not be seen, and to avoid bold colors so we don't stand out in a crowd.

I'd break out of this noise and dress in a way that made me feel good about myself.

With the help of my son, who studied broadcast journalism, I started posting on social media about what I was wearing.

I remember people telling me I looked like I was dressing like a teenager, or asking why I was wearing men's clothing. I often responded by saying that clothes don't have an age or gender, and that I was dressing to represent myself.

I've now created a community, mostly of women, who are watching my content and being reminded that aging isn't something to fear. It isn't the end.

My quest to age in the way I wanted didn't end with fashion

I shaved my head because I hated my hair and felt that a buzz cut would make me feel more like I felt inside.

Three years ago, I started a gaming channel, and I've become a TikTok gaming live pro and Twitch partner.

My sons had always played video games, and it looked really fun. But I knew it was a notoriously young crowd. I asked if I was too old to game. It was when I found another gamer, Tactical Grandma, who was around my age, that I knew I should try it.

I started solo hiking because, after getting sober, I needed that time alone outside, moving, to reflect. Slowly, I built up my fitness.

In October, I'll run my first 5 K. This was a goal I had after watching people run a half-marathon. I thought half-marathoners would be young and super fit, but there are so many different ages and shapes.

Having gotten tattoos for years, I was determined to continue getting them as I aged. They are my life's journey inked out on my skin. I don't worry about the wrinkles or a changing body shape that might alter how they look. The canvas the tattoos are on doesn't have to be perfect — I love the tattoos for what they represent, not for how aesthetically pleasing they are to other people.

Next month, I plan to get bird tattoos along the right side of my neck.

As I continue to age, I want to be louder. Not "in your face" kind of loud, but I do want to talk more frequently about aging.

Women can be comfortable getting older. They don't need to be perfect to be beautiful. In the world of AI, injectables, and cosmetic procedures, this is a powerful message.

It seems that growing old is becoming a dying art. That's why I want to pop up in their feeds to say that none of it's true. Aging doesn't have to be something we dread.

Sometimes, my body doesn't keep up with my brain. Running had been hard and ruined my feet. Gaming for eight hours a day has been hard on my body. And that's OK — I'll pivot and pursue something else instead.

I tried new things in my 50s and 60s, and I'll continue fearlessly trying more until I can't anymore.

• My siblings and I are all adults with our own families, careers, and mortgages.
• Time with just us and our parents is rare, but special.
• It reminds me of where I came from, and of younger versions of myself.

When my mom was younger and my siblings and I moved out, she really struggled with empty-nest syndrome. Now that I'm a mom of three myself, I can totally appreciate how she must have felt.

As a parent, you pour so much of your love, time, and energy into your kids. And then one day, they leave. I imagine it must feel incredibly strange. I already dread the day my babies leave the nest, to the point where I sometimes cry to my husband about it.

The other day, I was having one of those moments, sobbing on the bed, when my husband found me. I told him how I felt, and he said, "For God's sake, honey, our youngest is four! You have at least another 14 years with her at home." Fair point.

Time with just my parents and siblings is rare

Now that my siblings and I all have families of our own, the time we have with my folks is often chaotic. Inevitably, one of the grandkids is throwing a tantrum, complaining about being hungry, or announcing they need the toilet, and conversations are often start-stop affairs.

But a few years ago, I had an epiphany. It was my sister's 50th birthday, and we were in Bali with all the extended family. To celebrate, we went out for dinner, just the original six of us — Mom, Dad, and the four of us siblings.

It was one of the most incredible nights. We told stories from childhood, talked about getting older, and shared what actually makes us happy and what we love about each other. There were tears and plenty of laughter.

Afterwards, I realized how much I'd missed my original people. The ones who've known me the longest. The people who remember what I was like as a naughty four-year-old who would scream the F-word in the supermarket if I didn't get lollies, or as a pimply teenager going through puberty. The people who knew me before I had a husband, children, a career, a mortgage, responsibilities, or any real idea of who I was or where life would take me.

As adults, we inevitably morph into different versions of our younger selves. We form new identities, build our own lives and our own ideas.

But there's something so incredibly beautiful about being able to return to those younger versions of yourself, if only for a few hours. For me, I've always been the baby of the family, and somehow, if I'm alone with my parents and siblings, I revert straight back into that role. Goo goo, ga ga. Even at 41, I'll always be the baby of the family.

Spending time together is special for all of us

Since that dinner all those years ago, I've made a concerted effort to organize catch-ups with the original clan only. Partners and children know they're not invited, which I'm sure has offended a few people along the way, but nowadays the spouses are used to it.

My sister lives in Africa, and we are all in Australia, so getting us all together can be tricky. But when we do, we have the best time. There's always a lot of reminiscing and laughing. Often, too, a few inappropriate jokes, and inevitably, the occasional argument or two.

I think for my folks, who are now in their 70s and 80s, these moments are golden. There's no doubt they adore the grandkids and partners. But there's something different about having their kids all to themselves for a couple of hours.

No tantrums. No one cartwheeling through the living room as we attempt a conversation. Just us.

At the end of the day, no matter how old we get, we'll always be their kids. You can grow up, move away, become a wife and mother, and build an entirely new life. But when we're all together again, somehow it feels exactly the same.

• I remember how overwhelming motherhood was, and I see my sons facing similar challenges.
• I sometimes disagree with their parenting decisions, but try to listen instead of offering advice.
• I'm learning that supporting my adult children means giving them room to make their own choices.

I remember vividly how hard the preschool years were.

My world was turned upside down while my husband's life remained virtually unchanged. I was swamped with diaper changes, feeding, bathing, and preparing for my fifth-grade class the next day.

He accepted a longer commute so we could live closer to my work and both of our families for support. His impediments consisted of challenging weather and swerving to avoid wildlife, but mostly he enjoyed driving to his tunes without kids whining or fighting in the back seat, something I would have traded my right arm for on many occasions.

He came home to a home-cooked meal and continued playing hockey with the guys a couple of nights a week. He was no deadbeat, though — he put in long, physically demanding days working outdoors in all weather. Then on weekends, he kept up with the seasonal demands of our 23-acre property.

In those early years, his help with household chores and children was minimal. It was our system, and not uncommon in our generation.

My sons are more involved parents

Thankfully, gender roles have changed since then, and a generation later, my sons have taken on more significant parental duties. It is not for me to judge whether they do their fair share, but they certainly do more meal-making, cleaning, and childcare than their dad did.

I also remember my delusion of believing I would be a better mom than my mom was. I thought I could be more emotionally present, able to provide and respond to my kids' every physical, mental, and emotional need.

I juggled raising three rambunctious boys alongside my often absent husband while aspiring to be a perfect mom and teacher. Something had to give, and I refused to let it be family, so when my burnout was diagnosed and labeled as depression, I took a sick leave from work. Creative workshops, me-time, time with family, and a diet-and-exercise reset helped me recover enough to return to work, choosing part-time to avoid the same pitfalls.

My mother's unconditional support was essential, and so was learning to ask for help

This is the point where I became more forgiving of my mother for not meeting all of my emotional needs growing up. I finally understood that I could not be all things to everyone, and despite my resistance, I still needed my mother's support to deal with all of it. I felt both too proud to ask for help and humbly grateful to accept it.

My mom never judged me. She calmly listened and offered support, something I have always deeply appreciated. I was too proud to confide my deepest insecurities, and she never pried. I hid my low self-esteem and low self-confidence by projecting false bravado to the world, but I'm sure she saw right through me. Her unconditional love and support generated and now drives my need to honor her by paying it forward to my own kids.

My kids are approaching this same point in their lives. Their perfect parenting honeymoon is over, and they often find themselves in survival mode. It is hard to watch as I remember those times well and how hard I fell. It must have been just as difficult for my mom to see.

As I listen to my sons and daughters-in-law share their challenges, I remember how the business of meal prep, naps, bathing, grooming, and potty training takes up so much mental space. Previously able to eat and sleep according to your own goings-on, you suddenly pivot to adapting to the kids' needs and current schedule. Although I hear them proudly declare they are handling it, they underestimate my ability to read their betraying eyes.

I'm trying my best to pay it forward without losing myself

I am careful about offering unsolicited advice. I want to be supportive without meddling, so heeding the fact that I have two ears and one mouth, I try to listen twice as much as I speak. Instead of voicing my opinion when I would do things differently, I hold my tongue as I am certain my mom did when she questioned my way of doing things.

So many times, I had to be brave, reading the fear in my sons' eyes as they experienced various growing pains, both physical and emotional. I learned to transition from hand-holding to standing by their side to finally letting them go to live their own journey. I must be brave again as I now watch them struggle with their own children's growing pains, knowing that their problems and wounds will increase in direct proportion to their age and physical growth. I will stand by as my mom did, watching my pain, powerless to protect me, knowing I had to learn on my own.

I am also mindful not to forsake my whole life for them. It is important to me to be an honest role model by being just as kind to myself as I am to them, as the analogy goes: put the oxygen mask on yourself before you can save others.

• I've been a doctor for more than a decade and have a family of four.
• I've traded traditional health insurance for direct primary care and a medical cost-sharing group.
• For the first time, I feel like I'm truly in control of our healthcare.

I've spent more than a decade navigating the labyrinth of American healthcare. I've worn the white coat, spent sleepless nights on call, signed the charts, and cared for thousands of patients.

A few years ago, I realized I couldn't keep participating in a system that felt like it was designed to fail the very people it was meant to serve.

Today, my family and I are uninsured in the traditional sense — and I'm confident that it's the best financial and medical decision I've ever made.

I hit my breaking point

For years, I worked in a traditional, insurance-based primary care practice. My days were a blur of 15-minute appointments, dictated not by medical necessity, but by billing codes and insurance reimbursements. I felt completely beholden to the behemoth of corporate medicine. Patients were waiting months to see me and were almost always shortchanged on the time I was able to spend with them.

I felt like the insurance companies were the invisible third party in every exam room, deciding which tests I could order and which medications my patients deserved. I wasn't just a doctor anymore; I was a data-entry clerk for multibillion-dollar payers. The result was a total, soul-crushing burnout that followed me home every night.

On the other side of it, some of my patients were forgoing necessary care because the costs presented to them were simply too high. Did it make sense to spend $300 to check a thyroid test to ensure the $10 per month medication I prescribed was working as it was supposed to? Many patients, rightfully so, decided to spend their money elsewhere.

I knew I had to get out — not just for my own sanity, but to actually provide the type of care I believed in.

Direct primary care offered something different

I eventually traded the treadmill for Direct Primary Care (DPC). In this model, my patients (or their employers or an insurance company) pay a flat monthly membership fee directly to me (around $100 per month). This type of care is affordable— my current patient panel includes attorneys, electricians, teachers, and retirees. There are no co-pays, no deductibles, and most importantly, no insurance companies breathing down my neck.

The difference was night and day. Without the administrative bloat of insurance billing, I finally became the doctor I trained to be:

• Time: I went from seeing 20 patients a day to seeing six or eight.
• Access: My patients can text me directly. We have hour-long conversations instead of 10-minute sprints.
• Cost: By cutting out the intermediary, I'm able to offer wholesale pricing on labs and imaging that are often 90% cheaper than hospital rates. That $300 thyroid test from my previous job? I now offer that for $8.

I took my own family off the grid

Once I saw how much better medicine functioned without traditional insurance interference, I took the ultimate leap. I took my wife and children, now 9 and 6, off our health insurance plan.

Instead, we joined a medical cost-sharing community. It isn't insurance; it's a community of members who share each other's large, unexpected medical expenses. When I combined a DPC membership for our routine care with a health share for the big stuff, I realized I had found a better way to protect my family — and was paying far, far less for it.

The math backs up my decision

To understand why we left, look at the cost of childbirth. When our first child was born under a supposedly high-end traditional insurance plan, we still walked away owing about $10,000 after paying our insurance premiums. We were paying twice: once for the premium and again for the actual care.

My wife spent hours of her precious maternity leave arguing with insurance companies about the services we received in the hospital. When our infant son was hospitalized a few months later, she was back on the phone again, having to advocate for his coverage during the time of a family crisis. We spent years paying off the cost of the birth and his illness.

With our second child, we looked at the numbers through the lens of a cost-share program. On a plan like ours, the Initial Unshareable Amount (IUA) — the part we pay before the community kicks in — was only $1,500.

Beyond that $1,500, the community shared the rest. We didn't have to spend my wife's recovery time fighting with a claims adjuster or waiting for pre-authorizations. We knew exactly what our responsibility was, and more importantly, we knew our family was covered by a community, not a corporation.

I feel like I took back control

As a physician, I've seen the insurance trap from both sides. We've been conditioned to believe that without a blue or green plastic card in our wallets, we are unsafe.

The reality is that for some, traditional insurance has become a barrier to care rather than a bridge. By opting out and pairing Direct Primary Care with a health share, I've reclaimed my time as a doctor and my peace of mind as a father. I'm no longer waiting for an insurance company to tell me how to care for my kids or my patients. As a doctor and as a father, for the first time in my career, I feel truly secure.

• Where I live, some parents enter a lottery to choose their child's school.
• I expected my son would end up where his older sister is, but he was waitlisted.
• He's now attending our local middle school and I'm seeing some unexpected benefits.

I love living in Washington, DC, but navigating the complex public and charter school admissions system is tough.

Students have the right to attend their neighborhood school, and many do. However, every year thousands of parents choose to apply to public schools in different neighborhoods or publicly funded charter or magnet schools throughout the city.

There are rarely enough spots to meet demand at the more desirable schools or specialty schools, ranging from arts and hospitality to college-prep programs and the sciences. To decide who gets to go where, DC instituted a lottery system.

Parents across the city often create spreadsheets to track programs and their child's odds of getting into a particular program, before entering a lottery, ranking schools in order of preference, and hoping for the best. Such an uncertain system makes planning difficult and sometimes leads to unpleasant surprises. That was the case with my son's foray into middle school.

I thought I had found the perfect middle school for my son

When my son entered his last year of elementary school, I thought I knew what his next steps would be. For years, I assumed that he would follow in his big sister's footsteps and attend an International Baccalaureate charter school starting in 6th grade.

The charter school isn't perfect; no school is. However, my daughter, now a junior, often says she enjoys school, which is a shocking statement for a kid of any age, let alone a teenager. An environment where at least some kids are happy to go every day would be reason enough for me to send my son there. However, I was also convinced the school's rigorous program and strong emphasis on world cultures would be a perfect fit for him. After all, he is a triple citizen and a world traveler at heart. I also appreciate the school's diversity and range of classes, from sneaker culture to advanced sciences.

Although a spot for my son was never guaranteed, I assumed his sibling preference would help secure one. I was in for a rude awakening.

I had to face reality

When my son was put on the waitlist after the first round of admissions, I didn't panic. Instead, I spent most of the summer in denial, convinced that if I just waited long enough, he would get in eventually.

The week before school started, I had to face reality. No spots were available for my son at the school I had grown to love and was convinced would be perfect for him.

Without a viable alternative, I enrolled him in our local middle school, which I thought was very large and very chaotic. I kept telling my son how excited I was for him to start middle school, but I couldn't hide my worry.

I was nervous about sending him to a large school

My son's elementary school had about 400 kids total, from pre-K4 to 5th grade. For a big city, it's a small school where most teachers know all the kids, and the community is tight-knit. I worried about how my son would transition to a large school with nearly 1400 students across just three grades, in a building that occupies nearly an entire city block. Despite my worry, he walked in with confidence on his first day.

Not everything about such a big change was easy. My son got lost a few times trying to find his classes. While many of the other incoming sixth graders knew each other from elementary school, my son didn't know a soul. He was upset when recess, his favorite part of the day, was cut short because other kids wouldn't stop talking. It's almost impossible to get a timely email response from the school administration, who seem swamped by the sheer number of students. Still, my son rolled with the punches and started to adjust.

I now see the benefits of a neighborhood school

Even though my son had to start his middle school social life from scratch, he quickly found his crew: other kids who love soccer. He first spotted potential friends by looking for kids wearing Real Madrid jerseys and kicking a soccer ball around at recess. Once he found his tribe, he could easily meet friends after school for walks to our local playground and pizza shop. Those are things he wouldn't have been able to do if he had gotten into the school I had been hoping for, which draws students from across the city. Within a few weeks, he rattled off at least a dozen new friends' names. I wondered whether he could have made friends as easily at the smaller charter school I wanted him to go to, with a smaller pool of potential friends.

I also appreciate the resources such a big school has, including a range of after-school activities. Although my son hasn't wanted to try most of them, I appreciate that options like an archery team and a Rubik's Cube club are available to him.

There are other benefits as well. Because our neighborhood is just over a mile from our home, my son can easily walk or take a short bus ride there and back, giving him even more independence. Not having to drive him saves me at least seven hours a week, and the school's proximity to our house gives my son more free time.

Now that we are well into the school year, I realize I should have given my son more credit for adaptability. I also should have been more open-minded about what kind of school would be "right" for my son. Although I am still sad that he doesn't get to attend the same school as his sister, I now know there is more than one answer to what makes a good school.

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.

When I wrote "Diary of a Wimpy Kid," I worked on it for eight or nine years without thinking I was writing a book for kids.

I thought I was writing a book for grown-ups that would feel like "The Wonder Years" or "A Christmas Story" — looking back on childhood through the lens of an adult.

The first thing that surprised me was that my publisher said I'd actually written a children's series; it caused a lot of cognitive dissonance.

But what also surprised me was that kids understood the irony in the books. They understand that Greg is an unreliable narrator; they seem to get the joke.

After writing the series, and after raising two kids of my own — ages 21 and 23 — I've learned a few things about kids. Here's my best advice about getting kids to read, screen time, and more — plus a few things I'd go back and change if I could.

1. To get kids to read, feed their interests

I recently heard author Jack Gantos say that after dinner, he and his family would get out their books and read. I think that's really cool and also very old-fashioned, in a way. I wish we'd done it when raising our kids.

With reading, I think the most important thing you can do is feed your kids' interests, whether they're interested in Pokémon cards or sharks or tornadoes. Get them books or magazines that speak to their interests, rather than trying to give them books that we read as kids or books that are too high-minded for their age level.

A lot of authors who write for kids start with some sort of a lesson, and there's a time and place for that. But kids read for the same reason that adults read: to be entertained. If we start from a position of trying to teach kids a lesson, they'll sniff that out and turn away from it.

It's really important to encourage kids down a path that gets them reaching for the next book. I want them to feel a feeling of success in having finished a book because that's an important act of completion. But mostly, I'd like them to keep reading, whatever form that might take.

2. Listen to them

In everyday parenting, sitting at dinner with our kids and hearing about their day without judgment is a really good foundation. Just about everything that kids today are going through, we've been through in some form. The most powerful thing that we can say to kids is "I understand," or "I've been there myself," and share stories, making sure that they feel seen and heard.

As parents, we should make ourselves vulnerable to our kids by telling them about the struggles that we went through.

If we do that without moralizing and without judgment, I think it draws us closer to our kids and turns us into a resource for them.

3. Envision your future relationship

I've always thought about my relationship with my kids by imagining, How do I want our relationship to look when my kids are adults? I've tried to anticipate that and treat my kids that way the whole time.

I think it's working out because my kids will call me and want to go see the Patriots or the Celtics with me. I think that's partially because I've always had this version of our relationship in mind.

4. Don't get too wrapped up in kids' sports

As parents, we live and die by our kids' successes in sports. I certainly got too caught up in it and couldn't really anticipate that there would be a life beyond sports for my kids.

If I were to go back in time, I probably would change my approach on that. We like to see our kids succeed, and of course, sports is a big stage where there's a lot wrapped up in their success, including social issues and self-esteem.

When our kids are thriving, we feel really good for them, and when they're failing, it's tough for them and us. I can understand why that happens with parents, but I can also see that it's good to take a step back.

5. Help them understand that social media manipulates

Social media bullying is something that we never had to face growing up, and it's really unfortunate and damaging.

Screen time has changed things — you see studies finding that kids are dating a lot less, and there's a loneliness epidemic.

As parents, we can help kids by educating them and helping them understand that social media companies are incentivized to make you spend more time on your screens. The more that my kids, who grew up immersed in the social media world, began to understand that, the more they wanted to move away from it.

They get out there in the world — touch grass, play sports, and pick up basketball. My son will put lockouts on his social media.

It's important for us to think for ourselves before we turn to AI

As AI becomes a part of schoolwork and daily life, my concern is that AI makes a lot of things very easy.

At times, I look for solutions through AI that I could conjure up myself, so I worry about how that rewires the brain when you feel like there's always an agent that can solve your problem for you. It could reduce your own capacity for problem-solving.

It's really important for kids to be able to think for themselves before turning to the tool.

To counteract that, getting out in the world and interacting with one another is really important. Put kids into social situations; for example, my son has been working as a bookseller this past year, where he's had to interact with lots of different types of people and solve problems.

A lot of kids or young people in this generation are more isolated. They spend a lot more time in their rooms on their phones, and so I think that getting them out there interacting with other human beings is going to give them a competitive advantage.

• Danielle Fewings, founder of Get Clear Beauty, has invested in cosmetic treatments since she was 27.
• Fewings' journey with aesthetic procedures began with a breast reduction and includes Botox and filler.
• Her $150,000 investment in herself has supported both personal confidence and professional success.

This as-told-to essay is based on a conversation with Danielle Fewings, a 40-year-old entrepreneur from New York City. The following has been edited for length and clarity.

I started my career in digital marketing and ran my own agency from 2020 until 2025, when I sold it. I'm now the founder of Get Clear Beauty, an aesthetic treatment marketplace, which I started in 2026.

I've always felt like there was something missing from my appearance, as if someone much more confident was buried beneath it all. I got my first procedure done in 2013 and have had many since.

I don't regret any of them.

I'm the most treatment‑forward person in almost every room I'm in

In my broader New York circle, routine maintenance is completely normal. People are getting Botox and lip filler, and a few have had breast augmentations. Most are dipping in rather than going all in.

I'm honestly the most treatment-forward person in almost every room I'm in. In any given conversation, I'm the one who's had the most work done, which is a little wild when I think about it.

For most of the people I know, the max is Botox. Routine maintenance is common around me, but no one I'm close to has done anywhere near as much as I have.

My first major decision was my breast reduction at 27

I wore a 32G and desperately wanted them smaller. I call this my gateway surgery because it was honestly a very easy recovery, so I had this ease as the template, which gave me the confidence to keep pursuing additional treatments.

It made me more willing to put myself out there, both in dating and especially in showing up online to create content for my business, which matters enormously when you're building something. It shifted how I approach relationships, too, both friendships and romantic ones.

When you feel confident inside and out, you see yourself as more valuable, recognize your worth, and become more selective about who you let into your life. As I've felt better about myself, I've been more intentional about the relationships I keep close, and I see a direct correlation between the two.

I've never made decisions due to outside pressure

My choices have always been personal. I've never done any of this for another person or because of outside pressure. It has always been about putting my best self forward, and if that takes some tweaks and some money, I'm willing to do it.

I'm a very confident person — I just haven't accepted every imperfection. My upper blepharoplasty is a good example: most people would say I didn't need it, and they would be right, because no one needs any of these things. I wanted it. My eyelids felt heavy, and I chose to change that.

I'm fully committed to antiaging and the maintenance it requires. I go to my quarterly Botox appointments and my annual lip filler appointments, and I'll be ready for a facelift when that time comes. The idea that aging gracefully means avoiding treatments is absurd; aging gracefully is doing whatever feels good to you as an individual.

The cost breakdown

Because my first breast surgery was a reduction, I paid $6,000 out of pocket, and my insurance covered the rest. I had a full-body makeover in the Dominican Republic, which included a tummy tuck, skin tightening, and two further breast surgeries after major weight loss, costing around $12,000. I've also had liposuction, scar revision, an upper blepharoplasty, Sculptra and filler, a Morpheus8 treatment on my legs, tattoo removal, lip blushing, microblading and shading, Invisalign, and teeth whitening. These procedures have cost about $50,000 in total.

The maintenance I keep up with regularly includes manicures and pedicures, which I have gotten every two weeks for the past 10 years; lash extensions, which I have gotten every three weeks for about 15 years; Botox; more filler; peels and lasers; tanning; and haircuts. The recurring maintenance has cost about $105,000 over time.

What struck me is that the one-time procedures come to about $50,000, but the quiet, recurring maintenance is over $100,000. The costs nobody tracks are the ones that add up the most. That is exactly why I built Get Clear Beauty.

Each procedure served a purpose

My whole philosophy has been doing high-maintenance things to stay low-maintenance. The lashes, manicures and pedicures, lip blushing, and microblading are all upkeep that let me feel put-together with minimal effort, and because of them, I barely wear makeup, so some of that cost is a trade-off.

The bigger procedures came from real changes in my body. My weight has gone up and down for years, and that has driven a lot of it. The Morpheus8 on my legs was for skin laxity, because I'm not ready for a leg lift and probably don't need one. I've had three breast surgeries total.

I'd never do CoolSculpting, and I'd never have a nose job. I don't think CoolSculpting is cost-effective, and I've grown to love my nose.

My appearance impacts confidence, and confidence impacts business

When you're on 15 Zooms a week and constantly recording content to win business, looking and feeling your best matters.

Appearance affects business outcomes, but for me, it works through confidence. When I feel good about how I'm showing up, I represent my company more powerfully and carry my knowledge into the room in a way that lands.

I love how I look. 10 years ago, I never thought looking this way was achievable, and it's the result of a GLP-1 medication, surgeries, and really taking my appearance by the horns. I'm in a genuinely happy place with it.

• 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.