Small Step No. 15: You Doing You

One of my most frequently asked questions in a podcast interview or Q&A session is always some measured form of this: OK, yes. I get it. I see the importance here. But how do I get my spouse/roommate/community to support and adapt to my decision to live more simply? How do I live as a

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Hospitality for Introverts

I am forever wondering if our quest for self-exploration has become burdensome, backwards. Enneagrams, Myers-Briggs – the idea of whittling down our complex personalities to a number and a few letters. Are we placing boundaries where they weren’t intended; living within confines that needn’t be there? While I love nothing better than a tidy definition

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The Simplest Party Idea Ever

Your husband is recovering from pneumonia slowly. He is tired. He is stressed. On his desk are stacks of envelopes, invoices, important-looking papers. His birthday is in eight days, and you wonder if you should shelf the celebration for a better time. (There is no better time.) — You text the wives of his friends:

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Small Step No. 10

There’s a tried-and-true tip I’ve often heard from seasoned married folks, one of which is guaranteed to keep arguments fair, gentle and in-the-moment (rather than relying on cheap shots and past scripts), and it is simply this: Avoid two words: (1) Always and (2) Never. There are a few obvious reasons here, one of which

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For Me

One of the greatest shifts in my marriage, possibly in my adulthood as a whole, has also been one of the smallest shifts. It has slipped by unnoticed in the mundane tasks of laundry cycles and dish duty, a simple phrase that has ever so slightly changed the energy in our home: I’m doing this

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Love & Trash

When I think of love, I think of trash. — I’ve never believed in soul mates, not really. I believe in compatibility and commitment, in choice and work. I believe in the partnership of marriage — two people walking hand in hand not in an attempt to complete each other, but in an attempt to

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The Cliff

Ken used to tease me mercilessly (justifiably) for my choices in footwear. Once, on a Saturday afternoon in Los Angeles, we threw a chunk of marble cheese and some sourdough into a picnic basket and headed for our favorite cliff. You’re wearing those? he’d ask, eyeing my wedges. They’re cute! I’d say. You’re gonna look

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