for Good Housekeeping

If pop culture is to be taken seriously, a woman’s twenties are supposed to be the most joyfully reckless years of her life. When I was a teenager, I hoped I would spend my twenties writing the next Great American Novel by day and drinking in impossibly hip bars by night. I would date a series of increasingly handsome, intelligent, and kind men. Presumably, I would settle down with one of them at some point, though my fantasies never really got past the “increasingly handsome men” part (continued).