• Barry Garapedian is a mentor for affluent teens and young adults.
• He says teens should learn to be of value to others.
• Going first and getting out of their comfort zone can help build confidence.

This as-told-to essay is based on a conversation with Barry Garapedian, author of "Winning the Game of Life: The Seven Lessons You Never Learn in School." It has been edited for length and clarity.

I used to work on Wall Street as a wealth manager, but my real passion was family governance — helping affluent families outline their values and family beliefs. For 40 years, I helped families draft constitutions that would govern them. The constitutions are based on seven pillars: family, faith, friends, fitness, financial, fun, and philanthropy.

It sounds grand, but a constitution can contain small things that demonstrate your family values. Mine, for example, dictates that we always drop off and pick up a family member traveling through to the airport. It's a way to show we care and be of service to our family.

Today, I'm 67 (or, as I like to say, Barry version 6.7), and I work with affluent young people (ages 14 to 30) on their personal and professional development. I structure my approach around the seven pillars, but also believe there are specific lessons young people need to succeed.

Here are five lessons every parent should teach their teens before college.

Get outside your comfort zone

Getting outside your comfort zone takes courage, and courage builds confidence. It's essential that young people have confidence in themselves personally and professionally.

I have every young person I work with build a vision board, collecting 20 images of things that will empower them. One of those things must be an impossible goal — something that seems so big it's hard to imagine. Just naming that goal is stepping out of the comfort zone, and it encourages big-picture thinking.

The youth I work with keep their vision boards as the lockscreen on their phones. I do the same thing — my vision board has pictures related to books, fitness, unprocessed foods, and discipline. I'm reminded of my goals every time I look at my phone.

Practice going first

Future leaders need to be comfortable, well, leading. So, I encourage people to practice that on the micro level by going first whenever they can. Teach your teens to initiate things — whether it's a handshake during an internship meeting, saying good morning to a teacher, or offering to press the buttons for the other people in an elevator. Over time, these small tasks build confidence and create a leadership mindset.

Be of value to others

Creating value for others is the best way to make yourself successful. There are three types of value: material/financial, emotional, and spiritual. Even affluent young people don't have much money but should learn to provide emotional or spiritual value to people around them.

Another way to put this: teach your teens to be more interested than interesting. Ask people about themselves. Recommend them a book. Make yourself someone others turn to.

Exceed expectations on purpose

When you exceed expectations, people are thrilled — and they value you. It feels really nice to make someone else feel good, which is why young people should learn to exceed expectations on purpose. I call this intentionally creating lightning strikes.

My kids are now 28 and 30, but when they were younger, and someone visited our home, they would ask for the car keys and clean the visitor's car. It made the visitor happy and helped my kids stand out. Lightning strikes don't have to be this grand — they can be as simple as calling a grandparent to say hi or sending a handwritten note.

Build good habits step by step

I usually work with young people for a year at a time. It takes about 60 to 90 days to form a new habit, so over the course of the year, we focus on building four new high-performance habits. Adding one at a time doesn't feel overwhelming, but creating four new habits a year makes a difference in their lives.

Start small: Have your teen make their bed every day. Or, make it automatic that they clear the table after dinner. Over time, these changes add up for them and you.

True success is about creating value for others and standing out. With these lessons, your teen can be well on the path to a successful future — whatever that means to them.

• Sabel Bezet's parents are entrepreneurs who are multimillionaires.
• She married a pastor when she was 20, and today their household income is modest.
• She's content being able to spend more time with her kids.

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

When I was growing up, my parents were focused on building their business. They overcame bankruptcy when I was young and went on to found a debt settlement company that's now valued at $50 million.

My siblings and I had access to things other kids didn't have, like family trips to Europe and luxury items in our home. But my parents invested so much time in the business that they sacrificed quality time with us. Often, we spent more time with the nanny than with Mom and Dad.

I don't feel that I lacked anything as a child. Still, I've taken a different approach to life as an adult, especially now that I'm a mom to two kids, a 6-month-old and a 2-year-old. I want to focus on spending quality time with my kids every day, even if that comes at the expense of monetary wealth.

My husband and I talked about money from the start

I met my now-husband, Jordan, when we were teenagers. We went to the same church, and our parents were close. We started dating in my senior year of high school, when Jordan was in college.

Jordan knew, even then, that he wanted to be a pastor. He was never intimidated by my family's financial status, but he did bring it up early on while we were dating. He warned me that, as his wife, my lifestyle might look different from what I was accustomed to.

I didn't mind — I've never been motivated by money, and I didn't let fear lead me. I knew a life with Jordan would be rich in currencies like love and purpose.

I'm middle-class these days

Today, Jordan is a pastor. Just over 18 months ago, I quit my job to focus on my family. Our household income is just below the median income for US households.

Growing up, my family never budgeted because they didn't have to. When Jordan and I were first married, he taught me about budgeting. He explained that we had a set income and bills that absolutely had to be paid. There wasn't a lot of wiggle room.

Still, we're able to manage our money well, in part because of lessons I've learned from my parents. Though I didn't learn budgeting from them, my parents taught me other financial lessons, like the importance of giving. They always tithe 10% of their income, and Jordan and I do the same. We save another 10% for retirement and investing, and live off the remaining 80%.

We live in Florida, in a nice four-bedroom, three-bathroom house. We have a mortgage on it, but were able to afford a bigger house after making a profit when we sold our starter home. Overall, we don't want for much.

We still have some access to wealth

I can still access many of the nice things wealth brings because of my parents. They don't support us financially — it was important for me and Jordan to have our family stand as its own unit. Still, their wealth impacts us in other ways.

In March, my parents flew us to Vail, Colorado, to stay with them in the Ritz and go skiing. It was definitely ritzy, pun intended. In August, we're planning a trip to their vacation home in Montana. We can also consult their wealth advisors whenever we want, which is useful even though our limited investment portfolio looks very different from my parents'.

Because of how I was raised, I have expensive tastes. I appreciate quality items, even though my wallet doesn't always support them. I might have to save a bit longer, but I try to shop intentionally and choose items I love.

My mom's love language is gift giving, so she spoils me and my daughters. For my birthday, she got me a Lola Blanket, which can cost $250 or more. I wouldn't have spent that money on a blanket that will be on the couch in a home with two kids, but it has brought me so much joy.

I believe richness isn't just about money

I'm incredibly content with my modest life. Watching my parents' entrepreneurship journey showed me that quality time with loved ones is important. Money is too, but I'm conscious about balancing both. Recently, I started a Substack, which may eventually create income. If it does, that's an efficient way for me to make some money, without sacrificing quality time with my daughters.

To me, the word "rich" is multifaceted. Richness isn't just dollars, but quality time and love. Sometimes, those things go further than money ever could.

• Nur Anderson is the founder of Can't Relate, a fashion brand.
• He knew he wanted to be financially stable — hitting $1 million in sales — before having kids.
• He says the decision is not just about money, but also time and energy.

This as-told-to essay is based on a conversation with Nur Anderson, founder of Can't Relate. It has been edited for length and clarity.

I grew up in a pretty typical household, where my parents worked hard to give me, my brother, and my sister the things we really wanted. I appreciated how hard they worked, but I also had very expensive taste. I was into fashion and wanted everything Prada and Gucci.

I started working young to support my habit. When I was 14, I got a job selling jeans, making about $7 an hour. I had to work nonstop to afford the $800 sneakers I wanted. It was always the kicks for me. If my mom found a receipt, I'd make up some excuse, like, "Oh, they were on sale; I didn't really pay that."

My dad was a mechanic and a Vietnam vet. He was steady. My mom had the hustle. She managed a telemarketing firm, so she knew about sales. From her, I learned how to strive in order to get ahead.

I started my brand after my brother's death

In high school, I had two loves: basketball and fashion. I worked in high-end retail jobs and played as much ball as possible until an injury put me on the sidelines. After that, I knew clothing would be my career.

I tried college but quickly dropped out. Then, when I was 22, my life changed. My brother Malik, who was 26, was shot and killed during an argument. Malik was my best friend. After losing him, I didn't know what to do, so I joined the Army Reserves.

There, I started to think about creating a clothing brand with the mission of ending senseless gun violence. It would be a way to combine my love of clothing and my love for my brother and keep Malik's memory alive. Can't Relate officially started back in 2017. Today, the brand is worth about $1.6 million.

I didn't want to even consider kids while I was growing my company

As an adult, I've been really intentional about my choices. After Malik died, I felt a lot of responsibility for my family. My dad had also died young, so I knew I had to take care of my mom and sister. If I had a child too early, I might never be able to thrive financially the way that I wanted to and needed to for my family.

So, I started saying that I wasn't going to have a child until my company was doing $1 million in sales. The money was one thing, but I also knew that until the company was established at that level, I wouldn't have the time to raise a family. Growing a company and growing a family are both challenging and I want to give each my all.

I still have a fatherly role — and plan to have kids someday

In the meantime, I spend a lot of time with my nephews, who are 10, 4, and 2. My oldest nephew Zach says he's going to take over the business someday. That's so exciting for me to hear. Still, I do want kids of my own — when the time is right.

I'm also focused on reaching youth I have no relation to — the millions of kids impacted by gun violence. I want teens to know that no matter their circumstances, they can still thrive. Don't let your doubts get in the way of your hopes and dreams.

That's a legacy that my brother and I can both be proud of.

• Francisco Montaño quit his job six years ago when his oldest daughter was sick.
• Last year, he started building video game modifications to connect with his kids.
• He now makes $15,000 a month or more selling the mods.

This as-told-to essay is based on a conversation with Francisco Montaño, who creates game mods under the name Sandi. It has been edited for length and clarity.

When my oldest daughter was about 12, she started having seizures. The doctors weren't sure what was causing them, and there was no way to predict when they could happen. I would start work for the day and have to leave suddenly to take care of her. It was too heavy to balance a job and a sick child, so I quit.

That was about eight years ago. I worked in marketing and only made about $30,000 to $40,000 annually. It wasn't much, especially considering the high cost of living in San Diego. My wife worked in insurance and was able to support the family on just her income. Plus, we needed the great health insurance her job provided to treat our daughter's seizures.

After I quit, I was able to better support my daughter, and she started experiencing fewer seizures. I knew it was the right decision to stop working. Even as she got better, I continued to stay home with my kids, who are 20, 14, 11, and 3 today.

I started building mods for my daughter during naptime

My kids love video games, especially my 11-year-old, Sophia. Playing games is a way for us to spend quality time together. Last year, I started to think it would be fun to build a game modification (better known as a mod) to surprise Sophia.

A mod allows you to change the experience of a game. I started reading textbooks and watching YouTube to learn how to build mods. I would work on them while my baby napped, since I wasn't used to having an hour of free time. I loved creating something that Sophia enjoyed. Then, I started thinking, "If she likes it, other people might too."

I can make up to $25,000 a month selling mods

My background in marketing was useful. I posted free mods in the game we like to play, "Ark: Survival Ascended." If people liked them and interacted with them a lot, I would expand them. Eventually, that led to the creation of premium mods that people pay for.

I never expected people to enjoy them as much as Sophia and I do, but I was wrong: People love them. My mods have had about 37 million downloads on CurseForge, the platform I use to sell them. I make a residual monthly income of $15,000 to $17,000. When I release a new mod, I make about $10,000 in additional income in the first month.

It's so rewarding to make money while creating something my kids love

It's unbelievable to me that in some months I'm making almost as much as I earned in a full year working a traditional job. Generally, I spend two to three hours building mods each night, usually after the kids are in bed. I don't work on the weekends since that's family time.

When I first started making serious money, I bought my wife a new car. Other than that, I've been very responsible about saving. Most of the money is in a high-yield savings account. I want to grow this as a business, so I'm also contracting with professionals, including a film crew and designers.

Of course, the money is really nice. But building mods also gives me something to keep my brain engaged. My youngest loves to watch Disney movies on repeat, and without a challenge for my mind, I can find myself singing the "Encanto" soundtrack on repeat. Now, I plan new mods during the day to occupy my mind and build them later at night.

The best things the mods have given me are a way to connect with my kids, especially Sophia. She's about to be a teenager, and I know distance will come, so it's incredibly rewarding to create something for her.

• Padideh Jafari is a divorce attorney in Los Angeles.
• She says married people should prioritize their relationship over their career.
• Social media flirting can doom a relationship, she says.

This as-told-to essay is based on a conversation with Padideh Jafari, the founder and CEO of Jafari Law & Mediation Office. It has been edited for length and clarity.

As a divorce attorney, I spend a lot of time thinking about what makes a marriage succeed or fail. We've all heard of hopeless romantics. I like to think of myself as a hopeful romantic — and a realist.

I'm currently married and have been with my partner for six years. Before that, I was single for eight years after divorcing my first husband.

I've made a firm commitment to avoiding the most common mistakes that land couples in my office. Here are the ways that you can avoid them, too, and keep your marriage healthy.

Don't prioritize work (or kids) over your marriage

You absolutely cannot prioritize your career over your marriage. This is true for men and women. One of my clients was a touring musician who spent a lot of time away from home. He was surprised when his wife filed for divorce, but I wasn't. He might have thought he was there for her, but his actions showed he was choosing his career over his family.

The same can be said for kids. Of course you love your children and need to look after their physical and emotional needs, but don't forget your spouse. My nephew has young children, and I regularly watch his kids so he can have one-on-one time with his wife. That's so important.

Don't fall into social media temptation

From reconnecting with old flames to secret messages, social media is fueling modern divorces. As soon as you start checking in on the profile of an old boyfriend or girlfriend, you've crossed a line. Now, instead of thinking about your spouse, you're thinking about this old love. This plants a seed where suddenly you're considering other options and what life might look like with someone other than your spouse.

Social media makes us think that the grass may be greener somewhere else. But as a married person, you should be thinking about your own home — watering and fertilizing your own lawn to make it beautiful alongside your spouse.

Don't just communicate, comprehend

Before I was an attorney, I was a communications major. In both roles, I saw that people often talk without actually listening to what the other person is saying. This can happen in innocent ways, like when we rush to finish our spouse's sentence because we know what they're going to say.

Still, it can lead to frustration and resentment. Try to pause and be present in conversations. Don't make assumptions. Ask your spouse questions to know more.

You can't do this in every conversation, but if you make time to do it each week, you might notice a big difference in the quality of your communication.

Don't rush

You know that old saying, "Only fools rush in"? I've come to believe it's true. If you're going to be together forever, there's no reason to get married quickly.

Instead, take time to see your spouse in different seasons of life, literally and figuratively.

Get to know them in different settings, like with family, friends, and colleagues. Watch how those people interact with your partner, and see what it tells you about the person your partner really is.

This is especially true for second marriages. Statistically, second marriages are even more likely to fail than first marriages, so take time to make sure it's right.

Marriage can be a beautiful thing, but it requires work and intention in addition to love.

• Julie Beckham is a financial educator and mom of two.
• Her daughter is a high school senior, and her son is about to graduate from college.
• She's had honest conversations about the cost of college since they were young.

This as-told-to essay is based on a conversation with Julie Beckham, assistant vice president of financial education and development and strategy officer at Rockland Trust Bank. It has been edited for length and clarity.

I grew up in a middle-class family and was lucky to have my parents pay for my education at New York University. NYU was still expensive back in the 1990s, but it was the type of expensive that a middle-class family could still afford with a moderate amount of sacrifice.

Today, as a financial educator, I still consider myself middle class, but there's no way I could pay the entire cost of college education for my two kids, who are 18 and 21. That's true for many families, thanks to the skyrocketing cost of college.

Because of that, I've been very intentional about talking with my kids about paying for college — from the time they started high school.

Here's how we've planned together to manage the cost.

Choose more affordable schools

Schools with a lower profile yet more affordable tuition can offer a better return on investment for many families. Getting kids to consider these can be tricky since colleges are so good at marketing. Sometimes, going to a "name brand" school is less about the degree and more about the swag.

Ask your kids what they love about a well-known school. Then, provide alternatives that have that same characteristic, at a lower price point. Boston College is popular near where I live because of its football culture, but the same vibe can be found elsewhere for a much lower price.

I've told my kids to consider schools that may not be well-known or have all the swag but are nonetheless special. These schools can give talented students more financial aid and a chance to stand out.

Understand what you can afford, and tell your kids

As my kids approached college age, their dad and I talked about the amount that we could afford to pay toward their education. It's based on what works for each of our budgets.

My kids are expected to pay the difference between the cost of their college and what we're able to cover as their parents.

I recommend parents be very honest about what they can afford, so students can decide whether they're willing to take on student loan debt to cover other costs.

Ditch the guilt about what you can't cover

Sometimes I feel guilty that I can't pay for their whole education. But this is my reality and what I can reasonably afford.

Although I'm a financial educator, I didn't have the means to start saving for college until my kids were in their teens. When I did, it was very simple: transferring a small portion of each paycheck to a savings account I named "college." It wasn't a 529 college savings plan, it wasn't a lot of money, and it wasn't very sophisticated, but it was a start.

It's easy to criticize ourselves as parents, but we need to acknowledge we're often doing the best we can for our kids.

Apply for grants and scholarships

Small grants and scholarships might seem insignificant against the huge bill for college, but they add up. You think $500 isn't going to make a dent, but when you're paying $80 for a book, you realize $500 can be helpful.

I helped my kids apply by researching opportunities, reminding them of deadlines, and encouraging them to work on applications. Sometimes they weren't happy to write another essay, but I reminded them it would take an hour and they could get hundreds of dollars.

Ask for more financial aid

Once you've applied to schools and received your financial aid packages, you might notice significant differences in how much aid your student gets from each school. If that's the case, you can ask a school to match what a comparable school has provided.

I've tried this twice. Once, I called the financial aid office, and they said they couldn't make changes. But another time, I was asked to email the other offer, and they'd see if they could adjust the financial aid package. It never hurts to ask.

Consider graduating early

My son is about to graduate from college a year early, which is a huge savings for our family. He did it by taking advanced placement (AP) classes in high school and earning a few extra credits during college. It was hard work, but it will likely save our family thousands of dollars.

College brings up a lot of feelings for parents and kids. There's so much pressure to get this step right. It's helpful to remember that this is just the first of many steps. Although it feels important, it's the decisions we make every day that really impact our lives.

• Stacey Little is the founder of Southern Bite, a 7-figure food blog and business.
• He grew up in a trailer park and was overwhelmed with debt as a young adult.
• Today, he makes an effort to give back and teach his son financial responsibility.

This as-told-to essay is based on a conversation with Stacey Little, founder of Southern Bite. It has been edited for length and clarity.

To say I grew up poor would be an understatement. I lived in a trailer with my mom and dad and only wore clothes from Walmart. Boxed Mac 'n cheese was a typical dinner, but my mom would make it fancy by adding some pepper.

She was good at infusing fun and excitement into our reality. I loved trekking with her to a nearby gas station. To me, it was an adventure, but in truth, we were going to use the payphone because we had no phone at home.

I was relentlessly bullied at school. One time, in a desperate attempt to help me fit in, my mom opened a credit card to buy me a pair of Levis. I'd never had brand-new jeans. It was such a formative moment because it showed me that it was OK to strive for better things.

I declared bankruptcy after acquiring credit card debt

Our poverty was generational. My grandparents had been in a similar situation. Yet, I knew I wanted something different.

I worked my rear off to go to college. I left with a lot of student debt but a good job working at a nonprofit. I married my high school sweetheart, Heather, and bought a house and cars. I finally felt I had financial security. Then, I lost my job.

I didn't want to move back in with my parents, so I used credit cards to make ends meet. The situation became worse until our son, Jack, was born in 2008. On the day of his birth, I went to the attorney and declared bankruptcy.

I started a food blog that grew quickly

We surrendered our cars and borrowed money from our parents and grandparents to buy beaters that could get us where we needed to go. We were able to keep our house and mortgage, and we had to keep our student loans, too.

Looking at Jack, I knew I wanted him to have it better than I did. I didn't have my mom's gift for making even a tough situation seem fun, so I'd have to make sure his life wasn't as hard.

Around that time, I started a food blog, Southern Bite. It started with restaurant reviews and grew into sharing recipes. I was working all day at a new nonprofit job and working nights and weekends on the blog as it continued to grow. Soon, an editor approached me about writing a cookbook, which in turn led to more of an audience on the blog. It was exciting, but managing my day job and my business was becoming a lot.

I have financial security I never imagined

I was praying for a sign that it was time to quit my job, and it came in a big way: half the staff was laid off with no warning. When I told Heather, she cried, but I felt at peace. I doubled down on the blog and never made less than I'd made at my "real" job.

Today, Southern Bite is a seven-figure business. I've built a home complete with a custom test kitchen, office, and studio. I'm not quite a millionaire personally, but I'm close. My family has financial security I could never have imagined. Not long ago, the idea of walking through a grocery store and not checking prices was unfathomable to me. Now, I can take my family on vacation, something I never experienced as a child.

I want my son to understand his privilege

My son Jack, who's 16 now, is living a life that's so different from mine. I talk with him about money frequently and try to instill perspective and respect. I want him to know most people don't live like this.

Jack's favorite hobby is golf, a sport I never could afford as a teen. When I was in 6th grade, I wanted so badly to go on a field trip to Washington, D.C. It was a rite of passage in our district, but my parents just couldn't afford it, so I didn't go. These days, I can write a check to sponsor Jack's golf tournaments. I've also helped my mom buy a house.

I'm grateful for the financial security my job provides. I also feel like I'm making the world a better place — the same urge that has pushed me toward nonprofits. Sitting down for dinner with loved ones is so important — and it's non-negotiable in my home, every single night.

Food is a conduit through which we can connect with others, and that's worth more than anything.

• Makena Finger Zannini was raised in a conservative evangelical community.
• She went to The Wharton School and worked on Wall Street before founding her company.
• She's planning to have a baby by surrogate, in part thanks to her business success.

This as-told-to essay is based on a conversation with Makena Finger Zannini, founder and CEO of The Boutique COO and Brick by Brick Collective. It has been edited for length and clarity.

I knew from the time I was 5 or 6 that I didn't agree with the principles that I was being raised by. My parents were part of an extremely conservative evangelical community in Pennsylvania Dutch Country. There were more cows than people in the town where I grew up.

As a woman, I was shown few paths. I could become a teacher or a nurse, but it was understood I would quit once I became a mom, just like my own mother had. Obedience was expected, and questioning was discouraged.

By 10, I was planning my way out of that environment. I saw college as my opportunity. I basically put my head down and worked harder than anyone else in my school. I got accepted to The Wharton School at the University of Pennsylvania for my undergrad degree.

I went to Wharton and got a Wall Street job

Being at Wharton was a culture shock. First, I had no idea just what a big deal Wharton was until I met peers who had been working to get in for their whole lives. I couldn't relate to that or a lot of other things my peers talked about. I had barely seen any secular movies or television, and I didn't get a lot of cultural references. Even today, at 29, there's a lot I miss. You can't make up for so much time spent away from mainstream culture.

My parents weren't going to pay for school. Since we were lower income, much of my tuition was covered, and I took out loans to pay for more. I also worked four or five jobs at a time to pay my expenses. For four years, I worked and did school — nothing else.

It paid off when I was offered a Wall Street job after graduation. I was making about $80,000, which was more money than I had ever imagined. I was paying about $1,000 a month in student loans, and living in New York was expensive, but I was still in awe every time I saw thousands of dollars appear in my checking account.

I turned a freelance side hustle into a business

I was still working incredibly hard. In addition to my job on Wall Street and later at a tech company, I was also freelancing. I wanted extra income to pay off those loans and increase my savings.

I was working about 100 hours a week. Eventually, my freelance roster was full. I couldn't squeeze any more hours into my day, so I knew it was time to hire someone. I consider that move, in October 2023, the true start of my business, The Boutique COO. I quit my day job about nine months later.

Today, I have about 120 employees, and the company generates more than $3 million in annual recurring revenue. We just launched a second brand, Brick by Brick Collective.

I'm hiring a surrogate to become a mom

Hitting the million-dollar mark in revenue was a big deal. My husband baked me brownies and wrote $1 million on them in icing. I'm not personally a millionaire (yet), but I can see a path to financial security through my businesses.

But my story isn't shiny and picture-perfect. I don't speak to my parents or three younger siblings. They're evangelical in the truest sense of the word: they even try to convert people at the grocery store. Unfortunately, there's no way for them to accept me if I don't agree with them.

I'm not driven by money or material items. I'm uncomfortable in a too-fancy hotel, but my financial security has allowed me to take care of myself. One key example is that my husband and I have started the process of having a baby via surrogate.

For a long time, I wasn't sure I wanted to be a wife or mom. Now, I'm married and so happy. I want to have a child and see my husband as a dad. Using a surrogate is a luxury, but it feels like a way that I can find my own path to motherhood, different from the one option I was shown as a child. It's expensive, but it's also a way to take care of my mental health. That's worth more to me than a second house or fancy car, and it's something I'll always spend money on.

• Kim Nutter practices marital and family law.
• She explains how return to office orders can impact child support and custody.
• Parents should try to work out changes in mediation, not court, she says.

This as-told-to essay is based on a conversation with Kim Nutter, partner Brinkley Morgan. It has been edited for length and clarity.

Across the country people are being asked to return to the office — even at the law office I work at. It's causing chaos for people who have become used to working at home during the pandemic. Returning to the office can be especially disruptive to parents — including those who have built custody agreements around working from home.

Here's what divorced or never-married co-parents should know about adjusting their schedules and finding a new norm for their family.

Childcare costs impact child support

If you share custody, child support is a shared expense. That means if one parent suddenly needs more paid childcare, there might be adjustments to child support orders. Now, this doesn't mean that you can hire an au pair or nanny and expect your co-parent to pay half. The court usually makes a judgment based on the cost of average childcare in your area — so it's helpful to get quotes from daycares, after-school programs, etc.

Anytime money gets involved, people start to get prickly, which can get in the way of working together to make the best decision for your children. Remember you're not just "giving" this money to your co-parent — you're spending it on your child.

Start slowly with schedule changes

When one parent needs to return to the office, but the other has a more flexible schedule, it can be tempting for that parent to help more with childcare. For example, Dad picks up the kids from school, even on the weeks they're scheduled to be at Mom's. This often makes sense to co-parents who have a good working relationship since it can save money on childcare.

And yet, it can be too much for the child. Sometimes, we ask kids of divorce to pack that proverbial backpack too often. It's a lot to wake up at Mom's, get picked up by Dad, then go back to Mom's to sleep. If you want to try this, start very slowly — with the parent doing pick-up one or two days a week. After a few weeks, check in with your co-parent and see if they've noticed any changes or pushback from your child.

Start with mediation, not court

Courts hate being used for every small decision. Plus, it's costly and time-consuming. Instead of running to courts and lawyers, turn to mediation first. This can mean either working with an attorney who is also a mediator or a family therapist who's a mediator.

If you have a high-conflict relationship with your co-parent, I recommend booking two mediation sessions a week apart. Then, gather your evidence — like estimates for the increased cost of childcare — to help the sessions stay productive and efficient.

Use the spring to plan for the next school year

School schedules for the following year are usually released around April. That makes the spring the perfect time to sit down with your co-parent and hash out the schedule for the next year. If you need special accommodations — like an extra day with the kids when your mother visits — mark that on the calendar now.

There are always surprises in life, but with good planning (and, perhaps, the help of a mediator), you can plan ahead for most of them.

Try to prepare for all scenarios

With kids and families, change is constant. It's normal to have to revisit parenting plans — even those that weren't crafted during a pandemic. After all, when your 9-year-old eventually gets their license, everything is going to change — and that will happen a lot sooner than you think.

Don't just think about the ideal scenario or the next year or two. Consider what happens five or 10 years down the road when someone moves or remarries. If you can agree about how you'll respond to major life changes before they happen, you'll have a framework for moving through them without too much conflict, expense, or court involvement.

• Shauna Sweeney was Global Director of Industry and Community Marketing at Meta.
• Her dad was diagnosed with early-onset Alzheimer's in his late 50s.
• After years of caregiving, she left Meta to create an app to streamline caregiving.

This as-told-to essay is based on a conversation with Shauna Sweeney, founder and CEO of tendercare. It has been edited for length and clarity.

My dad, Mike, is a formidable human. He raised me and my brother as a single dad. He was a bar pilot, navigating massive cargo ships under the Golden Gate Bridge in San Francisco. He loved the work and planned to do it well into his 70s.

Then, a routine physical required for his job turned up concerning results. Further testing showed my dad had early-onset Alzheimer's. He was only in his 50s, and he still seemed so young. He was even an ultra runner.

It was absolutely devastating. I knew that both our lives had changed forever.

I became my dad's caregiver while living on the opposite coast

At the time, I was in a global leadership role at Facebook (which later became Meta). I was flying around the world every other week. At home, my now-husband and I were raising his daughters, who were 6 and 7.

Despite that, it was immediately clear that a lot of the caregiving would fall on me. I have a brother, but these diagnoses hit people differently. He was deep in his grief while I was ready to take action.

My first instinct was to move to California right away to be close to my dad. But my husband and I had committed to staying in New York so the girls could also be close to their mom. I felt really torn, but had to make it work. I spent a lot of time flying across the country, working at Facebook's headquarters while staying with my dad.

I saw a huge gap in technology between work and caregiving

I felt like I was living in two worlds. At work, I was overseeing projects that were really pushing the definition of what we as humans could achieve, like live-streaming the Earthrise from the international space station.

After work, I was dealing with a broken, ineffective system trying to care for my dad. At one point, he lost his insurance coverage because I had missed a piece of paper mail. I knew there had to be a better way.

It was clear I wasn't alone. I started a Facebook group for people taking care of aging parents, and more than 4,000 people joined.

I use tech to monitor my dad constantly

My dad is now 70 and well into midstage Alzheimer's, but he still lives at home, alone. That's virtually unheard of. I've been able to use technology to care for him 24/7 despite living on the other side of the country.

I get notifications every time someone enters or leaves his house. At night, I get a notification if he gets out of bed, and I have emergency contacts that I can call to check on him. We FaceTime every night, and I visit in person at least once a month.

I also manage all logistics. I have a calendar with my dad's every detail, right down to how often he trims his toenails. I text with his daytime caregivers and can see their notes. It's not too different from how moms communicate with their nanny or preschool teacher.

I started an app for other caregivers

One day, looking at my Excel file for the millionth time, I realized I needed to start an app for managing caregiving duties. That was the seed for tendercare, which provides guidance, organization, and community to caregivers.

I founded the app in 2022 and worked on it for about a year while maintaining my role at Meta. I was the breadwinner, so stepping away from my corporate salary was terrifying. I felt guilty about how it might impact my kids. My family has had to scale back spending. We indulge in simple joys, like spending time with our chickens or swimming in local lakes instead of far-off vacations.

Those changes are well worth it. It means so much for me to use my heartbreak to give other people a tool I wish I had. I know it would mean a lot to my dad, too.

• Mindy Rouse's husband, Jamie, died at home from a heart attack in 2020.
• She speaks about him often with their four kids, ages 8 to 16.
• She's found new love and talks about Jamie with her partner, too.

This as-told-to essay is based on a conversation with Mindy Rouse, owner of Moo Moo's Farm. It has been edited for length and clarity.

When my dad set me up on a blind date, I had no idea I was about to meet my life partner. I was only 21 and still in college. My dad was a farmer, and he set me up with the son of another farmer.

I had no idea what Jamie would look like, but I was happy when I saw him. More than looks, I was struck by what a good person he was. It was a breath of fresh air to go on a date with someone who was as committed to farming and faith as I was. We ate pizza together, and then Jamie showed me around his family farm. Three years later we had a big wedding in my home church, then went on a simple honeymoon to Myrtle Beach. Jamie needed to be back to pick wheat on the farm.

I didn't mind. Life with Jamie was my fairytale dream life. We had three boys in about eight years. When we discovered we were pregnant again, it was a surprise. We didn't find out the sex until birth, and I finally got my little girl.

Jamie died in our bedroom after a massive heart attack

On the Sunday after Thanksgiving in 2020, Jamie and I were in bed watching a Hallmark Christmas movie. I heard a little sigh like he was expelling air. When I looked over, his eyes were rolled back in his head.

I immediately called 911. The dispatcher told me to wake up my oldest son — who was 13 — so he could help me get Jamie onto the floor. I performed CPR until the ambulance got there. Then, the paramedics took over for about an hour. Ultimately, there was nothing they could do: Jamie was pronounced dead in our bedroom.

We later learned that he had three blockages in his heart, which led to a massive heart attack. We'd thought he was in perfect health. He'd had a physical only six weeks before.

Jamie was only 43 when he died. I was 36, and our kids were 13, 9, 5, and 3. Life as we knew it was over.

We moved about a year later and started rebuilding

In the months after Jamie's death, I was just surviving. Family stayed over almost every night. On Christmas, I asked them to go home. I wanted to be Santa for me and Jamie. Waking up with the kids, but without my husband, was heart-wrenching. But I cooked them a big breakfast just like Jamie usually did. In the years since, I've tried hard to keep our family traditions so the kids still feel a connection to Jamie.

The kids were out of school for one week, but I took a three-month leave of absence from my job as an occupational therapy assistant at a local school. I did grief counseling and focused on learning who I was and what I was doing with this life I never wanted.

I knew I wanted to sell our home, where Jamie had died. About 15 months after his death, I bought a small farm on the same road I grew up on, about 15 minutes from Jamie's family farm. That's where the kids and I started rebuilding our lives.

I needed to love and be loved after losing Jamie

Farming was so important to me and Jamie. He never raised animals, but he wanted our kids to experience the responsibility of living on a farm. Today, the kids and I have tons of animals on our farm, including cows, horses, alpacas, goats, and poultry. Recently, the farm has become our business: on the weekends, we host birthday parties and other agro-tourism events. It's all dedicated to Jamie, and a huge family picture on our barn reads, "Your legacy will live on."

Like lots of couples, Jamie and I talked about what we wanted the other to do if we died. He told me he wanted me to continue living and to find a partner who loved me and the kids. I know that was the true wish of Jamie's heart, and it brought me comfort after he died. That, and my faith.

I started dating about a year after Jamie's death. I needed to love and be loved when that had been snatched away from me so suddenly. I knew no one would ever be Jamie, but I hoped to find someone who was as good as him in his own way.

I'm now dating Brooks, the man I know will be my second husband. Brooks hears Jamie's name frequently. He loves when I share stories about Jamie because it helps him feel connected to me. Now, with my new partner, I can continue living and honoring Jamie's life.

• Salim Elhila is a cofounder and CEO based in Dubai.
• He and his cofounder try to optimize every minute of their day.
• They work with more than 10 professionals to help them be their best.

This as-told-to essay is based on a conversation with Salim Elhila, cofounder of Decentralized Masters. It has been edited for length and clarity.

I run a multimillion-dollar crypto business with my co-founder and best friend, Tan Gera. Last year, we generated more than $30 million in revenue worldwide. To run a company of that magnitude efficiently, Tan and I try to optimize every minute of our day.

To do that, we hire many professionals to help with both our personal and professional lives, most of whom work with both of us. On the business side, we've hired the kind of people you might expect, like personal assistants and mentors. We also have cleaners and a chef, plus a wide-ranging team that helps us look after our personal health on a spiritual, physical, and emotional level.

This is expensive. I spend $10,000 to $20,000 a month on these professionals. But doing so also allows me to generate more income through my company. The expense is worth it not only financially but also for my physical and mental health and well-being.

The Japanese concept of ikigai guided me to follow my passion

A few years ago, I learned about the Japanese concept of ikigai. The term refers to a passion that brings value and joy to a person's life. Essentially, it gives you something to live for. Following the concept of ikigai means spending the most amount of time on the tasks you love, that you're best at, that you can be paid well for, and that the world needs.

I use this idea to guide my day. I try to spend most of my time working toward my ikigai — for me, my passion is our business and also producing music. To spend more time in my ikigai, I outsource other tasks.

I'm also guided by how we gain knowledge. We can learn from our own mistakes, but that's sometimes painful and leaves you with a scar. Or, you can learn from the experience of others. That's often quicker and won't leave you hurt. That's why I hire professionals who know more than me about their areas of expertise.

We outsource home tasks and bring experts into the business

Many of the professionals Tan and I hire to optimize our lives allow us to spend more time doing what we truly love. We hire people to clean, grocery shop, and cook for us. I can cook, but it's not something I enjoy. My personal chef was one of my first hires. He prepares all my meals and snacks.

I also have a personal assistant who handles my schedules and all my personal and business obligations. On the business front, we've hired experts, mentors, and analysts with whom we meet each Friday. Tan and I are leading experts in our field, but having perspectives from other people is important.

We have a whole team looking after our health

We also invest a lot in our health. For 10 years, I worked out on my own. My ego told me I knew everything I needed. Then, three years ago, I hired a fitness coach. I made more progress in those three years than I had in the previous decade. I realized I don't know what I don't know. Now, Tan and I each work out separately with our personal trainer 5-6 days a week.

In addition to a fitness coach, I have a stretching coach who comes to my apartment two times a week in the morning. Waking up with a guided stretching routine is one of the moments I feel most grateful for the life I've created.

My most recent hire is a breath work coach. He's a somatic healer, and he's been life-changing. He uses a combination of massage and breath work to help process trauma and let go of stress and ego. I see him once a week.

We also have a physiotherapist, massage therapist, chiropractor, and osteopath on call. I have a boxing coach who I see occasionally, though not too much at the moment.

My system is unusual, but I love it

I think about not only optimizing my time, but also my energy. I start my day with the tasks that are most important. Most mornings that means stretching on the beach near my home, then doing 4-5 hours of deep focus work with Tan in my apartment. We both wear noise-canceling headphones playing binaural beats to help us focus.

The chef brings us lunch, and then Tan and I each have a workout session. In the afternoon, we have meetings and try to finish work by 7 or 8 p.m. Then we have downtime, dinner, and hit the spa or sauna.

Tan and I know we're not living a typical life. It's very structured and optimized, not to mention costly. But we love this system, and it allows us to be at our best to operate a global company. We want to make sure every moment is used the right way, and spending on that is a good investment.

• Regina Lawless met her husband at 18 and was with him for 21 years.
• He died from a heart attack when Regina was 40 and their son was 15.
• Regina found love again later that year and is now engaged.

This as-told-to essay is based on a conversation with Regina Lawless, author of "Do You." It has been edited for length and clarity.

My husband Al and I were pioneers in online dating. We met in a Yahoo chat room back in 1999. My username included the word "heaven," and Al sent me a chat saying, "Is there any room in heaven for me?"

I was only 18, so I liked Al's cheesy pickup line. Soon, I realized we had a lot in common. I had recently graduated from high school and enlisted in the Army Reserve. Al was five years older than me and had just returned from four years of active duty with the Navy. He gave me tips on how to survive boot camp.

I was attracted to Al's worldliness and his humor. Once we met in person, there was a magnetic pull between us. We got married five years after we met, and our son, Morgan, was born the year after that.

At first, Al was the breadwinner, but my salary soon eclipsed his

Al worked in manufacturing. At the beginning of our relationship, I was still putting myself through college. He helped support me financially and emotionally.

Over our marriage, our financial dynamic changed. I got my master's degree and began working in corporate jobs, eventually becoming the Diversity Equity and Inclusion Lead at Instagram. My income jumped, while he stayed pretty much the same.

That never bothered Al. He didn't feel less fortunate because he wasn't the breadwinner. Although, the more I made the more he spent. The man loved sneakers and eating out.

Al was having a heart attack, but we didn't realize

In May 2021, Al and I went on a date. When we got home, he wasn't feeling well. That wasn't too unusual. He was diabetic and had experienced pretty severe indigestion in the past.

The next day, he looked really bad. I called urgent care, and they told me to hang up and call 911. I followed the ambulance to the ER, where the doctor said, "Did you know your husband was having a heart attack?" That completely floored me.

The doctors told me to call my family because Al might not make it through the night. I went to see him in the operating room. As I walked out, I collapsed. My parents had to pick me up off the floor. Shortly after, Al died.

I was in a daze until I went away for 3 days to grieve

The next few weeks were a daze. I held Al's funeral on what would have been his 46th birthday. I was surrounded by family, but I didn't feel like I could grieve with everyone else around. I was also struggling with panic attacks.

About a month after Al passed, my sister moved in. She provided some normality to our house. We celebrated Morgan's 16th birthday and tried to make it feel as normal as possible. Once I got through that, I knew I needed time for myself. I spent three days in a hotel, finally taking the time to process my loss.

I'm getting married later this year

I was with Al for 21 years, more than half my life at that point. I thought I'd meet someone else eventually, but probably not until I was in a nursing home.

Yet, that December, about seven months after Al died, I went out with friends. Something told me to take off my wedding ring. That night, I met Jeffrey, who is now my fiancé. When he first touched my hand, I felt a jolt. He was so compassionate about me being a widow but didn't treat me like I needed to be tip-toed around.

Still, I felt guilty. I worried about what people would think and that I was betraying Al's memory. Then, my therapist said, "What would Al want?" I knew he would want me to be happy because we'd had those conversations.

Jeffrey proposed to me in 2024, and we're getting married this October. I know I can honor my love for Al while allowing new things to flower. With time, therapy, and a lot of self-work, I've been able to open myself up to the universe. I've continually chosen to stay open, even when it feels scary. That has allowed me to love again.

• A mom of two grew up in an anti-vax community after her own mom said she had a bad reaction to a vaccine.
• Over the years, she started questioning her beliefs and now vaccinates her kids.
• Her sons just got the measles vaccine at 7 and 9.

This as-told-to essay is based on a conversation with a mom of two in South Carolina. She asked to remain anonymous to protect the privacy of her children and parents. It has been edited for length and clarity.

When I was an infant, I had a bad reaction to a vaccine. My mom couldn't wake me up for an entire day — at least, that's how she remembers it.

That was in the early 90s, and my parents were living at the intersection of conservative Christianity and crunchy parenting. They were surrounded by people who didn't vaccinate, and my reaction scared my mom. I'm the oldest of eight, and after that, none of us got vaccines. My parents fell deeper into anti-vax misinformation.

Vaccines were always a topic of conversation around me growing up. As a teen, I read a book by Jenny McCarthy in which she said she believes her son's autism was caused by the measles, mumps, and rubella (MMR) vaccine — a theory that numerous scientific studies have debunked.

Despite that, I was never one of those people who makes being anti-vax their whole personality. I was somewhat open to vaccines—which is more common than stereotypes about anti-vaxxers would have you think. In my early 20s, I got a few vaccines before a trip to South America. I was concerned about getting sick there and thought vaccines could help protect me against pathogens like those that cause tetanus and diphtheria. I felt my adult body could handle a few vaccines.

The pandemic solidified my willingness to vaccinate

My husband had a similar upbringing. When our son was born 9 years ago, I started reading books and research about vaccines. I could see value in some of them, but I had a lot of questions and still wasn't comfortable vaccinating. But my son's pediatrician didn't seem to be interested in answering my questions about vaccines. I'm not sure if he didn't have the time, the knowledge, or the willingness to engage in the conversation.

The next two years were stressful for our family. It was a time of change, including the death of my mother-in-law while I was pregnant with my second child. I started questioning my parenting beliefs further, and critically evaluating how I'd been raised — including what I'd been taught about vaccines.

Immediately after that, the pandemic started. The COVID vaccine rollout a year later solidified my belief in vaccines. My husband works in a hospital, and I saw the immediate benefit vaccines had. Later, seeing how quickly the government paused the rollout of the Johnson and Johnson vaccine due to rare side effects was reassuring — I felt there really was accountability for vaccine safety. My husband and I started discussing vaccinating the kids.

I want other vaccine-hesitant parents to see my story

Getting the kids up-to-date with vaccines is a long process. It's still hard for me and them. Luckily, our new pediatrician is a great resource for creating a plan that works for us. They're behind a typical vaccine schedule, but we recently got their MMR vaccines, in part because of measles outbreaks in the US.

Even though I knew it was the right choice, it was hard for me. I was proud that I overcame this challenging belief I used to have. But I also want parents like me to see it is OK to change their minds.

Changing minds takes respect and time

One thing that felt very disingenuous to me in the past was when people advocating for vaccination said vaccines have no risk. Everything in life has risks, and it's important to acknowledge that. Today, I know the risk from vaccines is extremely minimal and comes with a huge reward. I put it in perspective by thinking about how driving is a much bigger risk and one I take every day.

I was a good mom when I wasn't vaccinating my kids, and I'm a good mom now. Any conversation about vaccines should start with that in mind. Get curious about a person's reasons for not vaccinating. Don't blame, judge, or try to change their minds — just ask about their beliefs. Maybe they'll ask about yours, too.

Don't expect immediate change. For me, this took years, and it's still difficult. But you never know when a piece of your conversation might stick with someone and open them to more honest, nonjudgmental conversations about vaccination.

• Traci Szemkus, 47, got pregnant with her daughter, Lyrik, when she was 19.
• She went on welfare, including food stamps and childcare.
• She vowed to become a doctor by 25, and did. Now, she and Lyrik run a company.

This as-told-to essay is based on a conversation with Traci Szemkus, cofounder of WorkPlay Branding. It has been edited for length and clarity.

I grew up in a very small, tight-knit farming community in Iowa. That's where I learned about hard work. Farmers never stop — they're always working to achieve more, a lesson I've carried into my life.

Being in a small town was dull during my rebellious teenage years, so I went to live near family in Chicago. There, I started a relationship that didn't amount to much but got my daughter, Lyrik, out of it. I was 19 when I found out I was pregnant.

I returned home to Iowa, and everyone around me was ashamed of my pregnancy. I didn't feel that, though. I was determined to prove them wrong. I enrolled in college and completed as many credits as I could before Lyrik was born. I planned to complete the rest of my degree online or through more flexible classes.

I vowed to become a doctor when I was on food stamps

Being a young mom was financially very difficult. I used to go to the grocery store and push a cart around while I ate fruit to fill my belly. Then, I'd abandon the cart and leave the store because I couldn't afford groceries.

Eventually, I got government assistance, including food stamps and day care. I would shop at night so fewer people would see me using food stamps. I was self-conscious but determined this wouldn't be my life.

One day, I was waiting in line at the food pantry. I had a voucher for food and wrote on the back, "I'm going to be a doctor by the time I'm 25." I don't know why I did it — maybe it was a cry for help — but I completed my doctorate two weeks after my 26th birthday. It wasn't quite what I'd written, but it was close enough.

I felt like I'd paid back my welfare through taxes

I had planned to become a chiropractor. During my doctorate program, I met many wonderful friends and my husband, who adopted Lyrik when she was 3. I also realized that I wasn't interested in being a chiropractor. I was much more drawn to the marketing side of business. So, my husband and I opened a chiropractic clinic: I did the marketing while he saw patients. We were profitable within three months.

When I was on welfare, I added up all the benefits I'd received. It was about $20,000. I vowed to pay them back one day. During the second year of operating our clinic, our tax bill was almost exactly that amount. I felt like I'd cleared my debt to the government.

I started placing recent graduates in new clinics and then selling those clinics to those doctors. It was lucrative, and today my net worth is in the seven figures. Still, it feels strange to call myself a millionaire. I have more security than I used to and don't need to struggle to survive. But I don't feel like I've made it yet or like I can coast.

Having Lyrik young shaped my success

Lyrik has always been at my side as I built my businesses. When she was little, we used to drive around listening to CDs about business and goal setting. I think she absorbed that because she's always been naturally business-minded. She started working in the clinics when she was 16, and we would always talk about business over dinner, to the annoyance of my husband and son.

A few years ago, Lyrik and I went into business together more formally. We founded WorkPlay branding, a visual marketing company that brought together her skills as a creator and my business network. Last year, our company broke $1 million in revenue.

Lyrik and I work so well together because we trust each other implicitly. We know neither of us is going to give up or leave. If someone is sick or needs a break, the other will step in without question. In 2021, I was out of work for about six months due to a brain tumor. Lyrik took over during that time and tripled our revenue.

I might have been a mediocre person if I hadn't gotten pregnant so young, but having Lyrik thrust me into a higher level of operating. I don't do anything that's not intentional. Now, seeing her as a professional and running a business with her has been one of the greatest gifts of my life.

• John Moore delivered mail in a Massachusetts city for 31 years before retiring.
• After leaving the post office nine years ago, he started working as a floral delivery driver.
• The part-time job means he hasn't had to draw on his retirement savings at all.

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

I delivered mail with the post office for 31 years. As a mailman, you know everyone. Depending on what you're delivering, sometimes they're happy to see you, and sometimes they're not. When my kids and their friends were applying to college, I'd give them a heads-up if they had a much-anticipated envelope in the day's delivery.

For most of my career, my route was in a residential neighborhood. I'd park the truck and walk a big loop, then move the truck further down and do two more loops. I walked about eight miles a day.

There was one kid who would meet me on the steps every day and say, "Did you watch the game?" He always wanted to talk sports — a big topic in greater Boston, where I live and work. I watched this kid grow up, and now he works for a professional sports team.

I always planned to work in retirement

Being with the post office, I had a traditional retirement account, a Thrift Savings Plan (TSP), which is similar to a 401(k) but for federal employees. That gave me peace of mind, but I always figured I'd work even after I retired, both to earn money and to keep busy.

I retired from the post office nine years ago when I was 59. My wife was still working, so I immediately started looking for a part-time job after I left the post office. On her way home from work one day, she saw an ad for delivery drivers at a local florist.

It was a funny turn. Not only had I already spent my whole career delivering things, but my father, who was a firefighter, had a second job doing floral deliveries. It felt like everything had come full circle.

Everyone's happy to get a flower delivery

When you bring flowers, everyone is happy to see you. It's a pleasant surprise in their day. I always notice if I'm delivering sympathy flowers, but even those people are happy to see me. One time, a woman opened the door, teary-eyed because her husband had died. I felt terrible, but she was still so nice and cheery.

When I worked at the post office, I understood that I might be the only person some people talked to each day. That was especially true for older people. I keep that in mind when I deliver flowers, too, and always try to be kind and pleasant.

I've only had one flower customer who wasn't happy to see me. I delivered a bouquet of a dozen roses to an office building. The security guard paged the woman who the flowers were for. As she walked toward me, she said, "Roses? Really? I told him I don't like roses!"

I would love to know if they're still together.

I don't see myself fully retiring anytime soon

I work about 18 hours a week and make $20 an hour delivering. Sometimes I think I should be paid more, especially when I consider what my employer is charging for delivery fees. Still, the job is easy and low-key. I listen to sports radio and music in the van. If I need a week off, I just tell them I won't be in. It's a trade-off for that kind of flexibility.

Sometimes people try to tip me, but 98% of the time I refuse it. They're the ones getting the gift, so they shouldn't have to pay. If they really insist, however, I'll take the money.

Although I'm not making a ton of money delivering, the income has meant that I haven't had to touch my retirement savings yet. My wife and I also travel more than we used to. We love going on cruises with our two children, their spouses, and our grandson. We have similar schedules, since she watches our grandson on the three days a week when I work.

At 68, I don't see myself giving up this job anytime soon. It's nice to have a bit of extra money, and not need to dip into savings. I like walking to work, and delivering something people can smile about.

• Orhan Veli came to the US from the Soviet Union when he was 11.
• He owns 11 Saladworks locations, which had nearly $12 million in revenue in 2024.
• He and his wife have sponsored 11 refugees to come to the US from Ukraine.

This as-told-to essay is based on a conversation with Orhan Veli, owner of 11 Saladworks locations. It has been edited for length and clarity.

I was born in what's now Azerbaijan. When I was a child, the Soviet Union fell apart. My family was of mixed ethnicity: my dad was Russian, and my mom had mixed roots, including Armenian. When I was 6, violence against people with Armenian heritage rose in our city, and we needed to flee to Moscow.

We then applied for refugee status in the US. It was a long process that involved health screenings, psychological evaluations, and verifying my parents' education. After years, we were finally approved to move to the US when I was 11.

As a refugee, when you think of the US, you always dream of living in New York City, Florida, or California. We landed in Jacksonville, Florida, and I was thrilled.

Within two weeks, I used my life savings to go to Disney World. It was truly a dream come true. So were the more mundane aspects of my new life. I had experienced sharing a bathroom with four other families and being food insecure. I could literally and figuratively have all the bananas I wanted in the US.

I started a career in wealth management, but it wasn't for me

When I arrived in the US, I could say, "My name is Orhan," and that was about it. I started fifth grade and learned English alongside my parents. I was so happy to be in Florida, but I could see how challenging it was for them. My mother has multiple master's degrees in art, and my dad was an engineer with his own lab in Azerbaijan. In the US, they had to start over, beginning by learning the language. Their advanced education didn't mean much here.

We moved to Philadelphia, so my dad could attend technical school. I went to an inner-city high school in Philadelphia, which forced me to develop a thick skin. After graduation, I was accepted to Penn State and later got an internship with Morgan Stanley.

I graduated with multiple job offers in wealth management. I was only 22, but I had my own office and a lucrative career ahead of me. But I knew that wasn't my path. I couldn't see myself doing the office grind for decades. More importantly, I felt a disconnect with my wealthy clients. If I was going to spend my life doing something, I wanted it to be very straightforward, transparent, and honest.

I run a multimillion-dollar business, but drive a used car

I spoke with my dad, and we began researching franchise opportunities. Everyone else thought I was nuts, stepping away from my finance career, but my parents believed in me so much that they took out a second mortgage to help me afford my first restaurant. To this day, my dad and I are 50-50 partners.

Those early years were rough. I was 23 and doing nothing but working, earning about $4 an hour. After the financial crisis in 2008, I learned how to operate a business with very slim margins, which ultimately made me a better businessman. Today, I own 11 SaladWorks locations; my restaurants brought in nearly $12 million in 2024.

I have some financial independence, and I don't need to worry about money the way I used to. Still, I live modestly. My three kids are in public school, and my wife and I own an average home in our town. We both drive used cars — a Volkswagen for me and a Lexus for her.

I've used my financial security to help other refugees

My wife, Anastasiya, is Ukrainian. When the war broke out, we both wanted to help people. I knew what it was like to have to flee your home country. Although I was a child when it happened, that has never left me.

We started raising money to send to Anastasiya's Ukrainian network. That was impactful, but we wanted to do more, so we decided to sponsor refugees. Sponsors help refugees get settled but also take on the financial responsibility of covering costs like food and housing if the refugee isn't able to.

Taking that step was scary. My hands shook every time I signed the paperwork. The first family we sponsored was a husband and wife with toddler twins and an infant. They had been in transit for two months before reaching the US. We've also sponsored six extended family members of Anastasiya's, some of whom she only met once before this.

I absolutely love our country, and I've been on the receiving end of its help. A sponsor I never met allowed me to come here. Taking on financial responsibility for strangers was nerve-racking, but it felt right. I don't care about the politics of it — I just know these are real people in a bad situation. I'm in a position to help, so I'm going to do that.

• Michaele Blakely was an organic farmer for more than 40 years.
• She lives on 31 acres in Washington, and rents her fields to dog owners.
• She likes that it's a low-effort way to make money in retirement.

This as-told-to essay is based on a conversation with Michaele Blakely, who rents her land through Sniffspot. It has been edited for length and clarity.

Working as a self-employed organic farmer, I didn't have a plan for retirement. My four kids wanted to pull out their hair in frustration with me. But I believed if you do the right thing and work hard, you'll generally be OK in this country.

I'm 71 now, and so far, that's been the case for me. I became semi-retired right around the time the pandemic started, in 2020. Before then I was working 12-14 hour days raising poultry, cattle, pigs, and crops. In my 60s, I was diagnosed with a few different autoimmune conditions that zapped my energy. I physically couldn't do the long days any more.

Then, I got long COVID, and needed to scale back even further. I kept a flock of goats and made goat-milk soap and botanical treatments and ointments. I ran a small vegetable stand on my property. Last year, I stopped doing that, too. These days, I'm officially retired, but I also have a unique side gig. I rent out my fields to dog owners, and it helps pad my income.

I rent out my fields for $18 an hour

Today I have three streams of income. I rely heavily on social security, and I also took a reverse mortgage on my property. In addition, I make $500 to $1,500 a month renting out my fields for people to walk and play with their dogs.

A few years ago I noticed an ad on a local community Facebook group, looking for land owners who were interested in renting their land. I replied, and became one of the first hosts in Washington with a service called Sniffspot, which rents private dog parks.

Today, I charge people $18 per dog per hour to play in my fields. Some people like to come and just throw the ball to their dogs. Others like to walk the property and look for wildlife like elk.

It's a hands-off way to make money

I love that renting the fields is an easy, hands-off way to make money. I like to say that I prefer not to meet my guests. I can even list that on my profile.

I have renters most days, though Mondays and Tuesdays are generally quiet. If I see a day booking up, I know that's a sign good weather is coming.

I use the computer to keep up with bookings and respond to inquiries. To prepare for renters, I set out water for the dogs. I quickly check for dog poop, and provide a trash barrel for people to leave behind their dog droppings. I mow the fields to make them easier to walk through, but for the most part there's not much I have to do. I'm going to Europe in a few weeks, and I still have renters coming when I'm gone.

I'm an introvert, so this is a perfect fit

Around 2018, I was approached by a company that rents private campsites. I was still running a working farm, and I didn't think anyone would be interested in camping near dusty fields. The people at the site assured me people would love to camp on the farm, but taking on campers never felt right to me.

I'm an introvert. For 40 years I interacted with so many people at farmer's markets. Don't get me wrong, I loved talking to my customers, but it was emotionally draining. I didn't want to have to do that in retirement. That's why Sniffspot is perfect for me.

I know other landowners on the site make a lot more money than I do. They put in extra effort, by adding agility classes or swimming pools, or even hosting dog birthday parties. I'm not interested in that, but I'm glad to have a source of retirement income that is hands-off. I worked so hard for 40 years that I'm ready to slow down.

• Dustin Kirkland's daughters, who are 11 and 12, were able to get around parental settings.
• They each identified a vulnerability in the technology and submitted a report to Google.
• His younger daughter was awarded $5,000 for her discovery.

This as-told-to essay is based on a conversation with Dustin Kirkland, vice president of engineering at Chainguard. It has been edited for length and clarity.

I'm the vice president of engineering at a company focused on providing security for the software supply chain. I used to work at Google and have had a long career in tech, so I'm very security-minded.

Because of that, I was fairly confident in managing the technology that my daughters, who are 11 and 12, have access to. Our family only uses Android products because I trust Google's security more than I trust most other companies. I set parental controls on apps and use time limits.

I'm also a realist. My girls also have iPads through school, and I know they can easily connect to the internet. Still, I didn't expect them to get around my security controls quite as easily as they did. And I definitely didn't expect them to turn their discovery into thousands of dollars.

My older daughter was overriding her time limits for months

Last year, I noticed that my older daughter, Camille, was spending a lot of time on her tablet. I would adjust the time limits and settings, only to have them default to a more lax setting. I was really frustrated, thinking there was a bug in the system. Yet, her sister's time limits were working just fine.

This went on from January until May. When I finally said something, Camille got a sly look on her face. Then, she showed me how she was overriding the controls, giving herself parental access to her tablet. Once she had parenting settings, she could do whatever she wanted.

We had a long talk about responsibility with tech. I even called a friend at Google and had him talk to Camille so she was hearing from someone other than her parents. Then, I made Camille sit down and write a security vulnerability report to submit to Google.

My younger daughter wanted to find a vulnerability too

Not-so-secretly, I was very proud of Camille. She's always been good at spotting problems and weaknesses. She was the baby who could immediately find an escape from where you put her.

Google accepted her report and gave her $500 for the tip. I'll admit, I bragged to friends and family about Camille identifying the security risk.

Each time I did that, my younger daughter, Corinne, would seethe. She's very competitive, and she vowed that she would find a vulnerability, too. I would encourage her, but I wasn't holding my breath.

She found a TV vulnerability that paid more

About two months later, Corinne called me over to one of our televisions. We use Chromecast to stream, and each TV defaults to a children's profile. To access the parent profile, we needed to enter a code.

At first, I thought Corinne was going to tell me that she guessed our code. Instead, she showed me that if she clicked the home button rapidly, the TV would override the code input and give her access to the parent profile.

Corinne had found the vulnerability she was looking for. Just like her sister, she filed a report with Google. This time, the company awarded her $5,000. She was thrilled.

The experience was a good conversation starter

Camille wanted to put her money into a brokerage account, and Corinne followed in her footsteps. Maybe they'll use the money for their first cars in a few years.

Both girls like wearing hoodies that say "Bug Hunters" that Google provided them. Finding the vulnerabilities also encouraged them to think about the potential dangers of unfettered access to the internet. In her bug report, Camille wrote that other kids could "learn bad words and maybe get nightmares" if they overrode parental controls. Corinne said that kids who stumbled upon TV shows for adults would "maybe get scarred for life."

They've internalized that they're not supposed to take advantage of technology's vulnerabilities and learned how to be good digital citizens. That's worth even more than the money.

• Max Fu was a gastrointestinal surgeon, a career that pleased his parents.
• He felt called to more creative work and left medicine when he was 28.
• Ten years later, he's glad he made the switch.

This as-told-to essay is based on a conversation with Max Fu, CEO and Creative Director for Nyan Heroes. It has been edited for length and clarity.

I was raised in Australia by Chinese parents. Growing up, there was one career path I knew would make them proud: medicine. Both my parents had their doctoral degrees and were scientists who worked at a heart research lab. They wanted me to have an even more prestigious role: medical doctor.

I wasn't 100% sure that medicine was the path for me, but after high school, I didn't feel strongly about any career path. I applied for a six-year program that combined medical school and undergrad in Australia. The day I was accepted was the happiest I've ever seen my parents.

I completed my education and two years of residency, but I was starting to question my choices. I had no work-life balance — I was constantly at work or on call. I couldn't see myself living like this for the rest of my life.

I was hesitant to leave after more than a decade

I fulfilled all the stereotypes of a first-generation Asian immigrant growing up. I did well academically and had a full roster of extracurriculars, including playing piano and violin.

I'd always had an interest in the creative arts, but with my full schedule, I never pursued it. After four years as a surgeon, it became like an itch that I suddenly needed to scratch. My desire to leave medicine was like a seed: it had taken hold, and it was growing.

The biggest obstacle to leaving medicine was the sunk-cost fallacy. I had already spent nearly 12 years studying and practicing. My perspective changed when I considered that I still had 40 to 50 years of my career ahead of me. In the grand scheme of things, the years I'd already spent weren't that much.

I left medicine for filmmaking when I was 28

My friends and colleagues understood why I wanted more work-life balance, but they couldn't understand why I was giving up such a promising career. Still, my mind was set. I also felt that I could always go back to medicine if I wanted to.

My parents were not so understanding. They were really unhappy, to be blunt.

I was either brave or stupid enough not to care. I had enough savings to live for one year, so when I was 28, I quit medicine and started learning everything I could about creating creative content.

I found financial success and creative freedom

It was a complete 180 to go from being a highly educated doctor to starting in a field I knew nothing about. Still, it came naturally to me. At first, I worked for free to build a portfolio, but I had paying clients within three months. I founded a media agency, and soon, I was working with global brands.

I loved the freedom I had. Surgery is understandably very structured. You read research and follow best practices. But in marketing, I could come up with any crazy idea, and as long as I convinced the client I could pull it off, I could go ahead with it.

Over the next few years, I grew my company to have about 50 employees. It was very financially successful, but my parents still never asked about my work, especially at the beginning. I could read between the lines.

My parents have accepted my career

After a few years into my marketing company I pivoted again. I founded 9 Lives Interactive, a video game company, and started producing a game, Nyan Heroes, which integrates blockchain technology. This time, I turned to venture capital instead of bootstrapping the business. We've raised more than $17 million over three rounds of funding.

I'm a huge cat guy — I have four of them. I've lived three lives already in my career, but since cats have nine lives, I have plenty more to go. I don't regret the time I spent in medicine, but staying in that career would have been a shame for me. Even my parents have accepted the change, and we're on good terms now. They're happy with me as long as I remember to visit regularly.