Aunt Jane did that a lot when she got nervous. Jane, take the pot roast out at five o'clock. He didn't listen. Six months later he quit his job, broke his lease, and hightailed it back to Boston. The moral of the story? If you love something--sports, music, hiking, theater, whatever--make sure where you live will support the passion. Otherwise, you run the risk of a miserable future. One final practical consideration when thinking about place: How much do you travel? Traveling could be a passion, but it might also be a job requirement. Either way, if you're going to be on the road a lot, live somewhere that will make it easy to get up and go. Proximity to a major international airport is key. Topeka, for example, is nice in many ways, except for the seventy-five-mile drive to Kansas City International Airport. What that doesn't take into consideration is the sheer mental load of the day-to-day: the laundry, the dishes, the grocery shopping, the preparation and planning of meals, and oh-so-much that seems to happen on autopilot or by the magic laundry bunny. When we have children, that work is turbocharged. Mixed with sleep deprivation, it can feel nigh impossible to carve out time for anything other than all of the caring and preparing. We're sucked into the doing, and even though it comes from a place of love, it can still feel monotonous and all-encompassing. It can feel impossible to reclaim any chunk of time, it really can, and asking for help can feel dogged by those self-shaming thoughts of I should be able to cope. Asking for help doesn't mean we're not coping; The saying It takes a village to raise a child is true. It's also true that not all of us have a village at hand.

But we can build one, seek one out, join one, and be open to having help and support. We lose our identity when our entire world and purpose merge into being parents. Have Paul cut it up. The potatoes should be done at the same time. Remember, Jane, five o'clock -- take the pot roast out at five o'clock, my grandmother instructed, as she took my hand and lead me out of the apartment. Jane, lock the door behind us, my grandmother continued. The marriage didn't last. Aunt Jane moved back in with my grandparents into a small bedroom off the tiny kitchen in their home in Maspeth. Her bedroom walls were covered in Teen Beat photos of Donny Osmond and Sean Cassidy. She had a small rectangular record player that she played 45's on over and over. She loved music. Music by young men, that is. Happy Hour: A Brief History of Futurism As long as we're on the subject of place, I thought I'd take a quick detour into the origins, and evolution, of futurism. Throughout my twenty-five years in the business, I've collected a cast of colorful, not to mention incredibly bright, characters. These are the experts I call on for insights on a range of subjects, from economics to politics to social sciences. When it comes to the topic of futurism itself, my go-to is a guy called Greg Lindsay. Greg is officially an urbanist, specializing in the future of cities, technology, and mobility. Beyond that, he has the deepest understanding of the history of futurism of anyone I've ever met. He also happens to be the sharpest-dressed guy in the biz--putting the urbane in urbanist, as I like to say.

I've never seen him without a tie. He was even wearing one when he sent me from the hospital a picture of himself with his new baby. If we don't ever have the opportunity to be Whatstheirname's Mommy or Daddy plus something else, then we're naturally going to feel one-dimensional. There's room (albeit not much) for us to be as dimensional as we want to be. The backlash is that being a parent is the most special role in the world, and it is a privilege and blessing. But we can also want to have other things going on besides, and that's OK--just as it's OK if we don't want to have other things going on. Your feelings matter, whatever they are--they're valid, even when you're a parent. Your sense of identity isn't usually lost; Whether you consciously make space for self-care, time with friends, old hobbies, new hobbies, time to get dressed, a noninterrupted shower or bath, a haircut, or sleep; Making Space Within Relationships A relationship is the coming together of people who have different habits, tendencies, personalities, emotional baggage, problems, beliefs, experiences, and perspectives--but who are trying to navigate life in the best way they can. If we've never been taught about boundaries, then we might infer that to create boundaries within a relationship--when we're so used to hearing crappy hyperbole such as What's theirs is mine and what's mine is theirs or Best friends forever--is selfish, businesslike, and cumbersome. She would sit on the edge of her bed in a housecoat, and rock forward and back, forward and back. Her hands would be placed one inside the other, the knuckles of one hand cupped by the palm of the other. She wore penny loafers, and ankle socks. Her skin was always dry. Her hair was usually greasy and unkempt. She had an insatiable sweet tooth, which my parents satisfied each visit with Snickers and Baby Ruth candy bars. She didn't talk much, but when she did, she giggled her way through most syllables. Aunt Jane liked boys.

Although she was probably thirty years old or so, she had the mentality of a very young child. It was puzzling for me at times, to try to comprehend why my aunt was so unlike other adults I knew. Whenever we get together, there's always a bit of the Odd Couple to us, with Greg in his bespoke suits and polished shoes, and me in my blue jeans and beard. That was very much the case when we last got together in New York City, soon after I started in on the research for this article. Greg and I had talked before about the origins of futurism, our chosen career, but I wanted to get the complete story once and for all. I was especially interested in hearing more about futurism's somewhat controversial past, as well as how Greg was feeling about the future of futurism. Greg's mind is amazing. He is a two-time Jeopardy! Over martinis at the Bemelmans Bar, in the Carlyle Hotel on Manhattan's Upper East Side, we went deep into the future. When I talk to people about the history of futurism, I began, I think almost everyone is surprised that it started as an art movement. At the beginning of the twentieth century the term `futurist' was mostly applied to poets and artists. Why do you think the story starts like that? Quite the contrary is true. Boundaries harness trust, intimacy, and honesty; When we build our identity around our relationship to someone else--as somebody's partner, somebody's parent, somebody's friend--we diminish the vastness, complexity, nuance, and potential of who we are and who we might grow into. We convey our boundaries from the very beginning of a relationship: what we're willing to tolerate, what's right and wrong for us, our likes and dislikes, how we communicate, and how respectful we are or aren't. There are endless opportunities to assert, flex, and toss out our limits, and it doesn't matter whether those interactions stem from sitting together in class at school, finding ourselves at adjoined desks at work, or from a dating app; The media we consume paints these compelling masterpieces of how a relationship should or could be: the intimate looks, the romantic gestures, the friends who drop everything to be by your side, the parents who have it all figured out and give such sage, spot-on advice. That's without the social comparisons we painfully put ourselves through; These may include the dreamy marriage proposals;

We forget that what we see in the media isn't necessarily true or real or particularly representative. We forget that social media and social interactions in real life are edited and curated; A child myself, I could do little more than simply accept this innocent creature for who she was. My grandfather seemed disgusted by the sight of her, while my grandmother seemed to coddle her. My father teased her playfully, and she seemed to like that very much. My mother was kind to her, and many times I witnessed her bathe my aunt, cut her toenails, and trim her hair. I was about ten when my grandmother would sometimes ask me to walk my aunt to the corner store to get milk. It was then that I first began to realize that not everybody had an Aunt Jane in their family. As we'd walk to the store, we'd encounter stares along the way. Kids would stop riding their bikes just to glare at her, as if she were a freak show exhibit. One time a little boy on a bicycle rode past us as we made our way to the store. As he rode directly alongside us, he said in a voice obviously mocking my aunt's, Hey Janey, Janey, Janey, Janey. The beginning of the twentieth century was a time of extreme and rapid change, Greg explained. Just after World War I, the world modernized really quickly. The future seemed all around. It makes a lot of sense that artists were leading the way, because they were imagining a different future. The future wasn't this old, stodgy thing. It was new and exciting and full of promise. The bartender dropped off some nuts and made sure our glasses weren't empty. Then there's another shift after World War II, I said, popping some peanuts into my mouth.