James* was indeed confident, as well as wry, brilliant, fearless, and inspiring. While I was literally without a sense of direction, still searching for my dorm room, he was planning his future as a doctor.

Two years later, I selected a major that would help ensure my future as a writer; James signed up to study black history and South Africa, knowing it was his last chance to pursue other interests before his medical training.

I slept in on weekends while he got up to tutor underprivileged children. I gained and kept the freshman 15. James competed in two varsity sports. And while I continued to feel uncomfortable in the world, there was nowhere James wasn't at home.

Yeah, I have a feeling this is all a load of bullshit. This whole "article" reads like a hack's attempt at a trashy romance novel, and the husband is the stereotype of every modern day woman's ideal perfect man (he's a doctor, he's an athlete, he reads up on X studies, he helps the less fortunate privileged)

My job called for me to travel to glamorous destinations and meet with influential people; I was promoted at a record pace. But every weekend, every stolen vacation, reminded me that we were in this together. We cooked extravagant meals for each other and for friends. We hopped flights to Rome or Paris for a few days; we spent weeks tracking lions in Africa, trekking through Southeast Asia, or making love on empty Caribbean beaches.

And of course travels frequently and goes on vacation pretty much all the time...despite graduating college as a "writer," which is not going to pay the big bucks for you out the gate, and having a husband who works "non-stop" but isn't even a doctor yet.