Holly Richardson: Don’t follow your heart over a cliff

One day in October 1991, I was standing at the kitchen sink, blankly staring out the window and I was crying. Because of math. We had just finished another boring meal in what had become a string of boring meals. My oldest child was just four years old and still in love with macaroni and cheese at every meal — boring. For some reason, I began to calculate how many meals lay ahead of me. Let’s see ... three meals a day, 365 days a year for oh, I don’t know — 30 years. ...