The Navy’s USS Gerald R. Ford supercarrier is about to break a modern record for the longest deployment of an aircraft carrier since the Vietnam War.
By Tuesday, the Ford will have been at sea for 294 days, tying the record the USS Abraham Lincoln set in 2020.
If the Ford stays at sea for 333 days, it will surpass the record set by the USS Midway, which saw the longest deployment ever for a carrier in 1973 during the Vietnam War.
Ever since I was little, I’ve made it my mission to find friends and build the community I wanted.
Being the first to initiate a conversation, invite people over, or organize hangouts has always felt innate to me — it’s something my parents prioritized, too, so I picked up “planner friend” tendencies at a young age.
I started hosting my annual Halloween party when I was 11. In college, I always loved planning outings with friends after a long week of studying. These days, even though it’s harder to see loved ones as we get older, I do my best to keep my current group chats going.
Now that I’m almost 30, however, I’m starting to feel the weight of being the initiator and planner. They say you can’t pour from an empty cup. Unfortunately, the water had drained from mine a long time ago.
So, for the sake of my own well-being, I temporarily took a break from reaching out to loved ones and making plans.
As much as I wanted to see my friends, I no longer had the energy to always text first — and I hoped others would take the reins and make an effort to initiate plans.
When I pulled back from my usual role, though, I was pretty disappointed to see that none of my friends really stepped up.
It wasn’t radio silence: A few people checked in here and there, while a couple of friends brought up the idea of “doing something,” but never executed a plan for it. As a result, I went a couple of months without seeing my friends, aside from once at a wedding.
I began to feel like something was wrong with me. I questioned whether I was being a burden or expecting too much from friends who already had too much on their plates.
Perhaps friendship felt more integral to me because I don’t really have an extended family or a partner to turn to, but I couldn’t shake the feeling that maybe I just wasn’t an important part of my friends’ lives.
Sukhman Rekhi
At first, withdrawing from making plans gave me time to care for myself and prioritize my needs, but pulling back also posed one big problem: I wasn’t happy.
I genuinely enjoy hosting, making plans, and bringing my friends together. Not doing these things made it feel like something in my life was missing.
After a couple of months, I started sending check-in texts, scheduling FaceTimes, and asking friends to grab food and catch up. I immediately felt more connected with my social circle, and it seemed like most of my friends were happy to hear from me.
Still, I wish that making plans wouldn’t fall solely on me. I understand that my friends have busy schedules and need to prioritize other things, like work, partners, aging parents, and their own well-being.
Taking a break from texting first, though, taught me that I deeply value community and need to spend less energy on people who don’t see friendship the same way.
That doesn’t mean I love these friends any less or won’t ever reach out to make plans with them again. It does mean, however, that it’s time to try having some honest conversations with friends I’d like to see initiate more.
It’s also time to put a little less effort into relationships that could be draining my energy, and create space to make more friends who prioritize community the way I do.
I’ve learned that humans — planners and non-planners alike — are social beings and need connection.
If your planner friends are like me, they might not always mind being the person who makes the plans. Letting the planners and initiators in your friend group know that their efforts are appreciated, though, can go a long way.
It also wouldn’t hurt if, on occasion, non-planners took a little bit of time to send the text first or plan the hangout. One 2022 study, published in the Journal of Personality and Social Psychology and based on a series of preregistered experiments, found that people often underestimate how much even a quick text message can mean to a recipient.
Friendships take work, especially as we all get older and enter new life phases. I understand that sometimes, someone may not have the bandwidth to reach out, or they might be caught up with life’s ups and downs.
That said, taking a step back taught me that although I don’t need my relationships to be perfectly 50-50, they can’t be 100-zero, either.
When people asked me what I was doing for the holidays, I responded almost too giddily, “I’m spending it alone.” Their eyes narrowed, “What?”
I told them I was sending my husband and the kids to his family in Massachusetts, and I’d stay back in Pennsylvania. All. By. Myself. I wouldn’t have to answer to anyone or for anything. Not requests for snacks or one more backrub. I wouldn’t have to sit rigid, wondering if one of my three kids was creeping out of a bed that wasn’t theirs. Or defend my parenting style while my oldest yelled about how life wasn’t fair and we must all really hate him, and why should he have to listen to anyone anyway.
After a beat, every single mom (and a few dads) told me: “I’m jealous. I want to do that. How did you swing that?”
The decision to be alone during the holidays came slowly at first and then all at once. I’d hit a breaking point that most parents, especially moms, are all too familiar with. But the moment I toyed with the idea of staying back — in a quiet, clean, empty house — that was it. It was all I could think about.
Courtesy of the author
I broached the topic, gently, with my husband, who couldn’t have been more supportive and emphatic. “You should take a few days away!” But I didn’t want to be away. I wanted to be home alone. That was the key.
As the days ticked closer to The Big Departure, people asked me when Jeff and the kids were leaving. “Wednesday, but I can’t ask when, specifically,” I’d laugh.
I explained to the kids that I needed some alone time; I needed to take a break. They, who are 8, 5, and 3, were relatively unfazed. My middle, big-feeling daughter made me promise to call her every two minutes. I wanted them to know that it was OK for Mom (or Dad) to step away and be alone. It didn’t mean I loved them any less. Something, something about distance making the heart grow fonder.
Mental health experts agree. Solitude can be a crucial form of self-care (unless it makes you truly uncomfortable to be totally alone). “When you seek out intentional solitude, and the demands on your attention and focus melt away, it allows you to have a level of awareness that can support healing and growth,” Emily Moriarty, M.Ed., a licensed professional counselor and director of clinical services at Reset Outdoors, told Business Insider.
Finally, they were off. And I didn’t know what to do with myself. Everything was weirdly quiet. Clean. Empty. I loved it. I had a couple of low-key plans over the next few days, but my goal was to savor the silence and the lack of a schedule.
Courtesy of the author
When 5 p.m. rolled around on the first night, I started making dinner while listening to music. I danced a little. I ate while reading a book. No one argued with me that they didn’t like what was served. Cleanup was easy. I put my dishes away. I didn’t need to sweep — I don’t spill things on the floor.
I turned my phone off; I didn’t need an alarm. No one needed to reach me, and if they did, they could wait. Dad was more than capable. I slept in. I drank coffee on the couch in front of the fire in my pajamas. I forced myself to allow things to move slowly — something I have a hard time doing with or without kids.
“Solitude doesn’t include sitting alone in an office working,” Moriarty said. “It has to be non-work, non-caregiving time.”
When it was time for the Big Holiday Meal, I thought I’d feel a little lonely. But I didn’t, and that, I realized, was because this was my choice. I knew my family was enjoying themselves with relatives they don’t often see and having a little vacation. And I knew that they’d all be home before I knew it.
By the end of the fourth day, the air was thick with anticipation of the kids and Jeff coming home. I felt like I couldn’t watch TV fast enough. I couldn’t sit in a quiet, empty house fast enough. I couldn’t drink enough coffee fast enough. But when I started making dinner at 5 p.m., awaiting their 8 p.m. arrival, I realized if I had to keep doing this, I might get a little… bored?
I’m sure that has more to do with the stark contrast of raising three kids, co-running a household, and having a (fairly successful) career, and four days of abrupt, near-total solitude. If I didn’t have kids at all, I’m sure I wouldn’t be bored at 7 p.m.
People have since asked me if this will be my new holiday tradition. I did like it, maybe a bit too much, but it feels wrong to indefinitely celebrate the holidays without my kith and kin. Four days weren’t enough to assuage Mom Guilt, apparently.
This story is based on an interview with Brian Mazza, 41, who has appeared on the cover of “Men’s Health.” Mazza was recently named “Champion for Male Fertility Advocacy” by the World Fertility Awards. The conversation has been edited for length and clarity.
Before we got married in 2014, my wife, Chloe Melas, a journalist, and I were very much aligned on wanting children in the future. It’s a huge step for anybody in a relationship, but we agreed that it would be great to start a family together.
Then, around a year after the wedding, we tried to get pregnant — without success.
The sense of disappointment each month was challenging and disheartening. Like anything else in life you want to accomplish, it becomes frustrating when it’s not working out.
It wasn’t ideal for both of us and caused a lot of issues, which weren’t fun. It was a strain and kind of brutal.
Fortunately, we were able to find a good, straight-talking doctor who ran a series of tests. Chloe was found to have a diminished ovarian reserve, but they wanted to check me out, too.
It was awkward and strange. Everybody in the waiting room knew why you were there, which was fine, but then you were ushered into a room next to the secretary’s desk. It felt a bit strange.
My test was back in 2016. Thankfully, there are now a lot of companies that allow you to sort everything out in your own home.
Photo by Dimitrios Kambouris/Getty Images for Reform Alliance
The results showed I had a low sperm count, which proved to be the primary cause of the issues. If someone asked if I felt guilty, embarrassed, or was worried that Chloe was resentful toward me, I’d answer yes.
I was extremely fit, eating well, and doing everything to meet the expectations of an elite performer in life. I thought, “What is getting in the way of this goal?”
I began to wonder if I’d done something in the past that was responsible. It wasn’t the case, but I wanted to look at the full road map.
Then, since I’ve always been a problem solver and a reverse engineer, I thought, “How can we approach the situation?”
We had no luck with intrauterine insemination (IUI) and moved on to IVF. The process was pretty easy from a male perspective because you are physically removed.
Still, I went to every doctor’s appointment to listen to the advice. It was hard to see Chloe go through what she did, but we tried to focus on the end result.
We didn’t share our journey with family or friends at the time. It was to protect the situation and not feel like we were letting people down.
Thankfully, we got pregnant on our first round of IVF. We were thrilled, and it turned into elation when our son, Leo, was born in July 2017.
We went through the same process, and Luke arrived exactly two years later.
Holding Leo and Luke in my arms was every dream that I’d ever dreamed. I’d wanted to become a father so much.
I’m speaking up about male factor infertility because it’s a topic that should be openly discussed. I hope that I’m helping to remove the stigma. It’s useful when someone who has been through an experience like ours can share their story.
As the years pass, I find myself gazing at my boys — now 8 and 6 — with joy and wonder. They’re bright, athletic, and kind. Chloe and I call them our miracles.
A top Silicon Valley investor has an antidote for “quiet quitting.”
Bill Gurley is a general partner at venture capitalist firm Benchmark and the author of “Runnin’ Down a Dream, How to Thrive in a Career You Actually Love.” Gurley told Neal Freyman and Toby Howell on the “Morning Brew Daily” podcast that aired on Sunday that it is “horrific” how some people are actively disengaged at work, but the heart of the matter is that people “aren’t ending up in the right place.”
“We developed this mindset where you push kids toward economic safety — doctors, lawyers, jobs where unemployment is low, and salaries are high,” said Gurley. “But we’ve pushed a lot of kids into what I call the ‘career industrial complex.'”
Gurley said that the “career industrial complex” means pushing children toward a “résumé arms race” of standardization and credential accumulation, rather than encouraging curiosity and exploration.
A simple test as to whether you would be successful in your dream job, said Gurley, is whether you would be willing to learn on your own time.
“I like to say, you know, if you have three episodes of Breaking Bad left, would you study this instead?” said Gurley. “Like, does it compete with what you do in your free time?”
Gurley added that he once did a survey where he asked 10,000 people if they would choose a different career if given the chance to go back in time, and 60% said yes.
Gurley’s comments came as workplace trends such as “job hugging” and “quiet cracking” emerged in 2025.
While workers feared layoffs and the prospects of landing new roles dimmed for many young professionals.
A Gallup poll done in 2024 found that employee engagement in the US fell to its lowest level in a decade, with only 31% of employees feeling engaged. Additionally, workers under the age of 35 are less engaged compared to other age groups.
