At 17, I had no idea what I wanted out of life. I married the first man I fell in love with. At 27, I know I want to see the world, maybe have a nice house with an area just for me, and go to school to be a museum curator. Ironically, I'm married to a man who is too devoted to work to travel, too afraid of commitment to own a home, and too afraid of debt for me to go to school. Somehow, I love him more than my dreams. But it still hurts. I guess I'm stupid that way.