Looking back at Josh, I knew if I wanted the freedom to do my own thing, I would have to give him up—and give up Boone, and, in a sense, my parents. I would have to give up all the gifts they continued to offer me because a gift weighed down by the imposition of gratitude becomes an expectation; over time, it becomes debt. “I have wasted my life,” I said. “But it’s okay. I will begin again. My parents did it in their thirties and if they can do it, so can I.”