I am seven. Wooden blocks from a wooden box are my favorite toys and I spend hours constructing miniature houses on the brown linoleum floor of our family room. I want to build houses like the ones my grandpa and uncles build, like the houses they live in. But I never see them build. Only my cousin Joe is invited to join them at their work sites, to watch, to practice, to learn. Joe is a boy.

First, move out of New Jersey. It is the only state where it is illegal to pump your own gas. As such, it is diametrically opposed to the development of this valuable life skill. It would be wise to move somewhere relatively far from New Jersey—say, Minnesota—so that you are not tempted to go back.

I have probably lived over half my life. At fifty-one, I have no desire to get to 102 as my grandma Rosel did. She was a stout and strong woman with opinions, a big heart, and a twinkle in her eye. At age 102, she was incontinent and forgot to take her pills and which son she was talking to on the phone. She had outlived two husbands, 99% of her friends, all siblings, and one grandchild. She was also stubborn. When she decided to die, she willed herself to death in sleep.

Step 1. Ignore the people who say it takes half the time you dated to move on. They probably learned this from Charlotte York. Newsflash, Charlotte and Sex and the City aren’t real. Your grief is. Accept that it will ebb and flow for five-and-a-half years, almost the same length of time you dated. I promise, that’s OKAY. Save yourself the anger, anguish, and self-doubt in year three by ignoring this advice from the start.