Before getting married, my life was like a rerun of Sex & the City. On an endless quest for Mr. Right, I dated every loser in the book. The nice guy next door: he was a perfect gentleman but boring in bed; the jet-setting playboy who made my spine tingle: he was a verbally abusive philanderer; the freakishly handsome jock with 6-pack abs but the IQ and emotional maturity of a 12 year-old; the artistically talented but tortured artist with an incurable drug problem; and the brilliantly insecure attorney who wanted me to shelf my career to become his stay-at-home trophy wife. I could go on, but I'll spare you the drama.

This article first appeared in the February 2011 edition of Mindful Metropolis Magazine.

Read the rest of the article on my blog at ChicagoNow.com here