Emily Nagoski is a badass Ph.D. who teaches human sexuality. She wrote a book Come As You Are. Here's a secret: the entire sexology community was eager to get their mitts on her book, it was very exciting. I can't recall the last time there was that much hullabaloo about one book. In this important book, Dr Nagoski explains the interplay between sexual desire and stress a concept that gives us a unique insight into what is going on in women's sex lives. THE ACCELERATOR AND THE BRAKES This concept is a big deal. Think of the accelerator and the brake of a car. Each pedal acts independently from one another; you can press on the accelerator and you can stomp on the brakes. You can even press both at the same time. We don't often press them at the same time in fact, I was specifically told NOT to do that in driver's ed but anyhow, pretend you do. If you press both pedals all the way to the floor of the car, do you stop or go? That's right, you STOP! Ok, now get this, your brake pedal is all the stress you have and your accelerator is your sexual desire. In the same way that the brake and accelerator of a car are two separate pedals yet also inextricably linked, so are your stress and your arousal. They are not the same things, yet have everything to do with one another. If your stress level is high, the majority of women have brakes that turn on, meaning, no matter how much sexy stuff is going on around her, she does not want sex at all. It is like she is pressing down the brakes and the accelerator at the same time. This isn't the case for all women; some women have extremely sensitive brakes or extremely sensitive accelerators. And as Nagoski has found, while this correlation between stress and sexual desire is more common for women, men experience it too (just not quite as often). After the end of the story, Nagoski probably: - doesn't write anymore books - ignores people's questions on the book - not enough information - answers questions about her book
answers questions about her book

I already gave this example in another post but I think it was a really interesting situation with an interesting outcome so I'm going to repeat it. When I was 21 years old I produced a play. It was actually my second. The first was really successful. With the second I bit off a lot more than I could chew and I got too big for my britches and I ended up with a sprawling money eating disaster that caused me to have to move to a poor part of town and to go to court with my publicist and to be in debt for a couple of years. I could have absolutely let this ruin me and discourage me. And I realized this was a very delicate situation for my creativity and my sense of hope for the future. So I said to myself one day, "let me take a walk to the park and have this situation out with myself once and for all." Two blocks from my house was this wonderful neo classical park with beautiful stairs leading from level to level. I walked up and down the stairs and basically said to myself "this was a failure. I am having a failure experience. But I have a choice of how I look at this. And the big Takeaway for me with this experience is that I have talent and there is a big creative future for me. And I have hope. I have to slow down. I have to make sure I don't get ahead of myself. I definitely have to clean up this mess and be patient for however long it takes . But bottom line the big take away from this experience is that I have talent and I have a future and I have Hope." It was one of the most amazing moments I've ever had with myself. There are about 100 other experiences in my life where I wish I had had a conversation like this. This one was a treasure. Following this setback, the author at the end of this managed to do what? - not enough information - took a desk job - settled permanently in the poor neighborhood - continued to use their creative talent to produce similar works
continued to use their creative talent to produce similar works

Q: "To be real honest, Jeffrey, you're not making much progress," said Greg. "Are you practicing at all?" "Well, yeah. Mom makes me. She sits there watching to make sure I'm getting the right fingering and phrasing." "Hmm. I might need to talk to her about that." Greg hated when kids were forced into musicianship. He had been teaching private music lessons for more than ten years, and had seen it often. Parents made their kids miserable. It rarely worked anyway. "You don't really want to take piano, do you?" "No, Sir." "Well... " "I wish my mom would let me take guitar lessons. That would be cool." "You know you'd get calluses like this." Greg held out left hand and showed Jeffrey his fingertips. "Yeah! My friend, Zach, has calluses. They're hard like plastic." "Well, you know, it hurts for a while--until you build them up." "I don't care. I love the guitar. I've been begging Mom to switch me from piano to guitar." "I'll talk to her." "Great! I already have a guitar and--" "--don't get too excited yet. We'll see what she says." "Thanks, Mr. Tenorly." He jumped up and ran for the front door. Then he stopped, rushed back over to grab his piano books, and raced out the door. Greg's 3:30 lesson had been cancelled, so he now had a thirty minute break. Oftentimes, during a break, he would step outside and wander down the sidewalk, observing the townspeople going in and out of the shops around Coreyville Square. But something was bugging him. His dad's birthday party was only a few days away. He hoped he wouldn't regret letting Cynthia talk him into going. Who probably also plays guitar? - Zach. - not enough information - Cynthia. - Jeffrey's mom.
A: Zach.

(Q).
"Hon? You still awake?" Quiet. Jan pulled herself out of the bed and stood up, looking around the dark room for anything. She needed something, something that she could grab onto, and hold, hold until it hurt, hold until blood made racing red lines down her arms, until her hands were raw. She left the room and walked quietly into the now guest room that had been Rob's. Opening the closet, she found the teddy bear that Rob had once confided in and held it in her arms tight as she slumped down on the bed. A quiet sobbing rang through the house accompanied only by the chime of the grandfather clock in the living room every fifteen minutes. As Jan lay on the guest room bed she soon resorted to deep gasps, knowing that meager tears would never be forceful enough to express her worry to those that listened. "Just bring him home, bring him home, bring him home," she mumbled over and over, each time changing the tone slightly in a desperate attempt to make her pleading sound more real. She could hear the occasional snore of her husband and she hated him for it. What kind of person could find sleep at a time like this? Why wasn't he awake worrying? Why wasn't he with her? Her thoughts became dark like blood, evil little monsters eating at her sanity. If her son was crazy and not just a drug addict she could see how easy it was to fall over the line. "Please God, please God, please God, please Rob, Please Rob, Please Rob, Please Rob." Soon, a sleep came but it was peppered with demons. And as the sliver of sun peeked through the window, she held her false self-control tight and said little. How long has Rob probably been gone? - not enough information - two weeks - half an hour - a few days
(A).
a few days