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It was day three when I looked around the pool, hundreds of miles away from my home, and wondered: How did I get here, a Miami beach resort with my husband, brainstorming on an iPad about how we’re going to pay for summer camp and his mother’s 80th birthday trip?
The picture was a far cry from our normal workdays spent hunched over our home office desk while alternating who needs to answer our kids’ snack demands. It was also completely different from any vacation we’d been on, where we’d be seemingly relaxing in the sun while actually spiraling about the endless logistics awaiting us in Brooklyn.
This trip had been a long time coming. My husband and I have known each other since college, and we’ve been married for almost 17 years, but recently, we also became coworkers. I’m an editor and media executive who works as an independent consultant, while he’s a longtime entrepreneur turned day trader—and now, my business manager. It’s almost like we’re dating again, an evolution of our intellectual relationship. We challenge each other and support each other, but more and more, we’ve forgotten to simply be with each other.
My husband is also a poster child for the sandwich generation. He’s long taken care of his aging mother and supported his sister’s children while she was ill, operating in an uncle-slash-dad role. After his sister recently passed, his responsibilities grew tenfold. On the way back from her funeral, we totaled our car when a deer jumped in our path.
It quickly became clear we didn’t just need a break. We needed to refresh our entire model for living.
So we cashed in our Delta and Marriott points and booked a Miami getaway. We budgeted a “per diem” and carved out five days for what we called our “biz dev couple’s retreat”: part relationship TLC, part business-planning boot camp.
The goal was to figure out how we could combine forces to support the next stages of our careers. We wanted to reconsider how we show up for each other, for our families, and for ourselves. To move from surviving to designing. And of course, have time for planned and unplanned sex.
This couldn’t be just a regular vacation. We wanted to relax, yes. But we also had to get things done.
We’re not alone in this need. More couples of varying generations are managing love like a project. We’re syncing Google Calendars not just for meetings, but for dates and “offsites” with each other. In our house, we’re having weekly “stand-ups” to dream, vent, and plan, while others are heading to coworking spaces that double as child care centers. Couples today aren’t just sharing homes; they’re sharing workflows. And it’s not only the dull task of discussing schedules—though some have called their planners the “only thing between me and a divorce.” It’s about using all of our acumen, professional and otherwise, to create a framework for shared living.
This approach, both entrepreneurial and emotional, feels like a post-pandemic shift. It’s about purposefully building a partnership that’s custom, honest, and intentional—carving out time to connect and collaborate, and taking the reins in any way you can. It’s realizing love, business, and healing don’t have to live in separate boxes, especially when you’re navigating hybrid work, new ventures, layoffs, caregiving, and/or parenting.
When I told people we were calling our last-minute trip our “biz dev couple’s retreat,” I felt a little ridiculous saying it out loud. But the more I shared, the more I saw how others related. My coupled friends nodded in recognition. My single friends sent strings of emojis that translated to: Hell yes, do y’all.
Because when so many parts of our lives are already jumbled and overlapping, treating our partnership with the same care and clarity we give our professional lives isn’t rigid—it’s effective.
We approached Miami like a high-stakes executive offsite. We blocked daily coworking time. We made agendas. We whiteboarded plans for what’s next in our careers, brainstormed future revenue streams, and mapped out logistics for our kids, upcoming travel, and more.
But we also let go. We wandered, napped (something I rarely do), and laughed—a lot. We had deep talks. We had long, quiet working sessions while only listening to the sound of other people’s kids playing in the pool.
When we arrived in Miami, the city welcomed us with what felt like a monsoon, and honestly, it was a gift. Our usual routine of rushing to enjoy the sun was swapped out for slow, laptops-in-bed mornings.
One of the highlights was getting drenched on the way to lunch because we miscalculated the strength of our umbrella. Normally I’m not one you’d find giggling while getting caught in the rain—my life is not a Beyoncé music video—but we were so grateful for the change of pace that we treated it like an adventure, happy to be a cliché, puddle-jumping together.
Aside from being wet and joyful, we had brainstorms in beach bars. We worked and rested in equal measure. By late afternoon on day three, the sun came out. Needless to say, it was on after that.
Rollerblading is one of my husband’s favorite pastimes, forms of meditation, and means of exercise, especially when he can do it with the beach as his backdrop. Once the weather turned, he was off.
When he came back to our room to shower, I noticed the muscles in his face looked more relaxed, and he laughed more easily. He was recharged and brimming with ideas he wanted to discuss over lunch. As we both wrapped our workdays, I took myself on a solo date to the MIAMI Shoe Museum—my own food for the soul.
Day five was a mix of intimacy, clarity, and one more whiteboard session. After a fancy lunch and the last of our Friday Zoom meetings, we prepacked for our before-dawn flight the next morning. Then we put on something nice and watched the NBA Finals at a popular lounge, quite the vibe shift from watching on our bedroom TV. When the game was over, we made our way to Miami’s famed club E11EVEN (yes, that E11EVEN; a first for both of us).
When we left for the airport, we didn’t have that “vacation is over” dread. We were excited to see our kids, and we left more aligned—refilled individually and stronger as a team.
To be clear, we didn’t solve everything. My husband is still grieving his sister, and I still need additional sources of income. But we made progress where it matters most. Our partnership—emotional, operational—felt renewed. The candle still burns from both ends, but the wick is a little longer now.
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