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There are 14 career paths that your teenager needs to avoid due to the recent breakthroughs in artificial intelligence. Specifically one that Google released just a few weeks ago called Gemini 3 Deep Think. This new technology is so easy to use that even a 9-year-old could run circles around most adults with it. If your teenagers are considering going to college in the next few years, you need to understand what this new technology is and how it impacts your child’s future career choices. For this reason, I'm hosting a one-time live stream discussion on Zoom titled: "How To Future-Proof Your Teenager's Education In The Face Of New A.I. Advancements" You'll Discover: ◆ The 2 A.I. upgrades from the last 6 weeks that made engineers say "oh crap"—and why one keeps looping until your kid's future job is done. ◆ Why the phrase "learn to code" is now terrible advice for your teenager (and what to tell them instead before they waste 4 years on a degree that's being automated as you read this). ◆ 18 industries your teen should avoid at all costs—including 3 that guidance counselors are still pushing as "safe careers." ◆ How smart is A.I. in 2026? I'll show you something live that will make your stomach drop. Most parents have no idea what their kids are competing against. ◆ What "A.I.-resistant education" actually means when your teen is 16—not theory, not buzzwords, but the specific skills that can't be automated in the next decade. (And no, it's definitely NOT coding.) ◆ Why "getting good grades" is now the educational equivalent of getting really good at operating a fax machine. Register by tapping on this post and selecting one of the two time slots. 📹 Even if you can't make it, make sure to still register so you get the replay and reminders. If you CAN make it live, you'll be glad there's a Live Q&A… because I know there will be questions on your mind you'd like answers to. 💬 Tap on the post and select one of the time slots. Our Zoom plan only has 200 spots so register now and set a reminder so you don't miss it.

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I woke up on the day my legal guardian, Beau, became delirious from painkillers. This time, I didn’t stay by his side. I did as he asked and called Claire. In my previous life, I’d fallen in love with Beau—the man who raised me. That day, he’d had an accident and taken too many painkillers, losing himself completely. Instead of calling Claire, I’d stayed with him. A month later, I found out I was pregnant. Beau married me for the baby. On our wedding day, Claire was in a horrific car accident while traveling overseas. Before she died, she called Beau one hundred and ninety-nine times, begging for help. He didn’t answer a single one. Later, Beau stared at those one hundred and ninety-nine missed calls in silence. He didn't break that silence until the day I went into labor, when he locked me in the basement. I begged him to take me to the hospital. He just stood there, watching as our child and I died together on the cold floor. The last thing I heard him say was, “If you hadn’t gotten pregnant, I never would have married you. I wouldn’t have missed Claire’s calls, either. You deserved this.” When I opened my eyes again, I was back on that day. ... “Xenia, call Claire. Now.” Hearing those words again jolted me back to reality. I was really back. I grabbed my phone and dialed Claire’s number without a second thought. Beau Mercer’s face was flushed, his breathing shallow and ragged. His eyes were unfocused, lost in the haze of the drugs. Last time, that look had been enough to make me disobey him. It had ended in my own brutal death. This time, I avoided his gaze and slipped out of the room. “Just hold on, Beau. Claire will be here in ten minutes.” The door clicked shut behind me, and I heard him murmur my name. I didn’t answer. I just stood outside the door and waited. Ten minutes later, Claire arrived. Her eyes landed on me first, her expression a complicated mix of suspicion and relief. She scanned my clothes, and only after confirming I was untouched did the tension leave her shoulders. Before pushing the door open, she threw a sentence over her shoulder. “You can go. You’re not needed here.” I turned and went upstairs to my room. It wasn't until late that night that the sounds from downstairs finally faded. I sat on the edge of my bed, the memories of my last life replaying in my mind. Back then, I’d been so in love with Beau that I’d stayed to take care of him myself. A month later, I was pregnant. He married me. But on our wedding day, Claire died in an accident. He lost the woman he’d always wanted to marry. He didn’t lash out right away. He held all that rage inside until I was about to give birth. Then he locked me in the basement. The pain was so blinding I nearly passed out. I cried. I begged. I told him I didn’t care if I died, as long as he saved the baby. But he didn’t move. He just stood there and watched me bleed out, watched our child die before it could even be born. In this life, I did what he wanted and called Claire. And soon, I would leave this place for good. The next morning, Claire was at the Mercer breakfast table. Beau took a bite of his eggs and a sip of coffee before speaking. “Claire is my girlfriend, and I intend to marry her. You will all treat her with respect.” His gaze landed on me, and he tapped his fork against his plate. “Especially you. Show my future wife some respect. Don’t make trouble.” I nodded. The corner of Claire’s mouth twitched into a smug little smile. I ignored her and stood to go back to my room. I’d barely pushed my chair back when Claire’s voice, thick with crocodile tears, stopped me. “Beau, does Xenia not want me here? I know how important she is to you. If she doesn’t like me, maybe I should just go.” A few tears slid down her cheeks as she spoke. Beau’s brow furrowed, his eyes snapping to me.......

At my fifty-first birthday dinner, my husband, the senior pastor of a megachurch, announced in front of our family that God had revealed to him the need to replace me as “First Lady” in order to revitalize the church’s brand. His choice was our young, beautiful worship leader. My son and daughter, the heirs apparent who treated our church like a family business, even led the applause. They thought I would let myself be held hostage by “God’s ministry.” They expected me to cry, to accept being pushed aside for the sake of this family’s dignity. But they didn’t know I had already died once before. I didn’t cry. I didn’t make a scene. I simply took two documents from my clutch and, in front of everyone, signed my name to both. One was a divorce agreement. The other was my letter of resignation from every charitable foundation and community position I held through the church. They thought they were just upgrading a “First Lady.” They had no idea they had just pulled the life support from their entire religious empire. … I had been coordinating the final details for this so-called “birthday dinner” since six that morning. It wasn’t just a family gathering; it was a crucial stage for cultivating relationships with our church’s major donors. I personally confirmed every guest’s seat, ensuring those with allergies were kept away from nuts and that conservative legislators weren’t seated next to liberal tech founders. I even adjusted the Texas wildflowers the florist delivered, making sure their scent wouldn’t be strong enough to clash with the expensive Napa Valley Cabernet in the crystal glasses. I was so tired I could barely stand up straight. Meanwhile, my husband, Josiah—senior pastor of our church, the Cross of Light—was in his study, giving an interview to *Texas Monthly*. Through the door, I could hear his magnetic voice explaining his views on “the modern pastor.” He never bothered with these details. In his eyes, they were the invisible duties a “First Lady” was expected to perform. Our son, Caleb, was the first to arrive. He didn’t even glance at me before rushing into the study and excitedly placing a report in front of his father. “Dad, look at this! Seraphina’s Instagram live last week brought in over three thousand newly registered young believers. User retention is up twenty percent!” “Traffic conversion.” My son, a seminary graduate, was spouting the coldest corporate jargon. Before long, our daughter, Faith, arrived. She handed me a tablet. On the screen was Seraphina’s latest worship music video. She wore a white, off-the-shoulder gown, singing beneath a spotlight with tears glistening in her eyes. The whole production was as polished as a luxury car commercial. “Mother, I hope you’ll watch this,” Faith said in a brisk, businesslike tone. “You need to learn a more shareable style. Your image is too traditional.” I said nothing, just silently pushed the tablet away from my face. The dinner began, with the Bach I had chosen flowing through the living room. My children flanked their father, enthusiastically discussing how to “brand” the church and develop merch to turn it into a full-blown IP. “Our church is essentially a faith-based brand,” Caleb said, his voice brimming with confidence. “Dad is our core CEO, and Seraphina is our most dazzling brand ambassador.” There was no place for me in their bright, harmonious business plan. I was like an outdated piece of hardware, about to be rendered obsolete by a software upgrade. I quietly supervised the kitchen, making sure every Beef Wellington was a perfect medium-rare. Soon, the food was served. Caleb raised his glass first. “To you, Dad! Your visionary outlook is unmatched. You’ve charted an entirely new course for our family enterprise.” Faith also stood. “Dad, without your courage to rebrand, the church wouldn’t be where it is today.” She set down her glass and frowned at me. “Mother......