I’ve been doing quite a bit of reflecting as of late, and most of it in the wee hours of the morning when the world is asleep. I suppose this is the difference between writers with kids and writers on their own. Writers with kids are left to stalk the night in order to find a quiet moment, whereas writers on their own can find any moment to summon inspiration and put finger to keyboard. Let’s call that jealousy, shall we?
I’m long past the useless speculation of who I could have been without kids and a wife. Now it is more about how incomplete I would be were they not a part of my life. This in no way defends their behaviors or blatant unwillingness to let me put words to paper during waking hours. All of that is merely another set of obstacles I must overcome in order to achieve my goals. If I want something badly enough, I find a way to make it happen.
So, what do I want? NYT Best Selling Novels, flat screens in every possible crevice, time. Mostly time. I want to luxuriate in learning new things. I want to learn how to cook a five minute omelet and have the will, means, and tools to clean up the mess in under two minutes. I want my legs to stop acting like there’s glass in my bloodstream. I want to wake up feeling like my kids are learning something new and valuable everyday, and that the learning from yesterday sets the foundation for today’s learning, which sets the foundation for tomorrow. I want to know my children love me and each other and won’t slay anyone over a disagreement the way kids have been doing for centuries.
I want a breakfast that carries me longer than two hours. I want a gym I don’t feel inferior in. I want students who care about their learning and their craft more than I do.
I don’t know that I have the power to control all these things, but I know I need to accept responsibility and take control of the things I do hold sway over. I know I need to stop talking about doing that and get it done.