It's the last morning of 2016, and my kid and I are hanging out in my home office. Correction: I'm hanging out in my office; my kid is wreaking havoc. Toys, office supplies and books I've yet to read are scattered everywhere. The play area I've set up for her under the window remains neat and untouched.
I'm in planning mode, but half-heartedly. What do I want to accomplish next year, professionally and personally? How do I continue to grow my business and manage the never-ending needs of my tiny human? What am I going to do about childcare, now that she's so close to walking and will undoubtedly no longer be content to sit in my office and play while I work?
Then I look over and see my kid. She's got a marker in one hand and a book in her lap -- the picture of a future liberal arts major.
She loves to read -- when we're not reading out loud to her, she's sitting quietly on the floor, flipping through her books. She's always so focused, too, like she's trying so hard to figure out what the book is trying to tell her.
Her dad says she's going to follow in my footsteps and be a writer, but I hope not. I'd like to see her go into STEM or medicine -- anything with more stability.
When I was a kid and decided I wanted to become a writer when I grew up, no one told me how hard it would be. That, essentially, I'd be trying to make a living off words and ideas and my ability to deliver them in a way that pleases other people. No one told me how much uncertainty and self-doubt plagues a young writer. No one told me how many outlets would offer to pay shit for my hard work.
But this is the path I've chosen, and I'm sticking with it. As I look ahead to 2017, one of the themes running through my goals is how to become a person I think my kid would look up to. If she does end up following in my path and becoming a writer, I hope this new year puts me in a place where I can show her how to do it with confidence and grace.