Today I am 31.
It’s a place I’ve never been before, obviously. I’ve mostly stopped having all these high expectations about where my life will be at a certain age, but a few of them I still cling on to.
Like, I honestly thought I would be a successful writer by now.
What is successful? Is it rich and famous? Is it having a loyal fan base? Is it being able to do what I love without working another job? Is it waking up every morning feeling like I am still in love with this whole writing thing? I guess 2 out of 4 isn’t bad.
I am grateful every time I get paid for something I’ve written. I never want to take that for granted. I am grateful every time someone likes a post on WordPress or Facebook. I am thrilled by every comment. I know we are all busy and the fact you are taking time out of your day to read this means a lot. So, thank you.
I think I have given up on the whole fame thing. It’s honestly exhausting even thinking about it. Especially when it means people arguing with you, leaving terrible reviews and saying nasty things in the comments. I know I shouldn’t care about that but I do. It makes me sick to think about. I think my personality just can’t handle it. I got crushed once by an editor and it sucked. I know I just need to get over that.
I am a mom, and I am somehow managing to not screw that up too bad, although there are days when I am not so sure.
It’s beautiful, confusing, heart-breaking, exhausting and wonderful all rolled into one.
My birthday morning started with my 2-year-old putting a tiny plastic ball in her mouth like it was candy. I yelled “No!” and she burst into tears and started crying so hard she couldn’t catch her breath and started gagging. She’s only done this a few times and every time it was because my husband our I raised our voice at her. I felt so bad. I couldn’t console her. She didn’t want to hug me and ended up spitting up all over my shirt.
The only thing that finally calmed her down was a Cookie Monster video on my phone. The day got better, and delicious birthday cinnamon rolls helped.
Sometimes that stuff doesn’t phase me, sometimes it does.
Sometimes I think I am doing a great job at mom-ing and sometimes I know I have no clue what I am doing.
Sometimes I just want to sit in a field of flowers alone and write poetry.
Motherhood is messy and unpredictable. But so is writing.
You never know what’s gonna happen next, and I guess that’s part of the excitement.
It’s vulnerable. You’re always on display.
You have to let your heart break, and that always hurts.
So, I will continue to do what I love. I will keep writing, whether I get any recognition or not.
I will love my daughter patiently, day after day, watching her grow and watching my heart expand.
I won’t give up on my dreams, but I will let them take time.
I will let my influence unfold naturally, as God gives me favor,
Not by manipulating people into clicking on my blogs or trying to force fame.
I will stop giving my life deadlines and be prepared to be surprised.
So bring it, 30’s. Because I am only gonna get better with age. 😉
Peace and Creativity,
The Stay-at-Home Something