“Let it Be” plays in the background.
My kids are at the table molding things out of clay while I write. I just finished a 5km run in 25 minutes. My wife is knitting a sweater.
The bills are paid, my investments are growing and we’ll soon be meal planning for the week.
While this sounds like a stream of ‘flexing’ (as the kids say today), it should be known:
- an elementary teacher I had said there was no point in challenging our class because we wouldn’t amount to anything more than construction workers or housewives
- I destroyed my knees at sixteen and could never run on them without injury
- a high school teacher I respected told me to stick to computers because writing wasn’t my forte
- a specialist told me that when it came to having kids, I was a hopeless cause
but
- the reason I wanted to write is my grade six teacher, who said he loved reading my stories and hoped I would keep writing them
- one of my high school teachers told me I should teach because I was a natural at it
- my circle of friends have been incredible cheerleaders in my pursuits
- my family has always been in my corner
I’ve ignored one of these groups and listened to the other, however, some days I wish both groups could see me now…
writing away while my kids play with clay.