I read once that when you are struggling to figure out what direction to take with your life, you should try to remember how you answered the question "what do you want to be when you grow up?" when you were ten years old. I don't remember the specific rationale, but I think it had something to do with ten being the magic age at which you knew enough about who you were, but had not yet begun to deal with the self-doubt and self-loathing of adolescence that often results in a lot of self-imposed limitations.
When I was ten years old I was certain that when I grew up I wanted to be two things: a mom and a writer.
I became a mom in 1998 when my daughter was born.
I became a writer one year ago today when I started this blog. I only recognize that in retrospect. When I started blogging, I thought it might be a fun diversion and perhaps a helpful way to keep track of Bud's development. I could not have guessed the extent to which my fellow bloggers would inspire me, challenge me, and drive me not only in my parenting, but also in my writing. I had no idea that a year later I would think of myself as a writer; that I would be a writer.
In many ways, this realization gives me a new sense of self, and with it the grown-up blogger-mom part of me is further inspired, challenged and driven to become better and to set the bar higher.
But my inner ten-year-old is positively gleeful.