I love that I get to write, that my life has turned out in such a way that I have the time to sit and think and read and write stories. It's a privilege. It's not always easy. It's work to find that time. It's hard to get those ideas to form in way that's worth writing down. But still, it's a privilege.
As my youngest kid gets closer to starting kindergarten, I keep thinking about returning to teaching and when will I have time to write. I loved being a teacher, but I LOVE writing. Teaching is a privilege, too. I won't be sad to return to it. Teaching taught me all kinds of things, things about the world, things about myself that I didn't know were there. Not all of it was good, but most of it was.
My first novel idea came from a Writer's Notebook that I kept along with my class of third graders. The habit of writing everyday, of observing, of treating the act of writing my thoughts down as important were all a result of trying to instill those habits in my classroom of little writers. I figured I should lead by example.
Before I knew it, I had a novel. Granted, that novel was truly terrible. But I still remember the joy in writing it. In discovering this thing that I LOVED to do. Not to be too dramatic, but it felt like I'd uncovered my purpose.
So, as returning to the classroom looms in my future, I'm not disappointed that I haven't been able to make a living as a writer. Yet. I'm excited to see what I'll uncover this time around.