To answer the question

Originally published at the normality factor. You can comment here or there.

Yes, I ended that last topical post in the middle of a sentence.  On purpose.

In other news, I’ve just finished a whirlwind weekend (say that ten times fast!) of healing and attunements.  I’m being reminded again that it’s time to brush off the ol’ Reiki manuals and… well, throw them out.

If you happened to buy or download the Reiki manual that I cobbled together from the Path of Reiki group, I apologize profusely.  In my defense, the “final product” there was much more readable and consistent than what I started with, but that’s not really saying much.  I know I need to rewrite it, and I’m finding the words even as we speak.  This is a very, very good thing.

I am also struck at the same time with a conundrum.  I would love to have a larger proportion of my income provided by my writing, but that is something that is probably not entirely practical.  As easy as writing comes for me, it does require time – much in the same way knitting does, that it is produced a single unit at a time, and it takes dedication and focus to string all of those units together.  No matter how important the job is, though, and no matter how much it might generate, the shorties come first.

I don’t resent this in the slightest.  Yes, I do feel a slight internal conflict when I’m hanging out with the kids that I could be doing something else – knitting, writing, sorting old threads, looking for areas to cross-post some marketing blurbs for work – but it’s nothing compared to the internal conflict I feel when I’m doing any of those other things and I’m not playing with the kids.

Because, let’s face, they’re frikkin’ awesome.  These four little wonders have enriched my life in ways I can’t even begin to describe, and each in their own way.  They are brilliant, beautiful, demanding, kind, loving, emotional, clever, and unbearably adorable at every turn.  What’s not to love?  Even when they’re grumpy and getting on each other’s nerves, the inevitable “I’m sorry” or “let me help you with that” comes out.

It’s just amazing.

But these things that I want to do – the books, the stories, the school, the healing, etc. – are all for them.  Everything I do is to benefit them directly or indirectly.  If I sell a book and I get a deal to write another one, if I can get out there and get some promotions done, that’s money in my pocket to take care of them, to make their lives a little easier so that they can really experience the important things.  I love that our versions of “socialization” include things like comic conventions and the proper use of technology – and it really is effective socialization – but I’d still like to do more.

I know plenty of people who were the products of single-parent homes, and who focused exclusively on a single task and did not worry much about anything else.  I could totally do that, but I want more.  I am happy with my life, but I will find dissatisfaction quickly if I am not working and striving for something a little more amazing every day.

I’d like my kids to learn that.  I’d like for them to discover that one thing that makes them happier than anything else (in that moment) and pursue it relentlessly.  I’d like for them to have permission to change to something else when this other thing no longer serves its purpose and to never waste a moment looking backwards in regret.

At this exact moment, I’m going to snuggle my youngest and watch some more training videos, and perhaps tomorrow I’ll finish up Reflexology.  Maybe by the end of the week, I’ll have enough to order my next class – Medical Terminology, I think – and then I’ll work on that for a little while.

And all for them.  Because if my dreams aren’t good enough to pursue, how do they know that theirs are?

Dawn Written by:

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