Last week was a big week. I achieved things I didn’t know were possible. A fabulous publishing company, Booktrope, offered me a book deal. And it felt weird. A wise friend asked me why it felt so weird. Was it achieving my lifelong goal or was it the fact that I was picked that felt so odd? And I’ve thought about it for the last few days…over and over and my answer surprised me. It’s the fact that I was picked. The fact that someone picked me before other people.
Why is that weird you ask? Because this forty-two-year-old purveyor of Bar Farley, preschool teacher, author and mother to four sometimes well-adjusted children is still the ten-year-old who was picked last for kickball at recess. I’m still the one who got out first when we played dodgeball in the days when dodgeball was an official sport in PE class. I’m the one who volleyed between groups of kids and never really fit in. And I’m learning now, thirty-two years later, that it’s hard to change the way you see yourself.
I’ve worked hard. I work hard every day trying to balance work and kids. My lines get all blurry as I sneak in a few minutes on the computer and a quick trip to play mini-golf. But I do it because I want to and most of me can’t imagine any other way. But it’s still hard to think that I deserve it and I’m not that little girl with the pixie cut blushing in the last row.
So I need to look up at the sky and say thank you to this gorgeous universe that sometimes grants us our deepest desires. And I have to look in the mirror and shake my head and realize I’m that forty-two-year-old who sometimes feels the insecurities deep into her toes. But I’m also this girl who is filled with gratitude for the opportunities I have been served. All of the sudden, I’m the mom who has a great lesson to share with her kids…because now I can tell them with great certainty they will get picked…when the time is right.