When I signed with my publisher, I expected the sun to shine a little brighter. I expected my bathroom to clean itself and the laundry to disappear. I expected my kids to stop talking back to their mother, the published author. Oh and I for sure thought I would never have to plunge another toilet.
Lo and behold, none of those things happened. I still tell people way too many times a day to get their hands out of their pants. I burn cookies and mess up dinner in the crockpot. My life changed for half a second when I yelled, “Woohoo,” and then it returned to its regularly scheduled programming.
I just thought things would be different because I’d accomplished a lifelong dream. I did it. I finished that journey. I thought there would be constant joy and little or no frustration. I kept thinking, “As soon as I publish my books I will have the perfect life.” But what I wasn’t seeing was I already have the perfect life. I’m surrounded by people I love. People who inspire me and make me a better person-especially the four freckled Farleys who make my heart swell each hour of the day. My work…each one of my jobs…is rewarding and fulfilling. I also realized that the journey, the actually writing of my books, has brought me as much or even more joy than seeing them in your hands. I love getting lost in a world of fiction that I’ve created. In fact, I’ve realized I feel out of sorts when I’m not writing.
And then this morning, I read a fantastic piece by the always illuminating Momastery and my eyes opened a little wider. I have what I want and the quest for more, the search for the feeling of accomplishment, is what probably causes me the most angst. I’ve always had it all…now I just know it.