My son is turning 18 tomorrow. In some ways, this really freaks me out, because, well, I am the mother of an adult. Yikes! But in other ways, it doesn’t. He’s a good kid, and while he isn’t really sure what he wants to do for the rest of his life, I know he’ll figure it out as he goes, the same way I did.
For all intents and purposes, I didn’t figure out I wanted to be a writer until I was 30. It’s not so unusual. Don’t get me wrong, at his age I did have goals, and I reached them in short order. I think he has similar goals, but I also look at him and see a hundred-thousand possibilities. It’s entirely possible he does too, which would make it really hard to pick one or two on which to focus.
The good news is that I am quite confident that once he sets his mind to doing something, he will. It’s all a matter of him deciding what that thing is.
Whatever he decides, I could never be more proud of the man he has grown into, and who he continues to evolve to be.
See, one of my earliest goals was to get married and have a family—the opportunity to raise children to become responsible, conscious, compassionate, and just all around good adults. I may not be a bestselling author (yet), in fact, I have a long way to go. BUT. In raising this boy-become-man, I have achieved the single-most important accomplishment of my life.
Nothing I ever do could possibly compare to this. Nor would I allow anything to try. The story of my family is the single greatest story I could EVER write. And no matter what happens in the world, that is one thing that will never change.
What is your greatest accomplishment in life?