This labor day I am thinking about my life’s work; I’m probably not alone in this, but for me it’s especially on my mind because today also happens to be the two year anniversary from when I started writing. We’re also starting another year of homeschooling in a few short days, and I’m working tonight, even though I never work on Mondays.
My life’s work.
Am I happy with it? Do I just do it because it’s a habit and I’m a habitual person, or is there a real passion there?
That’s a tough one for me. As some of you may know I’m a nurse. I didn’t dream of being a nurse for years like some of us do, I just woke up one morning knowing that’s what I should do, and I did it. It’s the same thing with writing. On September 2, 2010 writing a novel was the last thing on my mind. On September third, I knew it was what I should do and I did it.
Homeschooling went differently. We struggled with that decision for years. But finally we just did that, too.
So am I happy in my life’s work? Some days, I shout out a resounding no, but on other days, like today, as I sit in the quiet house and think about life, a word whispers through my soul.