Final pages of this journal. This one has been with me five years — In those five years: two sons, a move back to Chicago, a return to teaching high school. Where will the next five years bring me? The next journal? Where is this life leading me?
I turn 37 in five days. 37 years. Is this where I thought I’d be? Closer to 40 now — how I look forward to that decade in ways I didn’t imagine — couldn’t imagine when I was 16. AJ sits in front of me in his high chair, begging for more yogurt. This is writing now.
Will my boys become writers? Will they adore words as much as their mother? These things fill my mind.
He grabs my pen instead of the spoon. He’s unhappy when I take it away …