I watched as three-year-old Milo followed the lead of his older brother, climbing up the side of what I can only describe as a massive spider web, tunnel-like structure made of rope at a nearby park. It is a favorite feature for older kids but terrifying for parents of toddlers who can easily climb up the side but freeze once they get to the top and are now out of reach. We frequent this park, and I have yet to visit when I don’t see a parent, arms extended straight up, reaching helplessly toward a child who has stopped at the top of these ropes. Today, that child was Milo.
He wasn’t panicking. In fact, he didn’t even call out to me. I had watched him from across the playground and slowly made my way in that direction as he continued to climb. I suspected my assistance might be needed soon. I stepped through the ropes and stood underneath him.
“Are you stuck?” I called up to him.
He smiled at me with those double dimples. “I tink so,” he responded.
At this point, a parent’s options are limited. You either convince your child to jump down into your arms, coach them step-by-step in maneuvering downward, or swallow your pride and start climbing yourself up that web. I lean toward option #2, and have thankfully, never attempted option #3.
Milo was still calm, so I thought I’d weigh in on his thoughts. “What’s your plan, buddy?”
Without a moment of hesitation, he told me. “Keep going and never give up!”
This was not the plan I expected, but his Daniel Tiger-like gumption was admirable—and adorable. My insides were shaking with laughter, but he was so serious that I couldn’t ruin the moment. I kept a straight face, considered his plan, and responded. “I like that plan. Do you need my help?”
“Dust stay right there,” he told me as he began jockeying his little legs and arms around the black ropes. I watched him climb down to solid ground, dust off his hands, and give me a thumbs up. A thumbs up! There is nothing more precious than a three-year-old initiating a thumbs up. I shot one back at him and watched him run toward the next adventure.
*****
This past January, I went away to my tiny house for a few days of introverting. It’s not actually MY tiny house, but this was my third solo get-away to this particular tiny house, so it feels like mine. I bring books, journals, Paper Mate flair pens, and all the individually sized food from Trader’s Joes that I don’t normally buy for our family. I lock myself into the tiny house to read, write, think, and do nothing. It’s dreamy.
I signed up for a free one-hour writing course that happened to be going live during my getaway. The workshop promised to help me find clarity in my writing. About halfway through the hour, we were presented with the dreaded question: one year from now, what do you want to have accomplished in your writing life?
I hate that question.
There is an expectation that because I enjoy something, then I must want to take it to the next level. If I show even an ounce of talent, then I must want to be known for it, monetize it, grow my audience, and further my platform.
All the expected answers came rolling into the chat box: write a book proposal, find a publisher, start my novel, publish a book.
I gave the same answer I give anytime this question is asked: I want to still be writing.
This doesn’t just happen with writing.
I’ve taught Zumba for eleven years and every so often someone will ask, “Are you going to become an international Zumba star?” (Ok, that might not be the exact question, but you get the idea.)
No, I’m pretty content just teaching a couple classes a week at our local rec center.
Then I panic for a minute and wonder if I’m lame and lack ambition.
When I was a first grade teacher, everyone asked me if I wanted to be a principal one day.
No. I like being a teacher. (Wait, should I want to be a principal?)
When I was a literacy coach, everyone asked if I was going to start my own consulting business.
No. I like being a literacy coach. (Maybe I should start thinking bigger for myself.)
These questions are meant as compliments—I think. Someone sees me doing something well and wants even more success for me. I am grateful for such affirmation.
But my greatest goal is to keep going.
Keep writing. Keep reading my Bible. Keep apologizing. Keep holding Stephen’s hand. Keep reading books with my kids. Keep cooking good food. Keep praying. Keep hiring babysitters for date nights. Keep opening our home to another foster child. Keep calling my parents. Keep dancing. Keep going on walks. Keep investing in true friends. Keep making new friends. Keep getting up early. Keep engaging in our church. Keep being faithful to the small things that matter most.
I have no extraordinary goals. No well thought-out plans for the next five years. But I think that’s ok. And the next time someone asks me about my plans, I will steal Milo’s words: keep going and never give up. And then I’ll give them a thumbs up.