Tonight we're taking our kids to Back-to-School Night at their new preschool. My son, who is 2 1/2 years old, has been anticipating this for weeks. He's so excited he literally can't stop talking about it. And yet, today, he told me that I would drop him off in his new classroom and he would cry.
"Why?" I asked.
"Because I will," he said.
Oh, that clears that up.
I've been thinking about his words as I sit down to write today. I'm staring down a blank screenplay that is due on Monday (for a contest - no, I haven't sold anything yet!), an article I need to revise before submitting, and a collection of poems I need to edit and submit. In addition, I'm still recovering from the first round of rejections of my children's storybook series. It's time to pick myself up and try again.
Like my son, I'm full of anticipation as I start this new season, so very excited to savor all of the new and novel. And yet, beginnings are challenging. The uncertainty can be overwhelming to the point that the only response is a good cry. Let the swirling emotions out; give them space to see the light. The faster you do, the more able you'll be to engage the transition and move forward.
And I desperately want to move forward.
Once again I find myself appreciating my young son's wisdom. He gives me perspective. The blank pages of my screenplay - like my son's empty classroom - both beckon and repel. Like my son, I will choose to enter in to that space and leave my mark. Sometimes I will cry, no doubt, but sometimes I will laugh.
Here's to a good, hearty round of whichever comes first.