When I was younger, I had big dreams for my writing. I thought I’d get a billion dollar contract with a major publishing house (I always was rooting for Puffin because I thought the logo was cute), and I’d live on a farm with my two corgis. Somehow, this would make it super easy to fly to glamorize parties in New York City where I would dance with Devon Sawa, where we would float as we danced like in Casper.

This is all hilarious because none of this came true. I haven’t gotten a huge publishing contract yet, and I certainly don’t live on a farm. I hate nature. When they do those mediations about being outside, I always get stressed because I imagine sunburns, bugs, and poison ivy. I do go to New York City, but they don’t involve grooving with 90s heartthrobs.

But I still feel #blessed with my writing.

It has given me so many gifts. Sure, I have an agent, but it’s way more than that. I met some of my dearest friends through my writing, whether it was on a writing retreat in the Hamptons or when a now-pal asked me how to get to the metro after a writing event. I used to be really scared of horror movies, but I wrote a character who loved horror movies, so I watched them. Now I love them. Just last week I watched Sarah Michelle Gellar slay in I Know What You Did Last Summer, and I enjoyed every second of it. When I was writing a book about a stand-up comedian, my husband surprised me with tickets to Ali Wong. 

And that’s not counting just the pure joy and growth that comes from the writing process itself. 

I think it’s so easy to look for the obvious milestones on our writing journeys, but I think it’s the hidden blessings that make it all worthwhile.