Lucky Girl

Every so often it will smack me on the forehead.

How lucky I am. I get paid to draw. And paint. And make spiders out of styrofoam and pipe cleaners.

I get paid to roll my eyes and be slightly sarcastic. I get paid to tell the truth . . . like, to a student joining the Marines, "I really think you need to reconsider a career path based on your love of the costume." (But, the Marines have swords, Miss ______. Swords.)

I get to make a difference. Most of the time I won't know about the difference, as that is the zen of how it works, but I'm pretty sure I make a dent somewhere. Maybe a scratch or two. A redirect, here and there.

And today is not the best day to reflect on this, as I can hardly keep my eyes open. Parent Teacher conferences were last night. But maybe that is the best day to think about it. I am blessed. I can draw. I can make things. I can improvise. And I have a biting wit.

Not everyone has those skill sets.

And I have found a place, a career, that will compensate me for doing what I love to do . . .