I think a lot about what I want to accomplish. Taking another stab at a novel, working from home–clicking away on the keyboard all day while sipping a delightful blend of Columbian coffee. Instead, I know that my writing schedule will consist of fifteen-minute increments that I talked about a couple of days ago.

I talk about memories a lot–how the memories you build can serve you well in the future. Last night, my wife and son went out shopping. I stayed home with my daughter, and we had a delightful time. We drank decaf, played the game Sorry, and then snuggled on the couch for about an hour, reading a book about Sam, the dog who could sing. I carried her upstairs and tucked her into bed.

I think about the kind of legacy that I want to leave, and it is tempting and easy to just hide in the basement, acting dogmatic about needing to keep a writing schedule, always keeping future accomplishments in the back of my mind–awards, personal satisfaction, book deals; whether those things ever come to fruition or not doesn’t matter. Often we live our lives as though our dreams will happen, whether they are realistic or not. (And yes, I’m guilty of spending just as much time day-dreaming about it as doing it.)

Here’s what I’m most proud of.  Raising a daughter who loves her dad. Last night was one example of how to do that.