Tomorrow is my birthday. I will be 32. This kind of blows my mind.
If you had asked 15-year-old Jason where he would be when he was 27 and then compared it to where I found myself on my 27th birthday, he would have been appalled.
Then things got better.
Now, I suspect, if you showed my life to the 15-year-old me, he’d be reasonably cool with it. Is it exactly what I want? No. There are still plenty of things I would like to have accomplished, but haven’t. Most of them have to do with fiction and the publishing thereof. Especially novels.
But I’m closer, and I think a lot of the credit goes to my wife, Cate. She is the first woman I ever met who was totally willing to accept my various idiosyncrasies. She was the first person I’ve ever met who encouraged me in my writing on a consistent basis. I have short stories she’s read half a dozen times. I think she’s readLonely Human Atoms four times. And she doesn’t complain.
She reads my nerdy-as-hell baseball posts without being asked. I only know this because I caught her on Redleg Nation once recently.
My students would, I think, be very surprised to know how much input she has on their curriculum. I bounce just about every idea I have off her. Some of my best lessons come directly from her.
When I am at work, she takes care of our children and they are happy and healthy and learning so much it blows my mind.
I am 32. I have two regular writing gigs, one of which actually pays me money. I have a dream schedule for a high school teacher. I have two excellent children. I am starting, for the first time in my life to feel like something of a success.
And I think my wife should get most of the credit. I love her a lot.