Today is one of those days when I woke up happy, possibly because for the first time in ages I slept through the night. This happens so rarely I can’t remember the last time it actually did. Even as I write this, I’m thinking, “Oh, this is what it feels like to be rested!” A novel concept.

You would think that I’d be getting all kinds of delayed-maintenance projects completed, given that I’m feeling maximally energized. Not exactly. But this morning I did volunteer for a few hours at Olivia’s school, in the art classroom, and, once again, observing Olivia up close confirmed for me “Yep. No doubt about it. My daughter’s an artist.”

A while back a friend who paints defined the word this way: “An artist is someone who works until it’s finished.”

What a perfect summary, don’t you think? And of course “artist” can apply to many fields, not only painting and drawing. Writing, too.

Fourth grade—Olivia’s level—stands out vividly for me because that was the year my family moved from Long Island, New York, to the Jersey shore. I began keeping a journal in fourth grade, which I still have, and wrote my first short story, about two girls the exact same ages as my then-best friend and me. Fourth grade was when I began to feel like the person I finally became.

Watching Olivia focus intently on her work—today, aboriginal dot paintings—multiplied my already existing happiness.

Often when my kids are whining about whatever thing is bugging them at that moment I say to them, “Happiness is a choice.”

Which is a philosophy I believe. And that I need to remember on days when I’m not feeling so rested.  ~

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