When I called my mom tonight, instead of her usual cheerful greeting, she said, "You're ruining my life!"
Surprisingly, I'd never heard her say those words before, although I'd supplied numerous opportunities. Like when I was six and hid my best friend in my room after our parents said we couldn't have a sleepover. Within an hour, police lights lit up the streets like a Christmas tree. Or when I was seventeen and declined my mom's invitation to join her and my sisters on a sightseeing excursion while on a cross-country trip. Instead, I climbed into the back seat of a strange car filled with strange guys and rocked out to Led Zeppelin, which is where my mom found me when she returned. I could go on, but I imagine you get the picture.
Surprisingly, I'd never heard her say those words before, although I'd supplied numerous opportunities. Like when I was six and hid my best friend in my room after our parents said we couldn't have a sleepover. Within an hour, police lights lit up the streets like a Christmas tree. Or when I was seventeen and declined my mom's invitation to join her and my sisters on a sightseeing excursion while on a cross-country trip. Instead, I climbed into the back seat of a strange car filled with strange guys and rocked out to Led Zeppelin, which is where my mom found me when she returned. I could go on, but I imagine you get the picture.
"Yes," she said, pausing for effect. "I can't put your book down. I absolutely love it and can't wait to see what's going to happen next. It's ruining my life because I'm exhausted and need to take a nap." The cause of my drama-queen-ness is revealed: It's hereditary!
"I'm glad to hear this, especially since you hated the beginning." I knew hate was a strong word, but it was drama-queen delicious.
"You're right. I hated it. But, it got better after that." Okay, so maybe hate wasn't such a strong word after all. By the way, she's currently reading my latest women's fiction book-the one that took me a year to write and contains the most cathartic words I've ever penned. The story that made me cry a thousand tears, eat a million chocolate-filled calories, and wander five hundred miles from my home. Lord, I'm one, Lord I'm two, Lord I'm three, Lord I'm four, Lord I'm five hundred miles from my home...
"Glad you like it, Mom. And, sorry. I didn't mean to ruin your life. I hope you'll forgive me."
"I already have. You are such a gifted writer." Another pause. "I'm so proud of you."
Tears filled my eyes, which was dangerous given I was driving.
Fame, fortune, and literary recognition are all well and good. But, you know what? For me, hearing a comment like this from one of the people I love most in this world is the ultimate definition of success.
What about you? What's your definition of success?
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