Little Feet, Big Shoes

My daughter is currently dancing around my house in my big, heavy, rubber shoes that I wear to work because they are super comfortable.

It's interesting that she doesn't seem bothered by the size of them, her only complaint is that she keeps falling when she tries to stand on her tippy toes.

I find that fascinating. Especially the writer part of me.

She doesn't care that the shoes are big, she just cares that she stands on her tippy toes, that she can do something in them that she's never been able to do before.

Interesting metaphor for writing.

I have a lot of writers that I admire. Women who have written dozens of books in what seems like short periods of time. Women who write great books. Funny books. Emotional books. And a part of me feels like a little kid in my mommy's shoes, trying to step up to the plate and do the same thing.

Except, unlike my daughter, I worry about filling up those shoes, those people who I enjoy and adore and hope to be like.

I should take a hint from my daughter and not worry about filling the shoes, but instead, worry about standing on my toes, because that's the goal, not whether other people's shoes fit me.