Mohini Kundu

A new year is a guaranteed reset on weekly writing goals, right? In my defense, I had a baby—and looking back at my previous writings, what I’ve been up to is still in line with my original intention: to live more presently and inch my way closer to a feeling of purpose.

Having a child, for me, was a cheat code to purpose. It neatly resolved all of my flailing in the past few years and gave it a glossy sheen. Of course I meant to implode my career and eschew corporate success. All those sad attempts at building a morning routine weren’t just me falling victim to YouTube girlies romanticizing their lives and influencing me to buy their day planners. I was working towards loving my daily life at home so I could be an engaged, healthy stay-at-home mom for the first few years of my child’s life. Only that wasn’t how it happened at all.

All of my experimentation was done in search of a why rather than in service of it. It was a messy bout of trial and error, putting on different human suits to see which fit, driven by a need to know who I am—as if there is one specific answer to that question. I don’t have that answer, but I also no longer feel like I need it. What I have found is acceptance and appreciation for where I am right now.

We’re often told to measure a journey towards a goal in baby steps, which gives the illusion that we are on a linear path forward. I’d rather measure my progress and my life in baby teeth. You only get this very moment to cherish the latest baby tooth. It comes out of nowhere—whether you are ready for it or not—and you may only have a moment before suddenly another tooth springs up.

My son has taught me that we are constantly changing. Yes, even when it feels like our days have been identical for years. The phase of your life that you are currently in only lasts a millisecond in the grand scheme of time. After just a few clumsy attempts at a new skill, say cooking, I’m no longer as amateur as I was. The charm of being a novice in the kitchen and making hilarious rookie errors (that result in some of your favorite recipe hacks) fades rather quickly. As soon as you start doing something, a new version of you is born.

Rather than mourning the last phase or planning for the next one, I’m trying to live in the moment with this particular version of his little smile—this particular version of me—knowing it is not forever and not even particularly long. This version of me has many days where peak productivity looks like Disney sing-a-longs with my baby in the morning, getting my dog to the park, and throwing together dinner before 7 p.m. If I have one writing session in a week, I’ll call it a win. I may not be writing novels or launching a new career, but this version of my life deserves all of my love and attention. Embracing it fully makes the next phase even more exciting and precious, because I will have the joy of diving fully into something new that will never exist in quite the same way again.