For a short period of time recently, my son, his wife, 9-year old son and 10-month old daughter had to move in with me after they both lost their jobs. Although I live in a small one-bedroom apartment, there was little I could do but make room and endure. For three long months, we had to share, tolerate and continue to carry on despite the circumstances. Struggle is a nice name for it.

 

But the most amazing struggle I was privileged to watch was that of my granddaughter, Sasha, who was learning to walk. Although her space was limited with all the boxes of human need surrounding her, nevertheless she would pull herself up on her chubby little legs again and again.

 

Her need to rise out of the play saucer in which she was placed, or up off the quilts I laid down on the floor for her was impressive but also distressing. She reminded me of my tries and failures to start my own business and the changes I had been through the last 18-plus years trying to stand on my own.

 

As with my first offers of help, reaching out my hand to her would be welcome at times, but then again she would choose to try and make it on her own even though she knew she might fall. I thought of the first contract from which I withdrew rather than drastically change my concept, and the second contract which failed when the publisher went bankrupt. As I had, she realized somehow that struggle was a part of the plan, but if she was going to get off her knees and stand, she had to do most of the work herself.

 

My little family moved on before Sasha’s first birthday and her first solo steps, but I have the same faith for her that I have for myself. One day I will receive a call from my son saying she is running around and they have to run and catch her. And one day I will call him to say that my competition is struggling to keep up with me as the sales of my books and dolls are running way ahead of them all