writermag.com • The Writer | 13want. I had to abandon the entitlement
that my worktime was sacrosanct, and
not to curse the gods when things
didn’t go my way. I get frustrated when
I lose time, but it no longer colors my
day and prohibits me from finding a
path amidst the rubble. There was
nothing I could do but relent to the
sudden trip to the emergency room or
the week my wife was felled by pneu-
monia or the time that babysitter
decided not to show up for a week-
long gig and didn’t offer an explana-
tion. Another truth emerged: I was not
the only one affected. No two-year-old
wants to go to the hospital; nobody’s
spouse wants to work over the week-
end. You find a way. That’s why I’m
writing this column now. That’s why
the notion of a work-life balance is
such a farce.
Frequently, articles about kids talk
about how much ends for the parents.
Free time! Nights out! Those points
obscure the fact that great stuff arises,
such as my ego’s slow death. Having a
child has made freelancing more
enjoyable. It provides a bubble where I
can work on something that’s within
my control. I can focus on one thing
instead of placating a toddler who
wants everything now. Because that
focus is so narrow, I accomplish more.
Assignments serve two purposes: They
let me play in a sandbox and provide a
beat-the-clock element that resembles
a newsroom’s healthy chaos. The work
has a fantasy element because caring
for a tiny, helpless person is a relentless
job. Even when things go bad – a pitch
gets ignored; a source flakes out – it’s
not as bad as trying to comprehend
how your child is in surgery.
The days are tiring, but there’s a
weird paradox. I enjoy the chaos,
especially now that the kid is old
enough that she’s excited to see me,
that she can talk and express herself,
and, oh my god, she’s a genuine per-
son. It’s a rollicking, forever-twisty
process. I spent my single years
involved in amorous-free Saturday
nights and lifeless Monday mornings
and days that felt as flat and desolate
as the Kansas plains. Now I can say
without a hiccup of hesitation that no
day is boring. It’s a lot like the stargate
sequence in 2001: A Space Odyssey,
only with more Elmo.
Of course, that description will
change. The kid will get older and, pre-
sumably, less temperamental and more
sophisticated in expressing her needs
and wants. My wife and I will get older
and, presumably, smarter. (Well, she
will. Me? Who the hell knows?) It’s
why a freelance writer is equipped for
parenthood: Our careers are all about
adjustments. Who hasn’t allotted time
for a last-minute assignment or con-
vinced a difficult editor to extend a
deadline? The same tools I use as a
writer, I use as a parent. The only dif-
ference is that I have less experience in
the latter. I am a master in my down-
stairs office but a trainee as soon as I
hit the main floor and spot a blur with
a halo of curls.
I am not upset by this discrepancy. I
am learning. It took me years to gain
confidence as a freelance writer with-
out feeling like I was one step behind
my checkbook and two steps behind
common sense. You fail before you
succeed, which is the definition of par-
enthood. What matters is you learn
your lessons, get up, and fail a little less
often. You do this over and over and
over again. A story ends; the life you’re
responsible for doesn’t. Both can break
your heart. Can you allow one passion
not to infect the other while knowing
which one always comes first? If so,
welcome to the club. Bring lots of
paper towels.Ithaca-based Pete Croatto is a veteran free-
lance writer who has written for The New York
Times, The Christian Science Monitor, Publishers
Weekly, Columbia Journalism Review, and many
other publications. He is also working on his
first book. Twitter: @PeteCroattoSanta Barbara
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