November 2105

Amy and I are in the living room, watching an episode of The Good Wife on Netflix, when our daughter Mara comes halfway down the stairs, sits on the eighth step and, through the jail-like bars of the balusters, asks me if I’ve checked the total lately.

I haven’t.

For the duration of The Good Wife, I’ve resolved not to check on my Kickstarter campaign, which is in its second day.

“No,” I tell Mara.

“You should,” she says.

And like that, I’m out of my chair and checking the current amount. It’s up to $1,800!

I’m $200 away from meeting my goal of $2,000! I can’t believe it!

Within minutes of launching my campaign yesterday, Thanksgiving Day, my sister-in-law and her family donated $250. Since then, like a cloudburst, the donations have been pouring in.

I am blown away by the generosity of my family, and friends, and friends of friends!

I am so blown away that, earlier today, while my family and I visited the National Portrait Gallery in Washington, D.C., I laid on the floor of the gallery’s courtyard and acted as if I’d passed out from, um, overwhelmed-ness.

Amy took a picture of my overwhelmed-ness and I posted it on Facebook.

Now, with $200 to go, I’m thinking I need to post another. But before I can do that, I get a notification from Kickstarter saying congratulations, my campaign has been fully funded.


Amy and I jump for joy. We hoot and holler. We dance around the living room.

Later, I’ll think about how we humans respond to the dreams of others. If the dream belongs to someone we love, we’ll try to squash it if we deem it impractical. But if the dream belongs to someone outside of our immediate circle, impractical or not, we’ll almost always see it as something essential, as something to be pursued at all costs.

As I dance around the living room, though, I’m not thinking about any of that. All I’m thinking about is how my Kickstarter campaign is fully funded!

But here’s the thing. I set up my campaign to run for thirty days.

It still has twenty-eight more days to go!

To be continued . . .

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