My 7th grade daughter just won 6th place in the city-wide tennis tournament.

To say I’m proud is an understatement. Here’s why.

6th place was frustrating to Emilia because she lost two very close matches.

But what she failed to see was how much of an underdog she was in this tournament.

In 7th grade tennis, most kids are playing for the first time, as true beginners, and this is the case for Emilia as well. She just started playing tennis, but because she was often matched with other beginners in the sport this season, she won more matches than she lost.

But there was something about this tournament that really brought out the fighter in Emilia.

In the tournament, her matches got progressively harder as the talent and experience of the other players improved.

It would be quite evident to Amanda and me that her opponent was more experienced with their first serve of the game.

Many of her opponents had great form, polished backhands, and level swings of their rackets, illustrating that they had either been playing for some time or they were very well-coached.

Meanwhile, it was apparent from Emilia’s lack of form and unorthodox ways of hitting the ball that she was indeed a beginner.

But even though Emilia was often outmatched in skills and talent, she found a way to compete in every game. The best way to describe it is she played hard and scrappy.

When I wrestled in high school, some of the best wrestlers were labeled “scrappy.”

Scrappy in this context meant these wrestlers didn’t give up; they kept fighting hard even when it looked like there was no way to escape or avoid being scored against. This trait made them dangerous and hard to beat.

And that’s what Emilia was in this tournament. She was hard to beat.

She would lose points by not serving well or by making rookie mistakes, but she would gain them back by not giving up on difficult rallies.

The girls she would play against often hit the ball harder and with more accuracy, but Emilia would find a way to get the ball back over the net time and time again.

Her persistent style was challenging for her to keep up through the long tournament, but she hung in there and ended up 6th out of 60+ girls.

She didn’t want to talk to us for close to an hour after her last match, because she was so frustrated that she lost. That’s how much fight she had in her.

Emilia is 12. She hasn’t been interested in playing sports until recently. In fact, she almost didn’t sign up for tennis, but her aunt talked her into it right before the season started.

I hope Emilia can see what I see. She is a fighter.

I hope she’s learning that she doesn’t need to be the best player on the court to win; she needs to be the toughest player who doesn’t give up.

The very next day after the tournament, basketball season started with the first week entirely dedicated to tryouts.

Emilia is basically a beginner here too compared to many of the girls trying out, but she told me this morning she’s going to fight as hard she can to make the team.

I hope her coach sees the value in having a scrappy player like Emilia on his squad. But regardless of the outcome of tryouts, I’m watching her once again fight for it.

And all I can think to say about that is, “That’s my girl… keep fighting. I’m proud of you.”

As an aspiring writer, I was constantly consumed with goals. What would lead to publication? What would bring in money? Would fame follow if I wrote a space opera werewolf romance?

It’s easy to get caught up in this mindset, especially in the beginning. I wasn’t thinking about my writing in a long-term context. Of what it might mean and to whom.

Until one day in early 2007 when I purchased a blank, hardbound journal. I decided then that I would spend the next decade or so writing for an audience of one. I would fill the book with entries from me to my daughter.

I’ve been writing this book for over twelve years. When her sister came along, I purchased another blank journal, in which I’ve been writing for just over a decade.

I remember when I sat down to make my first entry. What pen would I use? Should I wait and research to find the perfect pen? Would I write in print or cursive? I looked over at Emilia, an infant barricaded by pillows on one end of the couch, sleeping, drooling, and occasionally farting.

Would my writing even matter? No one would read it anytime soon. When would I give it to her? When she was sixteen? Eighteen? Twenty-five? What did I have to say, anyway?

All of the demons and doubts grew from my desire for instant gratification. There would be no reward, not then and maybe not ever, for my efforts. If words are written and go unread, do they still exist?

Anyone who keeps a regular journal will tell you that yes, they absolutely do exist and they have meaning. Which is why aspiring writers are so often encouraged to journal. This breaks the mindset of continually looking for the gain (publication or paycheck). You cannot improve if you do not write. And you will not write if you are all-consumed with what you’re going to get for your efforts.

I told myself two words: Just Begin.

I knew very little about my audience of one. I had no inclination as to how her humor, her personality, or temperament might evolve. I stopped worrying about it, focusing instead on what I felt and wanted to communicate. One sentence led to the next. A page turned into two. A year’s worth of entries. Then five years. Now twelve.

When Tony Doerr wrote All the Light We Cannot See (on which he spent over a decade), did he approach each chapter with the mindset of, “I’m going to write this so that I can win a Pulitzer”? I’m thinking not.

When we allocate our efforts, we have a choice:

#1. I’m doing this for the short-term, feel good, or superficial gain.

#2. I’m in it for the long haul in pursuit of improvement, meaningful connection, to better the world around me, or to create positive and lasting legacy.

Whichever mindset we adopt from the start will have huge impact on the work we produce.

This doesn’t just apply to writing, but to everything:

• Are you working out just to cross it off the list (short-term, feel good), or are you truly pushing yourself in pursuit of greater health?

• Are you churning out the space opera werewolf romance because you heard it’s the latest trend (superficial gain), or are you working on creating meaningful connection?

• Are you fighting for what you really believe in (better the world around you), or joining a cause for the sake of appearance?

Before my genre-loving friends snap their #2 pencils in half, YES, I believe a well-crafted space opera werewolf romance can create meaningful connection. But make sure that it’s what you truly feel called to create, rather than grasping for the latest fad.

I connected with readers through my first humor series. It worked. But by the time the series was finished, I KNEW it was finished. I’d moved from the mindset of checking goals off my to-do list (Publish! Publish! Publish!) and leaned into the mindset of what truly matters (improvement, meaningful connection, better the world around me, create positive and lasting legacy).

When I think now about what matters, sometimes it’s as simple as writing for an audience of one.