The other day I had a routine check-in with a sweet 8-year-old boy, and he gave me (as these amazing little people often do), a lightbulb moment - like one of Oprah's ah-ha's. 

(Quick backstory: He had been gradually working his way from a paralyzing fear of being alone at night and needing to fall asleep on the living-room couch with the TV and all the lights on, to sleeping in his own room. As of this week, he is almost ready to graduate.)

So I asked him, "How did you feel, lying in your bed at night falling asleep when your Mom was sitting half-way down the stairs?" To be honest, I was hoping to hear "Confident!" or Proud!".

But his answer? "Fine." (With a dimpled little smile.)

Isn't that brilliant?! He's fine! That's it, I thought. Isn't that what we really want for our kids? That they're "fine"?

I call my program "Confident Sleepers" because the idea is to give kids enough support and tools to develop confidence around something that was previously scary. (I probably won't change the name; "Fine Sleepers" won't likely catch many tired parents' attention.) 

But this little boy, who two months ago was terrified of falling asleep in his own room, now feels fine.

It got me thinking about every goal we set for our kids: from making a team to acing a math test to having "the resilience to overcome any challenge life throws at them" (holy cow, that's a great, evolved sentiment but might take a lifetime for them to get there). So what's wrong with "fine"?

I think we could get very philosophical on this rabbit-hole of an idea, or, we could just be fine with it. But when I think about the idea of fine as a goal for myself and especially my children, wow - it feels like the pressure flies away. (And who wants more pressure?!)

So for today, for you and your kids, I wish you all the best. In other words, I hope everything is just fine.