The Week 26 #52Ancestors theme is “A Hard Choice.” Usually I write about a hard choice one of my ancestors faced: whether to cross an ocean, whether to remarry, whether to stay. This week, the hard choice belongs to me.
I recently asked an AI assistant what it knew about my life from our conversations. It came back with this: I’m essentially working three jobs. A senior paralegal by day, with over thirty years in corporate and probate law. A genealogist, writer, and researcher by night. And somewhere in between, a family logistics manager, trying to keep track of everyone’s needs at once.
It estimated I spend about 40 hours a week at my paralegal job and another 20 on genealogy, with whatever is left going to family, home, and the occasional attempt at sleep. It even joked that “I’ll just finish this one citation” is my version of “one more episode.”
I laughed when I read it. Then I sat with how accurate it was.
Three Jobs, One Calendar
I’ve built KMD Genealogy LLC. I (try) to write for this blog every week. I’m working through the National Genealogical Society’s Advanced Skills in Genealogy course. I’m a member of the Association of Professional Genealogists. I’m hoping to apply to ProGen later this year, with BCG certification possibly somewhere farther down the road. I haven’t made a final decision on that path yet; I may instead pursue an MSc in Genealogical, Palaeographic & Heraldic Studies at the Strathclyde Institute for Genealogical Studies
None of that happens instead of my day job. It happens after it, around it, and sometimes in the fifteen minutes before it starts.
I don’t say any of this to complain. I chose every one of these commitments because I want them. When I declared my goals for 2026 back in January, I knew they were ambitious. I wanted to grow this blog, continue my education, solve difficult research problems, and begin building a professional genealogy business. I still want every one of those things.
I’m not collecting credentials for the sake of collecting credentials. Every course I take, every article I write, and every research project I tackle is preparing me for the day I can help other people tell their family stories with the same care I’ve tried to give my own.
But wanting something and having the hours for it are two different problems, and I run into that gap more often than I’d like to admit.
Some weeks I finally get the free hour I’ve been waiting for all week. I sit down at my computer, ready to make progress, and then… I freeze.
Not because I don’t know what to work on, but because everything feels equally important. Do I spend the hour on coursework? Research? Writing? Preparing for future client work? Organizing digital files? Planning a research trip? Every choice means something else has to wait, and before I know it, half the hour has disappeared.
That kind of paralysis is more exhausting than being busy.
The Choices I’ve Already Made
This isn’t the first time I’ve had to choose.
Readers of this blog know I decided to attend RootsTech virtually this year instead of traveling to Salt Lake City (See: Why Attending RootsTech 2026 Virtually Is the Right Move Right Now). It wasn’t the option I wanted most, but it was the one that fit both my budget and my calendar. I still hope to attend in person next year and spend time researching at the FamilySearch Library, but I also know that trip deserves more preparation than I can realistically give it right now.
People also ask when I’ll start taking genealogy clients.
The honest answer is that I’d love to start now. But I also know that anyone who trusts me with their family history deserves my full attention. At the moment, my hours are already committed to my corporate career, my education, my writing, and my family. I’d rather begin with one client at a time, when I know I can do the work well, than rush simply so I can say I’ve started.
None of those decisions felt easy, but none of them were setbacks either. They were simply the right choices for that season.
The People Who Are Waiting Too
The hardest trade-offs aren’t about conferences or certifications. They’re about people.
My husband and I both have demanding schedules, and we don’t spend as much time together as either of us would like. My son is an adult now, still living at home for this season, and I know that season won’t last forever. I don’t want to look back and realize we spent these years mostly passing each other between work, errands, and our own projects.
This year my mother lost her husband of 57 years, my father. She needs practical help, of course, but she also needs something harder to schedule: time together that isn’t only about grief or things that need fixing. I want to be present with her while we’re both learning what life looks like now.
When I step back and look at all of it, it’s easy to understand why I feel pulled in so many directions. It’s also forced me to admit something I’ve been avoiding. In trying to protect every goal, I’ve sometimes forgotten to protect the people those goals are meant to support.
The Hard Choice
For a while I thought the hard choice was deciding which dream had to go. Certification. Client work. Conference travel. More education. Surely one of them had to be sacrificed.
I don’t think that’s actually the choice anymore.
One of the things genealogy has taught me is that every generation lived within limits. My ancestors had limits of money, geography, health, opportunity, and time. They couldn’t do everything at once, and neither can I. The difference is that I have the privilege of choosing among opportunities they never had.
The hard choice isn’t deciding which dream to give up. It’s deciding what this season of life is for.
The FamilySearch Library will still be there next year. Professional certification isn’t going anywhere, and client work can begin a little later. But my son’s season at home won’t last forever, and my mother’s first year without her husband only happens once. Those aren’t interruptions to my goals; they’re part of the life those goals are meant to support.
Maybe that’s the lesson I’ve been working toward all year without realizing it. Every meaningful pursuit requires saying no to something else, at least for a while, and the challenge isn’t making that choice once. It’s making it over and over again, season by season, without feeling guilty for the things that have to wait.
I’m not pretending I’ve figured it all out. I know there will still be evenings when I stare at my to-do list wondering what deserves the next hour. But I’m finally learning that choosing one priority for this season doesn’t mean giving up the others. It simply means trusting they’ll still be there when their season comes.
YOUR TURN!
If you’re building something meaningful alongside a full-time job, family responsibilities, or other commitments, how do you decide what gets your time? I’d love to hear how you’ve navigated your own hard choices.
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