So, so many things. I get to be around when my not-yet-two-year-old daughter first learns to say Crap. My commute is a walk in my gym shorts down the hall. When I have insomnia, I just think about my book and call it work (anxiety, exploded) and I can get up late or work until 8am and THEN go to bed. Hearing from readers whose lives have been changed (in some good way!) by my work. Hearing from readers who really _got_ something difficult or subtle that I wrote. Not dealing with irate, unreasonable parents (sorry, flashback to teaching). Telling a story, and knowing it won't come back void.
It's all a privilege, and hard as it often is, I wouldn't trade it for anything.