I finished reading Aunt Erma’s Cope Book yesterday. For a good part I thought it was a whole lot more cribby than her usual self but entertaining nevertheless. This lady certainly hit fame and creative expression through cribbing.
But I really loved the last chapter. Something she said about depression not being permissible in today’s world…touched a memory of someone who said the same thing so long ago. Wisdom comes from strange sources. We don’t allow ourselves the luxury of being sad, do we? It is okay to be ruthless, its fine to be defensive, perfectly understandable to be suicidally depressed, maniacally ambitious. But sadness…that’s so mundane. No room for such insipidity in our brilliant, glamourous, bright and glitzy lives. No space for pale moonlight in these bright sunny days and murderously dark nights.
Something else that occurred to me….I waste so much of my equilibrium trying, trying, trying to be better, more. I’ve been feeling strained over not finding the time to blog and stagnating when I do. But I just realised that I don’t need to be perfect. I’ve been feeling bad because I wondered where I was going with my dreams if I wasn’t improving, evolving, growing in my writing. Simple thought: I write. I make money. I don’t have to do both together. So much for big dreams of professional writing….why indeed? I get as much satisfaction from my posts as I can hope to. And without the dirty politics that is part of any profession, without rivalry, without deadlines, without any of that muck.
What’s more…I don’t have to be anything or anyone at all. I can be just a blogger, incessantly cribbing, ocasionally bursting into verse, beautifying little scraps of my life and sharing them with strangers. I can be a management professional running through a day paying more attention to how straight the sales line is than to my own posture and health. I don’t have to be brilliant at either. Doing just about alright….is alright.
Everyone who has read and liked an Erma Bombeck will testify to how wonderful even an ordinary life can be made to seem. Passion is over-rated. And serenity under-valued.