I’ve decided to make the late Nora Ephron is my patron saint.
We were both born on May 19. We both gave birth to two children. We both were devastated by our second husbands via their philandering. We both have big teeth and an odd smile. We’re both self-deprecating.
Whereas she found her voice and footing through humor and writing, I’m still floundering around. Still in the game, just haven’t got the hang of it yet. But do you ever? I don’t make it to practices nearly often enough, whereas Nora showed up every day and made a habit of hitting that ball – or at least swinging.
This is me swinging. After way too much angst, I finally found someone (again) to help me revamp my website so I can actually navigate and have fun with the damn thing. (Let this be a lesson, kids: if you ignore something long enough, it will take on a will of its own, evolve into something you no longer recognize, and require time and resources to tame back into a useful tool, e.g websites, gardens, and the back of the freezer.)
Nora kept swinging, from her early years as a journalist and essayist to her film and theatre works. Not every swing resulted in a hit. But she did it for love of the game. And when she did score a hit? Usually hilarity ensued; everybody won.
Done is better than great (or the illusion that it is/could be great); comparison is the killer of creativity. Right now, I’m working on done, getting out of my own way and reclaiming the fun and joy in it all.
