I find most memoirs to be pompous, in a way. I realize this makes me an hypocrite, given that I have a blog. I grabbed the book quoted below awhile back, remembering that several people had suggested to me that I might like it. And in spite of myself, I found that they were right. While I admit it's a corny turn of phrase, this particular passage speaks to me. It also puts into words a feeling with which I have struggled, and been unable to clarify.
"My mother was waiting, calmly holding her glass of zinfandel. What is it you think you might like to do? I contemplated opening with something blunt and direct...Of course I didn't know what to say because I didn't know what I wanted. My inability to see life in anything but black or white prevented me from understanding my contradictory self. Yes, I wanted to loaf and lean against the bar, but I also wanted to strive and succeed, to make lots of money...Failure was so painful to me, so frightening, that I was trying to appease it, make an accommodation with it, rather than fight it head-on...Half of me wanted to conquer the world, half of me wanted to hide from it."
"My mother was waiting, calmly holding her glass of zinfandel. What is it you think you might like to do? I contemplated opening with something blunt and direct...Of course I didn't know what to say because I didn't know what I wanted. My inability to see life in anything but black or white prevented me from understanding my contradictory self. Yes, I wanted to loaf and lean against the bar, but I also wanted to strive and succeed, to make lots of money...Failure was so painful to me, so frightening, that I was trying to appease it, make an accommodation with it, rather than fight it head-on...Half of me wanted to conquer the world, half of me wanted to hide from it."
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