I don’t want to write memoir to defend myself. After 25 years I shouldn’t need to.
Like the saying goes Don’t explain; your friends don’t need it and your enemies won’t believe it.
But maybe I do need to. Not because I’m sorry or because I want to change minds or even because I need to convince myself.
I know to my core it was the most amazing life-giving “mistake” I ever made.
But it did open Pandora’s box. And everybody knows that story. Or Eve and her apple, although what’s not good about curiosity and critical thinking?
So maybe I don’t belong in those stories at all. Maybe what I need is to write a new story. No boxes or forbidden apples or Prince Charmings.
Just my story. Actual mistakes and mixed motives and insensitivities and regrets that have nothing to do with boxes or mythical gardens.
So give up thinking I have no bias. No mythology of my own. These are the only eyes I have to look back. I’ve no reason for second guessing.
But maybe for a second remembering.