The Hazards of Building a Bildungsrosman

One of the weirdest things about writing a book about my early life, which is what I mean when I call this memoir a bildungsrosman, is that there are days when I’m channeling my elementary school self or my mother at 16 or my dad at 26–people I’ve never met before, basically. Somedays this is interesting, others it’s plain devastating. Today’s one of the devastating times and it’s like I just watched the goodbye scenes in Terms of Endearment; ain’t no way I can hold back the tears pouring down my cheeks though I don’t even notice them until I feel wet on my cheeks and even then assume they’re springing from a leak in the ceiling. Metaphorically at least, this may not be so far from the truth. It’s all coming down.

"All, everything I understand, I understand only because I love."
― Leo Tolstoy