Once more the voice of that defiant young man:
“You made me confess the fears that I have. But I will tell you also what I do not fear. I do not fear to be alone or to be spurned for another or to leave whatever I have to leave. And I am not afraid to make a mistake, even a great mistake, a lifelong mistake and perhaps as long as eternity too.” ― James Joyce, A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man
Portrait of James Joyce by C. Ruf, Zurich, ca. 1918/19
“I almost wish we were butterflies and liv’d but three summer days - three such days with you I could fill with more delight than fifty common years could ever contain.”
John Keats
“Draw your chair up close to the edge of the precipice and I’ll tell you a story.”
— F. Scott Fitzgerald
I realise, perhaps in a bout of delirium post a rush to the lavatory for the fourth day running, that I am insecure. I lie on a small uncomfortable sofabed in the preciently named La Soledad neighbourhood of Xxxxxx. Its six-thirty in the morning. I wear a blue cashmere eyemask. There aren’t any curtains. I’m XX [age], married, relatively successful. I’m troubled, unhappy, and for all the memories I can recall; I am lonely.
I realised months ago that I was miserable, probably depressed, but a great skill of mine is to deny fact to myself and perform a slight of hand to my audience switching subjects and moving on. Me being the unqualified analyst, I can safely presume that my insecurity began when I was young, with my family. I was born looking out to sea. I say this with the turn of a storyteller, but all my stories are true, this is how I see my life, my past and my experiences. I am entirely honest when telling these stories even if I have not been in life.
| — | ‘I am Remarkable’ by Henry Albemarle |
