I’ve been misled in my thinking, or rather, I mislead myself years ago when I first considered memoir writing and my childhood. First, I thought being the youngest of 9 was a story in itself, with all the characters to draw from, the odd clashes and bang-ups, but it isn’t. Most of those memories aren’t mine, I don’t own the stories behind them because they didn’t happen to me, I was just looking over my shoulder while playing dress up in my big sister’s clothes.
Then I thought I’d dive a little deeper, ring myself out by depositing small glimpses all around the blogosphere. It helped seeing that when I really hunker down in my skin and examine the early years a lot of my family disappears. I’m not saying that I want them to disappear, only that they fade out creating their own rotations leaving my perception that much clearer.
In reading Vivian Gornick’s highly acclaimed memoir instructional The Situation and the Story I have come to realize that my place within my family, my parents, siblings, the divorce & subsequent moves result not in a story at all, but the situation surrounding a story I have yet to fully tease out.
Tonight I am breathing a sigh of relief and letting myself relax knowing my story is unbinding. The words will come.