What Me Am I

Autobiography is only to be trusted when it reveals something disgraceful. A man who gives a good account of himself is probably lying, since any life when viewed from the inside is simply a series of defeats.
— George Orwell

I came across this quote in the opening pages of I Regret Almost Everything, a memoir by Keith McNally, apparently a renowned restaurateur, and while I can appreciate Orwell’s passion for truth-telling, I feel it’s a bit out of context as it was written about Salvador Dali, whose body of work invites a kaleidoscope of bizarre, symbolic interpretation. 

Clearly, who we are is where we are when we are who we are at the time.

The timing of my coming across this quote was apropos as while I was doing research to include in this letter acknowledging the end of the year, I came across a post I had written in 2018 but apparently never shared. The story begins, as most of them did back then, with our bakery, Alimentaire Wholesome Breads, and mentions two articles published in the local newspaper, in which Franca talked about our reasons for moving and making a small, rural, east North Carolina town our next home. 

“The downtown had charm,” she’s quoted, “it had character, purpose”. Also, the people we’d met were friendly and seemed to like her baked goods, so it was good all around, a real win-win with bread and pastries for the community andfor us in return a picturesque, idyllic future. 

What my post then went on to share was how the articles had failed to mention, due to limitations of time, space and probably lack of any real interest, too, any backstory of where we had been. There was nothing about what had made us the people we were. What environment had shaped us? What experiences guided our decision-making. What values served as our compass.

Here’s an excerpt:

But that is the bigger challenge, isn’t it? The telling of history to strangers in a way that doesn’t leave some important component out, some critical context with the faculty to impart upon the receiver the heft of all those years, the sheer gravity of each and every situation, every consequential decision….How even to choose which parts of the story to share? Do you focus mainly on the conflicts, those moments of delirious anxiousness that seemed at the time monumental to our successful pursuit of happiness. Or periods of peace and enlightenment? And what of the smaller things, the family meetings, the dinners, the books read, devoured, loved, then shared? 

Reading it again makes me wonder what would George Orwell think. Of course, not everything you read here on The Revelate represents only the brightest account of myself. There’s a lot of defeat, I think. I mean, I have an entire category of posts that fall under the heading This is a Mistake (with more coming). 

But still. Setting aside the fact that it’s a valuable use of time—thinking of your self in such pragmatic ways, trying to wean out the extraneous bullshit and shape the definition of who you are by what really makes you tick—generally speaking, the things that makes us tick most are probably those that made us at the time feel like crap.

Being bullied. Getting fired. Broken up. Passed over. Profiled. Some thrive on not just in thinking of themselves as better but in making others also feel less so. So yes, George, disgrace rules. 

Defeat hides in plain sight. But in secret. If you know what I mean.

And indeed, re-reading that piece, written years ago—with fresh eyes, before any of the most recent life-changing events had occurred—I found myself calling bullshit on myself for a number of reasons.

Why I am Where I am When I am Who I am

For starters, the title I gave the post: Intentional Uproot. 

Our move to Tarboro was anything but intentional. So much had gone sideways in the months leading up to opening the bakery that I haven’t shared that the decision to uproot mostly felt like a thing thrust upon us. It was a reaction, not an intention. A kind of stem the bleeding situation. (Here’s a little more on that, if you’re interested).

Things change, with everything going well for a while and then disaster hits and voila! you learn a few new things about the world and about your place in it. One door closes another one opens. That’s life. 

Time and experience alters not only perspective but the source as well.

Case in point, the articles I’m referring to (sadly no longer accessible online) were printed the year after we’d opened. They were, I’m sure, full of hope and resilience and enthusiasm for what the future held. When I go back now and read things I wrote about in the year after we’d moved to Sicily what do you suppose I find? The same: Hope, resilience, and enthusiasm for the future. Sure, there was plenty of trepidation and second-guessing (spawning the creation of This is a Mistake) but mostly you might label the tone of my writing as earnest forward progress.

Time passes, things change. The backstory grows and grows. 

What’s past is prologue, goes the saying. 

Have I been a year already?

So, to make George happy, perhaps it’s time for a little bit of my own naked truth.

1. Living in Sicily is hard. Correction: Living away from our family is hard, sometimes very hard. A good chunk of our day is spent thinking of them, or talking with them, or wondering when will we talk with them or see them again. Who knew there was such a past time as imagining your kids’ day as it unfold six hours behind you.

2. Not working (we’re not using the word retired yet) has a lot to do with the time available to conjure of thoughts as to what others are doing. Not exactly a healthy diversion from having your own purpose in life. Longing, purpose and place form the foundation of The Revelate. How easy it is to ignore those marks on the yardstick, even for the yardstick maker.

3. And speaking of longing… it’s easier than it looks, I know. I’ve shared this once before and am going to share it again now. Not just for you, but also, and mostly, for me.

From “Fleishman is in Trouble” by Taffy Brodesser-Akner:

“How did we all get this way? How did we all get put on this trajectory, where we all end up in the same boring life. I miss longing. I miss desire. The way that it works, the way desire works, the way longing works, is you cannot get the thing. When you get the thing you don’t get to feel those feelings anymore. Am I the only one that enjoyed feeling those feelings?”

Here’s the televised clip that follows that bit: 

4. Personal Growth. This is a biggie. We all know we need to do the work and yet, zilch. Can’t blame work. Can’t blame the kids’ busy schedules. Can’t blame a mountain of debt. Can’t blame most things we use to keep ourselves standing exactly where we are. Sometimes I feel like I write as if I’ve figured it all out. I mean, we’re living on an island in the Mediterranean. Paradise, right? Only problem is it’s not paradise and it wouldn’t matter anyway because who you are follows you wherever you go, which is to say I still have a lot to improve on being a better partner, a better parent, and a better friend. 

5 Finally (last, but not all), back to the backstory and that false title, Intentional Uproot. Yes, or course, our lives are a story and the backstory matters. Without it would be like watching Titanic without any mention of the iceberg. How and when to share it is a valid question. Consider this though from the poet Edwin Arlington Robinson:

We tell you, tapping on our brows, 
   The story as it should be,— 
As if the story of a house 
   Were told, or ever could be; 
— Eros Turannos, by Edwin Arlington Robinson

Long time readers might recognize the poem (another repeat, I’m afraid). I’ve used it before when writing of the death of my father and again when I told of how moving to Sicily felt unreasonable and unjust, a lot like a revolution.

And therein perhaps lies the answer to the sharing our history. Maybe you just don’t. Maybe you try, and that’s okay too, but history, with all its vast ocean and waves, is a lot like a clown at a carnival: Sometimes they’re funny, but most often they’re not—quite the horrifying opposite really—and they’re not very reliable at predicting what will happen next. So maybe we shouldn’t aim to fill the cracks in the past but instead invest our timely in a wholly different manner, in building a better understanding of ourselves and how we present it to one another. Perhaps that’s what Orwell was after. Being more honest in our self-perception and only by acknowledging our flaws can we better share our true selves. 

In other words, embrace the disgrace. Embrace the things that broke us. 

I’ll end with another quote that I believe fits in nicely to Orwell’s statement. It comes from a contemporary of his, the Frenchman Jean-Paul Sartre and goes like this:

“Freedom is what we do with what is done to us.”

One Final Note:

Another quote attributed to Sartre is, "Hell is other people." So when considering your own backstory and what makes you you take from this what you may.

Have a good Thanksgiving, everybody. Hope you make the best of it.

Until next time/alla prossima.

♺ Invite a Friend: Share what you read here with others you know via email or wherever else you fancy spending your time online, every mention helps! Facebook, Instagram, LinkedIn, X.

☯︎  Be Yin to My Yang: Most of what you'll read here is free, it's everything else that costs money. Become a paid subscriber for as little as $5 per month, or make a one-time donation in any amount, to help me bring balance between the two.