“Today I made love to my woman. Not because I wanted to right then, But because I knew i d want to when we started, And that the walk on the beach we took afterward would be more romantic, The cocktail I made at 5:45 would taste better, The shrimp I seasoned would have more savour, The all-star game we watched at 7:00 would be more exciting, The music we danced to til midmight would have more rhythm, And the conversation about life we had together, sitting across the table from each other, until 3:00 am in the morning would be more inspiring. And it was.”
“I realized I had become wild and undomesticated, living a gypsy life—coming and going from Bernie’s. But even the thought about settling down in a cozy home with a dog and a cat, not to mention a person, would cause me to panic, pick up and run away. It’s not that I would want to leave. I would have to. The very idea of being settled, I found unsettling. I believed I didn’t deserve these things. I felt secure and comfortable getting what I needed on the fly—no commitments.”
“You’re a magician or some kind of weird, witchy woman. I don’t know how you do it. You never lose,” he said one night, exasperated after I pummeled him game after game. “You’re like Wonder Woman or some backgammon superhero. Hey, I’ve got it—you’re Backgammon Girl.”
“I’m not willing to deceive myself for false comfort, and I’m not willing to don the false mask of external indifference.”
“I found myself taking more risks, because failure had a second life — it could spin a yarn. There was an agency in the retelling, in the self-deprecation and of course self-mythologizing. Memoir is how you groom yourself. Memoir is drag.”
“Not everyone is equipped for activism in the traditional sense—marching, writing letters to officials—but dedicating your life to understanding yourself can be its own form of protest, especially when the world tells you that you don t exist.”
“The reaction—attraction between us was immediate. The Italian phrase, è stato un colpo di fulmine, describes the lightning and thunderbolt experience, or the love at first sight. It was intense, unexplained, and would prove to be very harmful to many people. Dennis and I began an affair within three months.”
“On September 30, 1988, I got another summons to the dean’s office. This time, the president of the college, all of the deans, and two Resident Assistants were present, each holding a 3 x 5 card. I knew exactly what this was, an intervention. I didn’t give anyone a chance to read their cards; I simply started crying and asked them what I had to do. One of the deans said that they had made a reservation for me at a treatment facility in Atlanta and that I had until 8 PM to get there or be terminated. I went back to the dorm, packed a small suitcase, gathered up the liquor bottles and threw them in a trash bag. Before I left, I taped a purple sheet of construction paper to my door saying, “Ms. Davis will be away for the weekend.” Six weeks later, I returned from treatment.”
“Ask yourself this question: If my life is the same five years from now as it is today, would I be OK with that? If the answer is no--or especially if the answer is hell no--then now is the time to do something about it.”
“Wrecked and despondent at midlife, I need to undertake a strict personal evaluation that will lead to personal transformation. I must be willing to start afresh and attempt to make myself anew. In order to begin all over and not culminate in the same deadhead rut as before, I admit to harboring personal insecurities and boldly confront my greatest fears. In order to establish an altered foundation that will support a revised self, I commence by asking the pertinent questions. If I run fast enough and long enough, can I quash slavish personal demons and capture an elusive self? Can I exercise the self-discipline to eliminate the artificial screens that I hide behind in order to peer out at the formidable world? Do I possess the personal audacity to explore unfamiliar terrain and the internal grit to dual the primal flex of nature’s power while accepting on equal terms the thrall and tragic beauty of surviving in a violent habitat?”
“In the forest canopied with the leafy niche of daily events, a benevolent listener reverberates in the canonical poetry of the ages humming irrepressible visceral contradictions. A squall of tears of bereavement pierces the elegiac sea of a silent night. The red-rimmed eye of sunrise greets us with a torrent of rage spilling over from frontlines of an examined life’s vital quarrels. The flute of life ushers in a welcoming breeze of reassuring resonance.”
“Trampled upon by an unruly hoard of life-altering tribulations, we subliminally search for a path leading to spiritual salvation. A scrupulous chart demarking the deliverance of one person onto the road of recovery hews a lifeline of inspiration for other people to grasp.”
“Broadening personal knowledge of the world is a worthwhile adventure. Education flows from insightful firsthand experience and from listening carefully to the astute observations of other people. It is essential to pay heed to valuable information passed down by writers and by the viva voce of respected contemporaries. I must take what is portable from the dearth of personal encounters and make out what I can from the richness of studious words shared by kindhearted souls whom I have met and what few author’s lustrous works that I was privileged to read.”
“Is life meaninglessness, without a fundamental purpose? Alternatively, must each of us proclaim a distinctive purposefulness for living? Is happiness a desired goal, and if so, what is personal happiness? Does happiness coincide with truthfulness? People intuitively seek happiness. How does a person haunted by memories of failure attain happiness? Should a person strive to realize an enviable social status and becoming fabulously wealthy (i.e. achieving fame and fortune)? Is happiness a mental state that instigates from a person leading a life that gives them maximize pleasure derived from their personal efforts? Does each person have the tools to achieve personal happiness? Is personal happiness a matter of making the right choices in life, of living a good life? Is the key to enjoying a happy life striving to obtain physical comfort, mental stimulation, and emotional wellbeing? Does a person achieve happiness by making choices in life that will enhance their degree of pleasure, lessen their degree of pain, and reduce their amount of personal sacrifice? Alternatively, does achieving a happy life require living virtuously by demonstrating honest work and helping other people? Can eradicating self-deception lead me to discovering a unique purpose in life that heretofore eluded me? Perhaps a creative course of constructive achievement will provide a glimmering moment of happiness.”
“The quality of interpersonal relationships that we forge when purposefully engaging in work that advances the interest of the multitudes is the shining endorsement to a life well lived. Within the corners of each person’s private and public canvas lies his or her masterpiece. Each person’s matchless artistry provides an indelible testament to how he or she lived. A person’s lifetime body of work unequivocally expresses a road map to their innermost salvation. Only by actualizing our innate natural mind can any of us funnel our motivational forces into directional inspiration that leads us to peacefulness and wisdom. All efforts to achieve meaningful tributes to a life well lived are noisy affairs that clang in our hearts. Only through death can any of us attain a state of soundless perfection.”
“The greatest gift that one generation bestows on its successors is striving valiantly to make every day of a person’s life count by working to enhance human knowledge and teaching what we learn to willing learners. Every generation of human beings owes a debt of immense gratitude to the forerunning generations who worked to solve problems that bedevil humanity and for exhibiting a profound reverence for all forms of life.”
“Rutted faced men such as me do not determine the suitability of life’s terrain. Our terracotta passageway simply unfolds before us awaiting the minor edits we compose in the mistaken notion that as mere actors we also serve as the almighty playwright. In actuality, faltering men stumbling along in life such as me serve at the mercy of our base desires. Caught in cacoethes – uncontrollable desire – we manically act to satisfy our wild and occasionally harmful urges. Working slavishly to mollify our wants reduces us to serving as the unwitting chroniclers of the jeremiad canvas painted with the frayed lisle of our shillyshallying élan vital.”