“They say the seeds of what we will do are in all of us, but it always seemed to me that for those who make jokes in life, the seeds are covered with better soil and with a higher grade of manure.”
? Ernest Miller Hemingway
We will start with Him, because, for whatever reason, that Old Drunk Misogynist is my favorite. Maybe, because I spent a majority of my life on the wide open oceans and enjoyed the symbolism in The Old Man and the Sea. Maybe, I just see the meridians between his bottle (where he drowned) and his pen (that gave him eternal life thereafter).
Over the thirty-four years of my life, I have found much comfort and solace from the principles found in the works of great Authors and Philosophers. They were an inspiration in dark times and at others my only happiness at the end of a mythical leash. Having had these men and women at my disposal, I learned to make the choice between leading the life meant for me or, making the life I was always meant to have. Without them, I would not have known how to want or need. I would never have learned how to love your mother. I would have continued to be a captive within a destiny I did not choose and instead had chosen for me long before my conception. Somewhere hidden behind the lines of their maxims and altruistic ideals; I found the ability to reconcile with my personal demons and find a way to save myself.
Ernest Hemingway also said, “The writer’s job is to tell the truth.” When he was having difficulty writing he reminded himself of this, as he explained in his memoirs, A Moveable Feast. “I would stand and look out over the roofs of Paris and think, ‘ Do not worry. You have always written before and you will write now. All you have to do is write one true sentence. Write the truest sentence that you know. ‘ So finally I would write one true sentence and then go on from there. It was easy then because there was always one true sentence that I knew or had seen or had heard someone say.”
My inscrutable truth is as follows:
As Earl Rovit noted on the same subject: “More often than not, Hemingway’s fictions seem rooted in his journeys into himself (much more clearly and obsessively than is usually the case with major fiction writers). His writing was his way of approaching his identity: of discovering himself in the projected metaphors of his experience. He believed that if he could see himself clear and whole, his vision might be useful to others who also lived in this world.”
I deserve to be here.
These basic words gave me the choice to become an Everyman and the will to suppress my base villainy. To love and be loved unconditionally in return. I tell you this from the deck of a boat bearing the name of all of my regrets on its hull. I am hopeful that somewhere over the waves of the tropical ocean on which you were born I will reveal myself to you on the blank pages of this waxed leather notebook. Magically managing to make sense of it all, no matter how incredible the tale becomes. Enough that one day, you will realize how the mere idea of you, changed my life forever.
Like Hemingway’s Moveable Feast; I shall start in the middle of the story. I will begin in Paris, 2001.
(To Be Continued)