I ‘ve tried enough times to disturb some difference worth mentioning in describing my upbringing or culture to recognise I do n’t easily produce a helpful product. ‘My home is different from here in that…’ Worse yet, I found myself endlessly searching for what distinguished ‘me’. Some of us should cede the field upon dis-covering we are not experts.
I ‘m not sure exactly why, but over the past year I ‘ve been collecting reasons not to write a book. One is being added tonight: the best biography (=least mis-leading?) is rarely the auto-biography. In short, I should perhaps choose not to retain sole privilege of recounting what boundaries of events and experiences distinguish me from you. A third party may do a fairer job.
Part of the reason is because I rarely become aware of the mis-understandings which constitute my daily existence. I react not to the world as it is, but to the world as such — as I expect it to be. As such I am hoping the approximations produce acceptable results — but who would I be to tell you what was most important about my story? My job is at best to invite you in to the home in which I myself am a stranger, and let you misunderstand it for yourself.
So I ‘m giving up my rights as an authorised witness in order to extend the horizons. I do n’t doubt I could add a few ‘we don’t do that’s which might dissuade the easier misunderstandings, but I do not pretend to know who is in the best position to know how specifically I may best be misunderstood.