My life is not an apology, but a life. My life is my own, to do with what I will. My failures are wholly mine, and I revel in them, because through them, my successes are sweeter and still mine. My lacks and fortes, I embrace with the fullness of spirit my body holds. That electric body of which Whitman wrote. I am my own captain whose river of time is connected with those around me. I am the Nile, all avenues feeding me and me feeding the warm sea of death.
My life is not an apology, but a life. I will not struggle to become the image of my parents, nor their antithesis. I am the synapsis of which Hegel spoke. My children will be my struggle. I do not apologize for my modesty nor for my wantonness; not my prudence or my indulgences. My life is wholly my own, and I’ll ruin it if I will.
My life is not an apology but a life. I am not the quiet muse of centuries past nor the post-modern working woman. I am myself, and pretend to nothing. I am my own mirror as my personality changes daily. I hold with no past self, no seeming perfect future. I accept my imperfections and embrace my idiosyncrasies. I am a reflection of my parents and family but unique.
My life is not an apology, but a life. I will not beg of those around me for acceptance, I understand myself and need no other comprehension. I trust myself; that irons string on the harp of God, I sing clear. I sing with the happiness of a swan in polluted water, clearly but worriedly.
My life is not an apology but a life. My misgivings and uncertainties define me as a person, small and vulnerable. I am no titan to eat my children for fear of usurpation, nor a brute to demand acquiescence in every argument. My illogic and melodrama are as endearing as frustrating.
My life is not an apology but a life. Though others discourage me, I am hated by those who hate themselves. They have no power over me, they cannot destroy me. I have been told wrong too many times to believe that three-fourths is less than two-thirds. I have been told to be quiet too often to make my less talkative. You who are believed to own me will me a Gertrude to your King Hamlet, malleable but unforgiving. I am no Gwenivere to fall prey to Lancelot. I know my heart and my honor is more than it.
My life is not an apology, but a life. I live my life withal the hope and fatalism of myself. I am myself and no other. I will live, relying on myself to be convinced that life is worth fighting them. Life would not be worth it, if I did not fight. My life will always be a life, not an apology.
