I’ve been struggling to feel motivated lately. I think part of it is that I’ve finally realized that magnitude of what we are attempting. There was never a point that I thought writing a book would be easy, but somewhere recently I have started to understand what it takes to see this through. It takes a lot. And coupled with the daily demands of life, it seems more and more difficult to make time for Leo’s story.
More than that, though, I think I’m struggling with what I have found and, to some degree, what I haven’t found. Getting to know Leo is no easier in death than it was in life. He may not have not intended to be so secluded from his own life, but he does seem to have lived apart from it. Leo was always there, but he seems to have lived a life separate from the one he was a part of. Despite being an active participant, no one seems able to explain his place in their lives. It leaves this whole adventure feeling kind of empty. More than Leo’s impenetrable mystery, may be the one absolute thing I have found. I always had the feeling that Bolling did not like me and I have a couple ideas of why, but I don’t think I will ever know why. It may be that I am too much like Leonard or it may be that I am too much like my dad. Neither of which are bad, but these are two men that, I think, Bolling always struggled to love, to understand. Visiting with family and hearing how they remember Bolling has confirmed that she did not much care for me. The Bolling they knew was not the woman I ever knew. To them, she was selfless and always welcoming. I never experienced this from her. It’s the opposite of how I knew her. She was always distant and I don’t feel like I ever knew Bolling better than Leonard. Neither of these are what I was looking for when I set out and both of these leave me wanting to quit the whole thing, because the road ahead may not be any better.
Maybe the next round of visits will reinvigorate me.