ALWAYS ROOM AT THE TOP
BY GANNA WALSKA
TO ALL THOSE
WHO ARE SEEKING THEIR PLACE
IN THE SUN
For constant dropping of water wears away stones.
By diligence and patience the mouse ate the
cable in two. And little strokes fell great oaks.
— Benjamin Franklin
My life is a struggle.
Page 1 of “Always Room at the Top.”
“I DID NOT want these memoirs to be written by a literary collaborator who might take the facts of my life and by romanticizing my personality through his interpretation of my character thus obscure the true psychological issue and not conform to reality. For it seems to me that most writers are too interested in reinterpreting a character through their own eyes to grasp exactly the expression of another’s soul.
If my reader finds it difficult at times to follow all my experiences, it will be because his soul has not passed through the same labyrinth of thoughts and feelings as mine and therefore he will be unable to identify himself with the phases of life I have lived through.
My one regret is that I did not put down all my experiences at the time they happened so that my reader could share the exact state of my feelings at that moment rather than the reminiscence of a past sensation. Often I remember only vaguely the precise state of my mind in bygone days. The veil of time hinders me from recapturing the exact sensations I experienced years and years ago. However, I am glad that I did put down at least the first episodes of these reminiscences while I was still in what I call the destructive period of my life. For certainly now that I am in a new cycle of living I am a different being, and my reactions towards my past inner life are different. I would not now be able to mirror those thoughts in an absolutely precise way for fear of embellishing them too much by the reflection of my present bright outlook.
I do not remember what actually gave birth to these memoirs. I had few outer experiences and was entirely unaware of my inner existence. In my extreme loneliness I suppose my secretive nature desired a confidant and could think of no other possibility than the friendly white pages of a confessional. But I never even dreamed that one day I should share my deepest thoughts with the world.
During the years that passed the deformed skeleton of my experiences often filled the front pages of newspapers with sensational articles with no regard to my inner feelings. Bitterly I confessed the real side of the story, vaguely thinking that I might one day avenge myself and show how much I was misunderstood. It was pleasant to indulge in the feeling of being a martyr.
As more years passed I outgrew the desire of self-justification. I grew in wisdom and mind. I understood much. And finally I comprehended the extraordinary adventure of my soul. At the same time I saw that I could not keep such a great experience to myself alone. I felt I must share those revelations with those who really seek the truth.