growth, nostalgia, and the impact of choices on one's future self Essay: The Architecture of Choice in "My Early Life" Introduction The narrative of My Early Life

1801 days. That's what I later calculated—from my first clear memory to the morning I left for a city I'd only seen in postcards. Not a long time, really. Just long enough to understand that an early life isn't a prologue. It's the first draft. And drafts can be rewritten.

EP1801 was also the year of the great flood. Serenity Hills sat by a river that usually babbled gently, but that spring, the rains were relentless. The river swelled, angry and brown, spilling over its banks. The town mobilized, filling sandbags, reinforcing levees. I watched from the window as the water crept closer to our porch. The air was thick with the smell of wet mud and anxiety.