How Do You Want to Be Remembered?

It’s one of the standing questions that I pose to my life story clients.

This is after we’ve talked through it all. Their ancestral history, their childhood and adolescence. Their spouse(s), children, friends, career, hobbies, spiritual beliefs, retirement, life lessons.

 And then, there we are, the final question of the final interview.

 “This book will remain long after you’re gone. Long after I’m gone too. It likely will be read by your children, your grandchildren, your great-grandchildren. After all you’ve shared with me, how would you like to be remembered?”

 I am quiet as they think. And I am all ears as they answer.

 Here is some of what I’ve been told:

•  “The words that come to mind are, ‘He tried.’ But I’d like to think about that some more.”

•  “I hope people remember me just as a good guy. A good guy, a nice person.”

•  “I hope that when people say my name, it puts a smile on their face.”

Some clients have changed the subject or refused to reply. One said she had no idea. Another told me he didn’t want to be remembered. When I pushed, he pushed back.

Not everyone wants to think about it.

There’s a common Jewish expression spoken to those in mourning: “May her/his memory be for a blessing.” There are many interpretations of the phrase, but I take it as a directive. We should live our lives so that, one day, those we leave behind will feel blessed for having known us.

That is how I wish to be remembered.

Several of my former clients have passed away at this point. I think of one of them and it “puts a smile on my face” … just as he wanted.

What is your wish?

Consider it. And include it in your autobiography.

Your family will be grateful.

Please let me know if you’d like my help.

Lifelong Learning: Going Back to School as an Adult

What college course would you take today, as an adult, just for fun? Not because you were trying to get a promotion at work. Not because you needed credits to maintain certification. But just because it captivated you.

This hypothetical question became my reality this month when I learned that I could obtain health insurance for my family simply by taking a three-credit class at a local university. With my husband now working as an independent consultant, we no longer have an employer to offer up a health plan (and foot the bill), so this discovery was mouth-watering to me.

After applying to the university’s non-degree student program (and being accepted!), I jumped online and perused the course catalog. And, oh my goodness! That’s when the mouth watering truly began.

Within minutes, I had jotted down 10 or more classes that looked intriguing. And then I found one that sealed the deal. Philosophy 309: Bioethics. Topics to be discussed include medical experimentation, physician-assisted dying, genetics and human reproduction, and more. I registered immediately.

I could not be more excited about this class.

Meanwhile, my son leaves town for the second semester of his junior year tomorrow. He’s currently enrolled in four courses for the term, each of which is required for graduation. One of these classes seems interesting, he says. The others are “fine.”

I have no idea what I would do with a major in bioethics. Become a professor? Work for a hospital. But the practicalities of this class are irrelevant to me. The only thing I care about is the subject matter.

I’m not sure where my fascination with bioethics will fit in my one-day autobiography. But I will discuss it. Maybe in the Paths Not Taken chapter. Maybe in the Just for Fun section. Regardless, it definitely deserves a mention as it reveals a vital part of the person I am today.

When you write your own story, be sure to think about what subjects enthrall you as an adult. What would be your college major if curiosity and wonderment were your top priorities?

What Kind of Car Would Jerry Seinfeld Select for You?

Jerry Seinfeld’s “Comedians in Cars Getting Coffee” has become a nighttime ritual for me. It’s a light and entertaining 20 minutes, viewable on my phone in bed, perfect for lulling me into the right mind space before turning out the light. 

One of the things that I most enjoy about the show is how Seinfeld offers a nearly academic rationale for selecting a particular car for that week’s visiting comedian. He considers the guest’s persona, lineage, muscle, and style and then arrives at their doorstep in their automotive avatar.

He chose the Triumph TR3A for John Oliver, for example, because both know how to “make sense and be completely silly simultaneously.” He selected the 1977 Toyota FJ40 Land Cruiser for Ellen DeGeneres because both have “an approachable no-nonsense vibe.” 

When I consider which vehicle I would pick for myself, I come up blank, as I know next to nothing about cars. Maybe I’ll ask my son (or Jerry Seinfeld if I run into him). Indeed, it’s an interesting concept to ponder.

But cars are just one object to anthropomorphize. I once took a memoir writing class and was asked to select a fabric that most closely aligned with my personality. In that moment, I went with denim (casual, easy-going). Barbara Walters once asked Katharine Hepburn what kind of tree she would be (which, truth be told, she got ribbed for). Hepburn responded, “an oak” (strong, pretty).

So I think there’s something to this. When you write your memoir, consider if there are any inanimate objects that share some of your traits. A kite soars high, a teddy bear provides comfort. The possibilities are endless. Give it some thought, and, as always, let me know if I can help.

Where Were You When…?

I have an extensive list of standard interview questions that I pose when I meet with clients. Of course, I ask about their parents, their childhood, their dating experiences. We talk about jobs and family. We touch on regrets, fears, and lessons learned.

But the section that seems to garner the most attention among readers after the autobiography is written, is the section I call, “Where were you when…?”

In these chapters, my clients discuss major historical events and their experiences living during them. These stories, in particular, are utterly fascinating to loved ones. It’s one thing, after all, to learn about the Vietnam War in history class, but to hear a personal account of a relative who fought there? Mesmerizing. We all know that the civil rights movement tore this country apart, but when we read that our grandparent marched in Washington, we connect on a different level.

Last month, the Supreme Court reversed Roe v. Wade, the law originally enacted in 1973 that gave women the right to choose whether to have an abortion. Regardless of what you think of this turnabout, our nation has just shifted policies in a big way.

It is only when we write down our stories that we are able to preserve them. Whether we are discussing abortion, civil rights, or gay marriage, history books have a way of sanitizing the truth, of presenting deeply emotional stories through impassive journalism. But as witnesses to major political events, we have the power to offer future generations an intimate look at what it was really like to be alive during these life-changing times.

When you tell your story, if this issue resonates with you, be sure to share your experiences of your world before Roe v. Wade. And what you thought, in June 2022, when the Supreme Court overturned it. Take your time to share all your recollections of “where you were when” the world changed. Give your children and grandchildren and all who follow a different view, one their history teacher will not share.

Please let me know if you’d like my help.

Why Does Writing Help?

Writing heals us. I know, I know…. I’ve blogged about this before. I’ve discussed the emotional benefits and the physical benefits. And even the potential social benefits. But the Harvard Business Review just published an article that highlighted the whys behind this phenomenon and I wanted to take the opportunity – again – to discuss the powerful connection between writing and healing.

HBR author Deborah Siegel-Acevedo rightly addresses the elephant in the room: writing about a painful event, on the face of it, seems, well, painful. Not liberating. Our thoughts dictate our mood, right? But writing is different. While research tells us that putting words to paper can, in the immediate term, feel uncomfortable, the longer-term benefits are overwhelmingly positive. So why is this?

According to the article, expressive writing “frees up” cognitive resources. Brain tissue, which we know can be damaged as a result of trauma, can be repaired, when people relay their suffering in writing. The very act of translating pain into words can literally change the way the memory is processed neurologically.

And so, in simple terms, when we write, we heal our brain. We gain a sense of agency over our lives. We find meaning for our experience. We turn ourselves from victims into survivors.

Expressive writing is defined as anything where we connect our feelings to events. It can be journaling, letter writing, poetry, or my favorite, memoir work. And as little as 15 minutes of expressive writing a day, for three or four days, can yield powerful benefits.

So here is my annual appeal to you – write.

Write about the difficulty of your adolescence or the isolation of this past year. Write about your parents, your marriage, your empty nest. Write about your illness. Write about your broken heart.

Just write.

And when you want help piecing it together, please give me a shout.

I’d be honored to help you tell your sum of your stories. And, through the process, to heal.