Who Lives There?

When I was a kid, several times each year my family would drive to New York to visit relatives. This was long before Ipods and portable video players existed to quell the boredom of youngsters trapped in the back seat, and the five hour drive from Maryland felt interminable. My brother and I fought over who had more space, and there were endless pleas to change the radio station or stop for a snack. It was painful.

Lacking anything else to do, I would stare out the window. Houses and buildings dotted the highway and, as we sped along, I would randomly select a home and gather as many details about it as I could in the instant it was in my frame. Was there a swing set? A yard? If it was an apartment, did it have a balcony? How was the view?

And then…I would imagine. Who lived there? What joys did they have in their life? What sorrows? What did they do all day? What were they having for dinner that night? These people I would never meet, whose identities were a mystery – what was their story?

I knew, even as a child, that everyone has a story. Whether my selection was a run-down rambler right off the New Jersey Turnpike or a penthouse overlooking Central Park, the owners had amazing stories to tell. I knew it.

And I was right. Today I do more than wonder about people’s stories. I write them. I hear about their joys and sorrows, the children who play on their swing set, the memories they reflect on while sitting on their balcony.

Everyone has an amazing life story. A story worth telling.

What’s yours?

Evan’s Life Story – It Deserves to be Told

My son told me he wanted to write his life story when he was six. This was years before Leaves of Your Life existed, or was even considered, but I thought it was a fabulous idea. We found a large piece of poster board and a thick black magic marker, and Evan got to work.

With the language and spelling of a first grader, Evan shared the most important details of his life thus far: the names of the people and pets in his family, his birthday, what he was for Halloween. A la Oprah, he listed his favorite things (elephants, ice cream, The Magic Tree House book series). He wrote of his accomplishments (five trophies) and even bragged a little (I once had $100). He admitted that the tick was his least favorite animal.

Many of us can relate to Evan’s wish – we want to convey the truth of who we are and the path we took to get here. Whether we’re six or 96, we all wish to reflect, to discover, and to share.

Evan knew what many of us have forgotten: Our lives are important, our experiences matter, our stories should be told.

Are you ready to tell yours?

My Grandfather’s Life Story – Choosing Your Message

My grandfather had an amazing life story. His Russian-born parents, seeking to escape the country’s growing antisemitism, came to the United States in 1903. They settled in New York and began looking for work. But good jobs were hard to find and they missed the financial security they had enjoyed in Russia. After four years of struggling, they returned to their homeland in 1907 – this time making the trip with their newborn son, my grandfather.

Back in Russia, my great grandparents had two more children. My grandfather was one of very few Jews admitted into the public high school, and he worked hard. His life centered on his studies, his friends, his family, and his religion.

But when my grandfather graduated from high school, he was at a crossroads. It was 1920 and antisemitism was swelling.  His parents feared for their future but there was little they could do. My grandfather, however, had an out. He had been born in New York and, by law, was a U.S. citizen.

Grandpa set off for America when he was 17, leaving his parents, brother, and sister behind. He never saw his family again. They were all killed in the Pogroms a few years later.

In New York, my grandfather continued his education, got married, and had two children. He opened a children’s clothing store and became a successful business owner.

An amazing story, right?

My grandfather, a kind and gentle man, wrote his autobiography when he was 68. It was just after his 45-year marriage had ended and his feelings of anger were, understandably, raw. He had harsh words to say about his ex-wife, my grandmother, and he focused much of his book on the wrongs he attributed to her. His fascinating childhood and triumphant adulthood got overshadowed by his resentment.

In retrospect, I wish he had allowed more time to pass before embarking on his memoirs. Had he allowed his heart to heal, I now believe, his book ultimately would have conveyed a sense of understanding and peace. And, today, his children and grandchildren would be able to read his typed pages and remember the happiness that he enjoyed in the final years of his life. Because that's how his story ended - in happiness.

When you write your memoirs, think about the overarching themes you wish to leave behind. Your life story, once written, will last forever. What do you want your forever to be?

Sharing the Extraordinary in Your Ordinary Life

I was speaking to a friend recently about books, telling her about my love for memoirs. “Oh!” she said, excitedly. “Have you read Katherine Graham’s autobiography? I just loved that book!”

Indeed I had, and we talked about the amazing life that Ms. Graham had led.

“What other memoirs have you read?” my friend asked.

Silence.

For several moments, I searched my brain but I kept coming up blank. I’m sure I’ve read close to 100 autobiographies. Why couldn’t I remember a few to share?

And then I understood.

Most of the memoires I’ve read are not about famous people. Sure – now that I’ve gone back and reviewed my log – I’ve read a handful of titles by known public figures. Katherine Graham, Michael J. Fox, Barack Obama. But their volumes are the exceptions. Most of the memoirs on my list are authored by ordinary people who have had extraordinary experiences (like we all have). I remember their stories, but, over the years, their non-public names have faded in my memory.

Obviously Katherine Graham had an amazing tale to tell. No doubt about it. But so did Asne Seierstad, who told of life in Afghanistan after September 11. And so did Deborah Feldman, who rebelled against her Chasidic Jewish upbringing. And so did Shelby Smoak, who grew up with hemophilia and HIV.

The list goes on.

Everybody has a story. Yours may not sell as well as Michael J. Fox’s did, but that’s not the point. The point is you have one.

The point is to share it.