The Heart of Your Story

Matt was jumping up and down. That’s what I remember most from my wedding day.

I had just emerged from the bride’s waiting room and the ceremony was about to begin. Matt and I hadn’t seen each other since the night before. Secluded away in the tiny parlor, I had no idea of the reception hall scene or of Matt’s state-of-mind in these hours leading up to our big moment.

And quickly, upon entering the larger hallway, my eyes found him. Amidst a serious-looking wedding party, there he was, jumping up and down in delirious excitement. His face, oblivious to my gaze, radiated total elation.

What followed was amazing. The nuptials, the dancing, the pictures. All the joy you’d hope for in your wedding day. But what I recall again and again was the moment when I spotted Matt jumping up and down.

And that’s the memory, when I write my life story, that I will share.

When you think back on your life, what do you remember most vividly? The scenes that come to mind may not be the “big moments” – when you said, “I do,” when you left home for the first time, when you first heard the word, “cancer.” Often the most significant, illuminating memories come from the most unexpected snapshots.

These are the snapshots you want to highlight in your book. These are the snapshots that are the heart of your life story.

A Window into Your Deepest Beliefs

I’m one of those people who write down famous quotations. When a beautifully stated truth resonates with me I like to record it, safeguard its meaning. My journal allows me to honor these snapshots of wisdom and preserve them for when I need reminding.

And indeed, I like my journal’s permanence. A few times each year, I find myself flipping through the quotations, recalling these meaningful words. Reminiscing about the event or person that inspired my connection to the quote.

Here’s a sampling:

• I am what I am. I am my own special creation. (La Cage aux Folles)

• In any moment of decision, the best thing you can do is the right thing, the next best thing is the wrong thing, and the worst thing you can do is nothing. (Teddy Roosevelt)

• A ship in port is safe, but that’s not what ships are built for. (Benazir Bhutto)

The quotes, I’m learning, paint a picture of who I am. They are a collection of the values I hold close.

When you consider writing your life story, think about the quotes – famous or otherwise – that hold special meaning to you. Think about why these quotes touch you so deeply. The answers will give you a great place to start – a window into some of your most profound beliefs and experiences.

Age and Perspective

When my son was four I asked him why he liked the New York Mets so much. His answer?

“They wear the same hat as Daddy.”

We do see things from our own special lens when we’re young. Mommy and Daddy are just about perfect. The world revolves around us, adores us, and even – apparently – dresses like us.

Then the teen years hit. A DC-area friend of mine became a dedicated Dallas Cowboys follower when he was in middle school. Why? His father couldn’t stop raving about the Washington Redskins.  Signing on as a Dallas fan was my rebellious friend’s solution.

As we mature, our lens matures along with us, slowly shifting and refocusing to reflect a more realistic view of ourselves, our family, and our world. While we’ll never be truly objective witnesses in our own lives, wisdom and experience bring us perspective and understanding that we don’t possess when we’re younger.

When you write your life story, tap into the wisdom you’ve gleaned in your years on this planet. Your parents weren’t the flawless creatures you believed they were when you were four, but they likely weren’t the monsters you professed when you were 14 either.

It takes years of detachment before you can write fairly about key moments from your life. Your vision may be foggier today than it was in your youth, but, trust me, your perspective is far clearer. You can tell your story – the truth of your story – now better than you ever could before.

People are Complex

"Ashley" and I worked together at my first post-college job. The office consisted of a bunch of 20-somethings operating a phone bank at a drug information clearinghouse for the federal government. Ashley was a vegetarian. She refused make-up and wore no leather. She advocated for women's and animals’ rights.

I had her pegged.

Then one day Ashley and I worked the day’s first shift and I saw her scarf down breakfast – a breakfast that consisted of exactly one thing: a Diet Coke.

“Really?” I said. “You reject meat, you eat fruits and vegetables for lunch, and the only thing you’re putting into your body first thing in the morning is a can of chemicals?”

And then she said something that stuck with me – obviously – for decades.

“Well, Karen, it just goes to show you people are complex.”

Silence.

We like to size up people. It’s easier to think of them as all good or all bad. Robust. Weak. Lavish. Stingy.

It’s especially tempting, in our memory, to recall black and white images, when in reality, grey is the shade of truth. Take the care, when you write your life story, to truly consider the wholeness of the people you discuss. Do yourself – and the people in your life – justice and kindness.

Remember them for their complexity.

Hallmark is Fiction

My parents celebrated their fiftieth wedding anniversary last month.

Usually each December, when my father raises his glass to toast the number of years they’ve shared, I make a joke of it.

“More or less,” I say.

And my mom and dad understand.

You see, my parents split up when I was a freshman in high school. My dad moved out and my parents lived separate lives. They dated other people, I saw my dad on weekends. Typical divorced family stuff (although they never legally divorced). And then, three years later, they got back together. My dad moved back in, they started anew. And they’ve been together ever since.

Last month, when I went to pick out a fiftieth anniversary card for them, I was surprised how difficult it was to find one that fit. According to Hallmark, Golden anniversaries are for those with unwavering enchantment, flawless histories, and hearts that pitter patter as breathlessly as they did when they were newlyweds.  

Fifty years is a long time. Individuals grow and change. Couples move together, then apart, then together again. Relationships are complicated. 

My parents have been married exactly 50 years. Not more. Not less. I understand that now.

When you tell your life story, don’t buy into the Hallmark approach.

Share the curves, the bumps, the breaks.

Make it real.

Otherwise, you’re writing fiction.