Quotes to Live by (and Write by Too)

"Life can only be understood backwards; but it must be lived forwards.”

Kierkegaard

"The thing about the past is that one can't help what zip code one was born in, what country or family you're descended from.  All you can do is learn the lessons of those who came before you, their stories, their mistakes, and their successes."

Anderson Cooper

“If you don’t know the trees you may be lost in the forest, but if you don’t know the stories you may be lost in life.”

Siberian Elder

“One regret I have: I didn’t get as much as the family history as I could have for the kids.”

Robert De Niro

“There is no greater agony than bearing an untold story inside you.”

Maya Angelou

“You own everything that happened to you. Tell your stories. If people wanted you to write warmly about them, they should have behaved better.”

Anne Lamott

“One of my biggest regrets is that I didn't get my father's life story before he died."

Michelle Pfeiffer

“Memories of our lives, of our works, and our deeds will continue in others.”

Rosa Parks

“The past is never dead. It’s not even past.”

William Faulkner

“Life itself is the most wonderful fairytale of all.”

Hans Christian Andersen

“To be a person is to have a story to tell.”

Isak Dinesen

"When an elder dies, it is as if an entire library has burned to the ground"

African saying

A Voter’s Identity…The Sum of All Parts

The mid-term elections are just a few weeks away, and I think I’ve heard from every special interest group there is. As a constituent in a hotly contested district, my vote is valuable, and through endless phone calls, dinnertime knocks on the door, and a tree’s worth of direct mail pieces, candidates hope to win my support. It’s annoying at times, but I get it.

What draws me in, though, is the diversity of the messages that I receive on behalf of the same candidate. Each special interest group labels me in its own terms. By gender, by religion, by voting record, by age, by parental status. Each advertising effort targets a specific part of my identity and dives in.

And the truth – of course – is that I am the sum of all of these individual selves. None of them, on its own, defines me completely. We are all unique beings with complex makeups.

Which brings me back to the point of this blog.

As a personal historian, when I help people write their life stories we talk about all parts of their identity. How gender played a role in their journey. And culture. And politics and career choice and parenting and on and on. We are the blending of many qualities and we make decisions – voting and otherwise – based on who we are as a whole.

It’s a concept that may be difficult to fit onto a political postcard, but it certainly works well in a book about one’s life story.

Let me know if I can help you write yours.

Introspection versus Narcissism

The difference between introspection and narcissism was raised in a recent New York Times article. It was a fascinating piece, in part I think, because of the contrary connotations the words evoke. As a whole, we think of introspection as a positive trait. A worthwhile quality that we value in ourselves and others. Narcissism? Not so much.

As a personal historian who helps people write their life stories, I frequently run into potential clients who fear seeming narcissistic. They like the idea of looking back on their lives, reviewing the path they took, and imparting important lessons learned to their children and grandchildren. But appearing to have “an exaggerated sense of self-importance” (as defined by Websters)? No, that, they most certainly don’t want.

David Brooks, the Times writer, presented this simple question: “How do you succeed in being introspective without being self-absorbed?”

The answer, amazingly, was quite simple: distance.

Writes Brooks: “The self is something that can be seen more accurately from a distance than from close up. The more you can yank yourself away from your own intimacy with yourself, the more reliable your self-awareness is likely to be.”

And the way to create this distance? After much research, Brooks discovered three tactics:

·         Time: When you write about an event after some time has passed, you are better able to “place a broader perspective on things.”

·         Language: We are much better at advising others than advising ourselves. When we write, we take a step back, we gain perspective. In a way, we approach the writing process as if we are discussing a third person.

·         Narrative: The article references two approaches to life review: “archeologists” and “literary critics.” The archeologist is a master of “studying each feeling and trying to dig deep into the unconscious.” The literary critic, meanwhile, puts “each incident in the perspective of a longer life story.” Literary critics, Brooks explains, are better able to see the big picture.

Brooks concludes perfectly: “Maturity is moving from the close-up to the landscape, focusing less on your own supposed strengths and weaknesses and more on the sea of empathy in which you swim, which is the medium necessary for understanding others, one’s self, and survival.”

The article was both recipe and advertisement for my business. Writing a life story has nothing to do with narcissism. It’s about growth and generosity.

And yes, introspection too.

The Full Story

A few months ago I wrote about my fascination with the Humans of New York (HONY) website. The site’s creator, Brandon Stanton, had the simple idea to photograph and interview ordinary people walking the streets of New York’s boroughs. The daily images and accompanying quotations he captures fascinate me – and nearly 10 million other Facebook friends according to the latest numbers – and the site’s popularity is becoming a worldwide phenomenon.

As such, and to expand his subject matter, Stanton recently left his familiar New York base and began a global tour. When his travels conclude, he will have visited Iraq, Jordan, the Democratic Republic of Congo, Ukraine, Haiti, India, and the South Sudan.

For regular readers of his site, the international angle has brought a dramatic change in content. Individuals now tell stories, almost daily, of war and famine and horrific death – experiences that are generally foreign to those in Brooklyn and Queens. Mothers tell of watching their babies die, escaping bombs that crashed during the night. Children wonder what happened to their parents, who left for war and never returned.

I read these stories and feel a sense of disbelief. And luck. The geography of where you are born dictates the whole of your life.

And yet, even from war-savaged lands, there are also stories that feel familiar. A father who surprised his young daughter with a much-wished-for doll. A boy who yearns to be a soccer star. A woman’s delight at spending time with her five granddaughters.

I think about my grandfather’s autobiography. His life escaping Russia, arriving in America with twenty-five cents, learning of the death of his family during the Holocaust. Heartbreaking stories. Awe-inspiring stories. Stories that seem unimaginable from the sheltered place where I sit.

But my grandfather also fell in love, bought his first home, started a business. He struggled with health issues, struggled with relationship issues. He felt passionate about his family.

HONY’s trip abroad – and my memories about my grandfather – drive home an important point. Whether we are separated by geography, poverty, time, or circumstance, there are similarities that connect us all. Your children and grandchildren may read your memoir and marvel at your early days without cars or televisions. Without computers or cell phones. They will feel intrigued and curious…and probably somewhat disconnected.

Until they read about your fear of starting Kindergarten. Or excitement on your wedding day. Or sadness when your mother passed.

Tell your grandchildren the full story of where you came from. You will educate them, Fascinate them. And bring them closer than ever.

Please let me know if I can help.

Recording Your Childhood

Like many new moms, I started a log when my toddler son started speaking. He was constantly spouting cute, prophetic, and wondrous statements and I wanted to record them, ensure that these gems were never forgotten. My son is eleven now, and the log  continues…although admittedly there are fewer additions these days now that he recognizes the truth behind Santa Claus and the Tooth Fairy (those illusions alone warranted several entries).

But today this log has taken on a new meaning in our home. As a preteen, Evan is hilariously funny. And inquisitive. And sensitive. Now, when he says something that makes me laugh thunderously or become teary-eyed with pride, he asks, “Will that go in my log?”

He gets it now. He sees that I’m recording his childhood and, more than that, he appreciates it. Evan recently asked to read through the log with me. Some of the entries made him giggle; others left him confused.  At eleven, Evan is still too young to understand the rationale for including some of the quotations. But one day, I have no doubt, he will.

The lesson for me is simple: kids love to read about themselves. Learn about themselves. We all do, of course, but children especially appreciate the brilliance of who they were. And so I have two takeaways to offer:

1)      When you write your own memoirs, try to capture your childhood self. What did you think about? What did you say? What drew you in? Talk to others who may remember your youngest days or dig up pictures or drawings or toys or mementos from your childhood. Not a small or easy task, I know, but the rewards of capturing your baby/toddler/preschool voice will be exceptionally gratifying. To you and your loved ones.

2)      If you have children or grandchildren or great grandchildren, do the remembering for them. Write about their early years when you write your family story. They’ll love to read about their young selves and as an adult witness to that time, you have the ability to recall specifics for them.

As a personal historian, I help people remember highlights from long-ago days. Memories forgotten. Stories overlooked. The children we once were. If you’d like assistance telling your story, I’d be thrilled to work with you. Together, we can write the book of your life.