Mini Memoir Moment #4: Looking back—how you changed along the way from there to here

Marcia Moston

The interest in any story, yours included, is not so much what you did, but what you made of it—what you learned, how you changed. That’s not to say if you walked across that bridge in the photo, you wouldn’t have a story to tell. But more than just the fact that you did it, how did you do it? What did you experience when you first saw it? Why did you decide to tackle it? If your feet bolted to the boards halfway across, how did you manage to make it the whole way? How did you feel after you accomplished it? Did it change you in any way?

These are the kinds of considerations that make your personal story become your readers’. We all may not have crossed a chasm on a swaying bridge, but we all have faced a challenge, maybe a fearful one. Reading about how someone else dealt with a situation helps us to absorb his or her experience and apply it to our own. So it’s not “just the facts, ma’am” you want to record when writing your story, but why those moments are important to you. Not only will your reader benefit, but you will too.

Example:

When she was arrested for her former involvement with drug traffickers, Piper Kerman, a Smith graduate from a supportive, well-to-do family traded her designer clothes and comfortable lifestyle for a prison jump suit and fifteen months behind bars. In her memoir, Orange is the New Black, Kerman shares the lessons she learned during her incarceration and how that experience changed her. Including this reflection provides readers with both an intriguing story and insight into the complexities and dynamics of a world most would not ordinarily experience. (*The book is not at all like the TV series, by the way.) Here are some sample passages:

I had learned a lot since arriving in prison five months ago: how to clean house using maxipads, how to wire a light fixture, how to discern whether a duo were best friends or girlfriends, when to curse someone in Spanish, knowing the difference between “feelin’ it (good) and “feelin’ some kinda way” (bad) . . . which guards were players and which guards were nothin’ nice.

However, most of all, I realized that I was not alone in the world because of the women I lived with for over a year . . . .We shared over-crowded dorms and lack of privacy. We shared eight numbers instead of names, prison khakis, cheap food and hygiene items. Most important, we shared a deep reserve of humor, creativity in adverse circumstances, and the will to protect and maintain our own humanity. .  . I don’t think any of us could have managed those survival techniques alone; I know I couldn’t—we needed each other.

Before and After

There’s wisdom in the rear-view mirror. Looking back and examining the pivotal experiences and events—both in our control and out of it—which have impacted our life, helps us to understand our present. As Danish philosopher Kierkegaard says, “Life can only be understood backwards, but it must be lived forwards.” Or, if you prefer John Wayne’s take – “Tomorrow hopes we’ve learned something today.”

Try organizing some of those pivotal moments into pairs of themes. That’s how Bob Goff arranges the stories in his book Love Does. Each chapter is a self-contained story from his outrageously large life. He subtitles each chapter with variations of before and after, following a I used to . . . but now I . .  . pattern:

I used to be afraid of failing at something that really mattered to me, but now I’m more afraid of succeeding at things that don’t matter.

I used to want to fix people, but now I just want to be with them.

I used to think I had to act a certain way to follow God, but now I know God doesn’t want us to be typical.

Times of Reversals

Looking back over our lives also helps to see how we got through times of reversal, when something difficult or downright awful later turned out good. This is a particularly helpful exercise for those who want to pursue their spiritual journey. You might discover recurrent themes in your life. What helped you get through trying times—people, prayer, divine intervention, gut and grit?

The Friday of this post, Good Friday, is a perfect example of reversal for those of the Christian faith. The day Christ died on a cross was a dismal day for those who hoped in him. All their expectations and hopes hung there, lifeless, about to be buried like any other man’s. Little did the people know that in three days the most life-changing, glorious event was about to take place and what looked like death was actually life.

Regardless of your faith or whether or not you want to embark on a spiritual autobiography, you can learn much by noting these times of reversals in your life and examining how you overcame them. Consider what you lost and what you gained.

Your Turn:

1. Model Bob Goff’s pattern to write about a change in your thinking, beliefs, wants, or actions. Explain what happened and why and how you changed.

I used to (believe, think, want, like, etc.) but now I ________________.

2.  Make a timeline of your life. Divide it into periods of time—decades, or childhood, adolescence, etc. Mark some of the turning points, pivotal moments, or life changing events in each period. Write about the event and explore what you lost and what you gained from it.

3. If you could choose one event, experience or specific time of your life to write about, what would it be? Why is it important to you? What would you want your reader to know, experience, feel, learn or take away from it?

I know I said I’d post these mini moments for a month, but as my former students used to say, “Mrs. Moston doesn’t just go down rabbit trails, she goes down elephant trails.” So since I’m having fun doing these and I’ve used up all my mulch and outdoor project supplies, and since several of you seem to be following along, we’ll keep going down this trail for a while longer. Hope to see you here next week. And if you have something to share, contact me.

Blessings,

Marcia

Image: Michael Luenen, Pixabay

What do you want to be?: And then there's God

I admit, I am envious of those of you who clearly know what your focus, life purpose, and (if a writer) platform is. You are the goal setters, outline makers, and Twitter collectors. You can settle down in your neighborhoods because you know where you want to live; you can write your stories because you know what to say, and you are comfortable with what you believe God has purposed you to do.

The pressure on me to join this group is becoming more intense because 1) I have written a published book for which I am somewhat responsible to market  2) I am becoming “full of days” and should figure this out sooner than later 3) My husband is putting his foot down about moving to another Renovation.

 I’m not looking for excuses, but I do want to offer those of you in my tribe the hope that gets me through when I can’t seem to find my spot: And then there’s God.

In most author interviews, people are asked, “When did you know you wanted to be a writer?” Many answer something about how they scribbled stories on napkins at McDonald’s and never dreamed 

about anything else. 

I thought about what my own response would be. Forever fond of stories, I think I considered writing early on, but the desire was more defined when we decided to move south. I envisioned sitting by my own pool and writing a book. About what? I had no idea, but it was a vivid image.

And so we moved south; I sat by my pool and wrote a book.

As a child, I don’t remember, being smiled at by friendly strangers and asked, “What’s your name?” followed by “How old are you?” The question I do remember is “What do you want to be when you grow up?”

Aware very early that I needed to be something, I chose my course. A fourth-grade lesson about ancient civilizations convinced me I would spend my life as an archeologist, unearthing hidden treasures—an idea dispelled in seventh-grade by the pictures in a Wonder Book on the universe, which convinced me to be an astronomer. (I waited about fifty years to see the faint return of Haley’s comet, which looked about as much like the illustration in the book as a hand-held sparkler to full-fledged fireworks display.)

And then I read a book about Albert Schweitzer in eight-grade that fixed my fickle fantasies. For the next six years I pictured being a missionary jungle doctor. (At the time I didn’t know too much about the missionary part, but God and good seemed worthy enough.)

I enrolled in a pre-med track at the University of Vermont. During my second year we went on a field trip to examine a corpse. It may have been a preserved body of some sort that the medical school had on hand, but all I remember was the hand with the perfectly formed nails sticking out from the sheet.

Fingernails were all I could attach to the science lesson that had once been someone’s daughter.

Still, my dream continued until the next semester when the pressures of college chemistry, delivered by an ancient man whose language I could never grasp, collided with the decades-old weight of “having to be something.” 

In one of those moments we call in writing memoir “pivotal events,” I ran into some recruiters for an organization called VISTA, signed up on the spot outside the college coffee shop, and walked away (for a few years).

I have been many things since that day, and am still plagued by the question "What do you want to be?" (Those of you with vision suggestions or psychiatrist friends can email separately!) But this I know and cling to: 

1) I have surrendered my life to Christ—my gifts, talents, and lackings. 

2) Whether I feel it or not, He is in charge. 

3) I will do my part—the next thing—as best as I can identify it, and trust Him to intersect at the “pivotal moments.”

With a heart of thanksgiving, I say, and then there’s’ God.