Commit to writing a Memoir

Remember 1999. Seems like eons ago. I was writing my “First Thirty Years” at that time having turned 30 in 1997. I’m so glad I took the time – most of that year when everyone was crazed by the ‘Y2K’ bug – and chronicled the chapters of my life until that point – the good, the bad, and especially the ugly.

I wanted it to be a memoir for my parents to read and eventually for my children too. I printed just one spiral bound copy – about 83 double-sized (A4) pages. Had my mother write the first chapter – of times for when I had no memories.

The great thing about this exercise is what I now no longer recall because of how much living the past 20 years has consumed – memories have made way for memories. But I’ve also found that the early memories are even more precious now than they were back then.

As I think about my daughters getting to an age where they might soon consider such an exercise, I think it’s a worthwhile exercise approaching that mysterious age of 30. When I turned 30, I loved it – old enough to have done some things, but still considered young. It’s amazing how our concept of age changes over time – 30 to me is just so young now.

Writing a memoir is, of course, a great idea at any time of life. All our stories are interesting, and particularly for those who follow on after us when we’re gone. Imagine the importance to our grandchildren, greatgrandchildren, and greatgreatgrandchildren. However, we lived our lives there will be immense interest, because our own lives always shed light on the lives that descend from ours. Our true ancestries are a genuine treasure for our progeny.

Another great thing about a memoir is it’s a great way to wrestle with the past. Sometimes it’s hard to go back, but we inevitably cannot go forward into joyous freedom if we continue to deny our past – we’re, of a sense, trapped in a paradigm we cannot escape from.

So here are a few little highlights from the limited photos I have around the time I was thirty, and beforehand.

My 1977 General Motors Holden Statesman V8 sounded great inside and out. The photo is taken at Radio Hill, Karratha. The periphery of the photo is as interesting to me now as the car. The place I grew up that I haven’t seen in nearly 20 years, but will thankfully return to later this year.

The bare-chested one again draws my attention to the periphery – to the books and adornments in my bedroom at the time. I must have been about 20 because there’s a whiskey bottle in the left corner. I look to the books in the bookcase, many of them I no longer have – what I’d give to walk through my bedroom now thirty-plus years on! Or to go back there to a time when three of my grandparents were still alive.

Then there’s the one of me smoking out the front with Dad. I must have been 18-19. Obviously we’re discussing the VHS video Dad has in his hands. Smoking was such a normal thing to do back then.

Blowing the candles out with family, I think I’m 34. There’s a photo of my two older daughters with two of my nieces. And finally, the photo of me with my youngest daughter at the aquarium.

The point is there could be any number of hundreds of photos in such a collection. Our memories are important. They’re worth revisiting. And in doing that there’s great healing. Once we’re healed, if there’s healing to do, then those memories become all the more precious spiritual possessions.