As you pass through transitions that make up the stories of your life, you encounter teachers.

Maybe at the time, you didn't think of them this way. But in looking back,  often there is a book, a person, a mentor or a model that gives you some insight and smooths the path at a particular time.

I remember after my husband, Mike, died I met some new friends who are Buddhist. There was a monk staying at their house and one evening after his regular teaching that he gave, I went to speak with him. I explained that my husband had just died and this shadow that had fallen over my life. I wanted to know what insights he had about this.

He told me a story.

At one time, long ago and far away, there lived a woman. This woman's child had just died and she was beside herself with grief. She went to her teacher and told him no one ever had experienced what she was experiencing and asked him to please help her. The teacher told her, "Go to every home in the village. Ask them if they have lost a loved one. Then come back here and tell me what you found."

The woman went to every house. She knocked on all the doors.

At every home, the people she met told her of a loved one who had died.

She came back to the teacher, "I went to every home," she said. 'I learned that, like me, everyone suffers grief. I am comforted by this," she said to him.

And that story helped me to understand that we all suffer these things in our lives. The story was a teacher for me during that time, although I didn't think of it that way until later on.

I supposed it is as they say, "when the student is ready, the teacher will come."

        

Reading some of the stories that are in the Story Collection in TellOurLifeStories.com shows a glimpse of family life across time and from the east to the west coast. The memories captured in the stories provide a window into other worlds and other viewpoints of family life.

One friend of mine, and a subscriber to TellOurLifeStores, Eleanor, had a father who was a writer. He faithfully kept journals of every year and wrote in them regularly. In those journals, you can see his journey through life. The journals reflect events and not emotions, however in those events and in the details that are described, you get a sense of who he was and how he felt overall, his beliefs, his values.

He grew up in Iowa and got a job after college as a Park Forrester in a national park in Sawyer's Bar California. Eleanor loaned me some of the journals so that I could take a further look.

In one entry he says, "Christmas Eve. I'm lonesome."

Another stands out in my mind.

October 11, 1936:

"Sunday. Sundays spent alone are depressing. I like to think of the Sundays when I was a boy. Breakfast a little later than usual. Dad alwyays went to the post office to sort mail. By the time he got back it was 9:30 or so and time to go to Sunday School. Then church which was usually well attended. Sometimes we were 'invited out' which was a big event because there were other kids to play with, a big meal with chicken, mashed potatoes, pie and dressing perhaps or creamed peas and carrots which was a standard dish. And could those Danish wives and mothers cook! I remember when we used to go to 'Uncle Carl's'. He lived about six miles from West Branch which was quite a trip - especially in the days when we drove the family surrey. Mama in the back with several kids and dad in front wielding the whip and holding the lines like a coachman to Queen Victoria herself.

Later than this I remember driving in one of the first Fords with brass radiator and acetylene lights. I was very young and took little space between Dad and the minister who owned and drove.

This reminiscing could go on indefinetely I suppose. Started a fire in my fireplace this evening for the first itme. I put too much wood in it and it's burning fiercely now. No way to shut off the draft. Anyways a snapping fire is a good tonic for 'that lonesome feeling.'"

        

Writing life stories is an inside job.

It's a conversation with yourself, not like a phonecall with your best girlfriend for 2 hours. It's talking with yourself and discovering where that can lead you. It gives you the opportunity to get acquainted with your own true best self, the self that solves the problems, the self that takes the hard look at the real issue, the self that transcends the past and moves into the future.

Writing your life story means that you go inside yourself and explore what's there. You take a nice long look and not just glance backwards as you rocket to the next event. Mostly, we don't consider this about ourselves. Mostly we just keep on going with the lists of things to do.

But if we take a moment to look back and see where we've come from, then we might be amazed at what we find. For example, 5 years ago, did you imagine what your life would be like today? What happened in the last 5 years? Are you amazed? Are you glad, or sad? What changes occurred?

Take a moment and write about this.

And when you are looking, look for the insights.

Take 5 minutes and write about 3 insights you had during the last 5 years.

Then sit back and expand on that. What have you learned? Does it influence what you are doing today? Why?

You could just start out with the words, 'I realized... "

Writing life stories is an inside job.

        

I am in a bedroom by the sea. It is early morning. Dawn emerges from the mist on the Northern California coast. The light begins to outline the plum tree outside the window in the gray stillness. The rush of the heater murmers in the next room. I bring my coffee from the kitchen and set it on the bedside table.

How many transitions brought me to this place?

"Ineffable, incapable of being expressed in words,"  from Ask and It is Given, preface by Jerry Hicks.

As I consider this, I think of life transitions in general, of the teachers that bring us into those transitions.

Often when we are changing and facing life challenges, our story unfolds without thought. We are led from one stage to another, without words to guide us.

It is only in looking back that we see where we have been.

The next available quiet moment that you have, think about where you are in relation to where you were 5 years ago, or 10. How many transitions and changes in your life, led you to this moment?

Bring that coffee to the table beside you, and write about it.

Here are some exercises that can help you.

Take 5 minutes, write 5 things you remember that happened last week, any memory.

Take the next 5 minutes, write 5 things you remember from your childhood.

Review your lists. What jumps out at you? Why those memories? Are they tied together in any ways? How are they the same? How are they different?

Write about this.

        

In all the books I've looked at, read and purchased related to life story writing, or even writing in general, the idea of continuing to keep going when the mind says it has other pressing things to do keeps coming up.

Writing takes patience. Writing allows the mind to wander and when the mind wanders, the blank page sits idle... waiting.

Writing is not task-based. It is not something that you sit down to do and when you are done, then you see an accomplishment. With writing, you might sit down and spend 30 minutes or an hour and you've only scratched the surface of a thought that is developing into something.

And it's OK.

Jot that thought down, start somewhere. Your accomplishment is that you sat down to do this in the first place.

But then, there is enormous satisfaction when the thoughts on the page make some sense to you. It is satisfying to find the right word when not just any word will do. It is satisfying when that certain phrase does the trick.

Writing is something that comes from the mind and the heart. The pictures are in the heart and the mind struggles to wrap itself around the feelings, to bring the picture to the page. Writing is challenging and fulfilling. It takes devotion and practice. It takes thought and patience.

We enjoy writers who can help us to see into new places and realize new truths. And the truth is that we all have that capacity to reach into those places that draw out the experiences and feelings that touch others.

Writing is worthwhile, it's worth the time, and it's worth the effort.

        

When you think about writing your life story, you might wonder where on earth you ought to begin. You think about this especially if, like me, you have quite a few years behind you already.

The idea of writing about your life may have been rattling around in your mind for some time, but the thought of it also has been overwhelming, just because you are wondering where to start.

But, every project begins with a single step. And your first step could be to make the time.

True your day is filled to the brim, or if it's not, there is always that very great reason to delay and procrastinate. Matter of fact, even if your day is filled to the brim and overflowing, procrastination is still there whispering in your ear, "oh, but I need to run that errand, I need to do the dishes, I don't have time to sit down now, I must fold the laundry."

Well, suppose you just did take a few moments to sit down and suppose you had an idea to help you to begin. What about an idea that takes shape around what you used to do during the winter, or what you do now, when the weather is cold and blustery and it's raining or snowing. You could write a story about that. 

I was listening to the Prairie Home Comanion radio program on Saturday night and Garrison Keilor was talking about how women in Minnesota, during frigid January, become crazed with cleaning. They clean everything and then they clean it again.

When I think of a pastime, I think of reading or quilting, and I hardly ever have time to do those things anymore. But I do have a habit of cleaning in January. It's true. And there is something very satisfying about it too. Recently I organized one of my closets and when I stood back and saw how it looked, it gave me a feeling of accomplishment. I threw out or gave away the old stuff and there was some room to grow in the New Year.

You could even write this story and put it into the TellOurLifeStories Collection for the January Story Contest. It would get you started on the writing life stories path.

Cleaning may not be a hobby, or maybe it is. Certainly it's not like knitting or quilting or reading, or cooking. But it is a pastime and it often occupies the wintery months. And there is something cathartic about it too, because after it's done, then pretty soon spring is around the corner and the new year is truly launched.

        

Along with the quiet of January evenings, comes the opportunity to take up well-loved hobbies and crafts.

 

One of my own favorites is quilting. I had the opportunity to meet a quilter whose daughter had written a lovely book about her and the journey that quilting inspired in her life. It wasn't until the mother became ill that the daughter realized what a treasure the quilting pastime had been in her life and her father's. When her mother recovered, the daughter resolved to write a memoir about her mother's quilting journey. And so she did.

 

The daughter wrote the book "One Woman's Journey Told In Quilts."

Her mother is a retired Oklahoma school teacher. She says, "You go on. You cope. And you quilt."

 

Our TellOurLifeStories contest is to write about your favorite hobby or pastime for this silent time in January. Write about something that occupies you on these chilly and cold winter evenings. Write about how your hobby inspires you, write about how you began with it, write about how long you've been doing this and the things you've learned along the way.

 

For 2010 we will continue to have these writing contests every month. Subscribers who enter 3 stories in the next 6 months will be eligible for a drawing for a $50 Visa gift card.

 

Enter your story by either submitting your story to the TellOurLifeStories Collection through the free trial offer, or if you are a subscriber, login, and enjoy the fun! Your stories belong to you.

 

The Hobby Story Contest begins Monday, January 11 and deadline for entries is Monday, January 25 at 5 p.m. Pacific Time. The winner will be announced Monday, February 1 by newsletter and email notification.

 

Stories will be read by Dawn and Margaret from TellOurLifeStories.com and the winning story writer will be highlighted on the Home Page of TellOurLifeStories and also in the newsletter.

        

        

I was reading that book, This I Believe, which has excerpts from the thousands of stories they have collected since the 1950's. It is a wonderful collection of stories that show people's values.

One story was particularly suited to this season and I wanted to share the insight from it with you as you rush through the holidays. You might pause for a moment and reflect on where you are, who you are and what the season means to you. It is easy to get all caught up in the things that we do and it is so much fun to visit with friends and family.

As well, in the quiet moments when darkness arrives early, it might be a time to get out some paper and write down, as this person did, some words about the values that you hold during this time, if for no other reason than to remember them and in doing that, to honor them.

The story begins with the writer, Steve Banko saying that he was "moved by the magic of Christmas music since nuns in grammar school etched the words of carols into my brain."

Ten years after grammar school he found himself in a hospital at Christmas, his leg shattered in Vietnam. His body was full of shrapnel and his hands badly burned. It didn't feel like Christmas and he was in desperate need of magic as doctors struggled to save his leg.

His misery "was interrupted by a low moan coming from the next bed. All I could see was a white cast shaped like a body, cutouts for his eyes, nose, and mouth were the only breaks in the cast. The soft strains of 'Silent Night' were filling theair of the ward when the nurse made final rounds. When my nurse approached I asked her to push my bed closer to the man in the cast. I reached out and took my new friend's hand as the carol told us 'all is calm, all is bright.'"

"We spoke no words to eachother. None were needed. The carol revived the message of hope and the triumph of love for me. I felt a slight tightening on my hand and for the first time that Christmas I felt I would survive my ordeal and for the first time in a long time, I wanted to. I believe there is magic in Christmas and the music that celebrates it, because it brings us closer together and closer to our own hearts."




 

        

I ran across this story in my journal recently and wanted to share it. Journaling is a great vehicle for writing your life stories. You can jot down some notes or sentences and then remember them later and fill them out.

I met Sylvie on my evening walk. She is two and was on the arm of her tired-looking but gently cheerful Dad.

"Hi," she called from across the street.

"Well, hi there," I replied.

'Let me see your eyes," she said.

I removed my sunglasses. "Are you a grownup?' she asked.

"Yes," I said.

"Where is your little girl?" she asked.

"I don't have one," I said.

"Why?" she asked.

"It just never happened,' I said.

"Oh," she said, looking puzzled.

"That's a bright green shirt she has," her father remarked.

"Yes," I said, "and yours is pink!"

She squirmed in delight looking down at her t-shirt with the big pink heart on the front.

"See you," I walked away and waved. She waved back as they slowly walked on.

I laughed to myself enjoying the perfect evening, looking forward to watering my flowers. I barely remember a time when that conversation would have made me cripplingly sad because I wasn't able to have children of my own. But now that seems like the distant past.

I thought to myself, what if I had said, "I don't know," when she asked if I was a grownup?