Each of our lives is remarkable, especially to the people who love us. When I talk about what I do, I often hear: but my life just isn't that interesting.
I've been privileged to learn the intimate details of what World War II veterans and Holocaust survivors experienced, how charismatic men built business empires, how a career baker developed a new kind of marbled cheesecake that sent Frank Sinatra over the moon, etc.
But I've also had the privilege of learning about quieter stories that may not make exciting Hollywood movies or bestselling books, yet still sparkle with the authentic joy and drama of a life well-lived, a person much-loved.
My friend Sylvia, for example. Born in 1923, Sylvia didn't have to fight in a war, and she didn't rub shoulders with celebrities. From the outside, her life might seem ordinary. But the truth is that she was an extraordinary woman. She fell in love; she raised four children; she became a great-grandmother of nearly thirty. She was a writer, a musician, an athlete, a friend, a sweetheart, a lover of family, people and life. Her very presence added light to the world.
When you dig down into the details, her story brims with poetry. There is a richness and meaning that no Hollywood movie could ever match. It's true for each of us. Our stories are worth telling, and LifeStory is a wonderful way to do that. We want these stories because they help us understand where and whom we come from. And because we love our families.
Every now and then, I like to write a blog on a topic relevant to LifeStory and the notion that immortalizing our stories in print is invaluable to future generations.