Earlier this week, we had family dinner with my girlfriend’s Dad. This particular meal had a two-fold purpose: catch up, and find some documents in the basement. The “it should be in this” pile was sitting on the coffee table when we arrived.
As I started to unfold these documents and open the beautifully bound journals, I realized I was holding history. These documents from Latvia, many dated from the 1930 and 40s, belong in a museum. A book of poems from the great philosophers of our time meticulously transcribed for keeping. Drawings. Photographs - all from a time when instability rocked this region of the world.
You may have never heard of Latvia; I surely hadn’t before meeting my girlfriend. It’s a small country sandwiched between Estonia and Lithuania. They have lived through communist occupation off and on since 1800s and there I was peeking into the journals, headlines, and notes from the resistance 100 years ago.
In the pile was a document on thin paper typed in English. At the top it said, “My Life.” It was from her grandfather’s application to become an American in 1949 after leaving his country to avoid the occupation. It detailed his work history, languages spoken, and goals of “honest jobs for a normal reward.” It was an OG resume.
This peek into their lives as they lived through uncertainty and obstacles I can’t begin to understand made me think extra hard this week. History always does that for me. It’s why I love museums.
As someone without kids, I wonder if my nieces or even friends' kids will someday read these letters or my journals with the same reverence. If they’ll look for clues about how I showed up in the world. What I was doing. What I was feeling. How I saw myself. Funny enough, in November of last year I volunteered to be on a podcast called Journey Lines. It’s hosted by my (new) friend Kim Minnick. The idea is beautifully simple: what are the 8-10 most pivotal moments of your journey?
Simplifying my life into 10 moments was not as simple for an over thinker like me. I kept the message with the instructions marked unread for weeks. Almost 8, in fact. And then one day over the holiday it hit me. I knew what journey line I wanted to talk about. It was my journey to realizing I was a writer.
I didn’t follow any of the instructions (sorry, Kim). Instead, I pulled out my journal and drew a vertical line. Then, I drew the moments where writing created a turning point (good and bad). The moments where I thought I lost everything and writing was the skill I used to save myself.
As I sorted through this pile, I felt so blessed. I would kill to read this story from my own family but reading it about someone I love is just as beautiful. The fact they even have this is just incredible. Think about it. There are very few times in life anyone gets to talk honestly about their journey outside of an interview when someone says, “tell me about yourself.” That version is tailored to the person, the role, and the outcome. In this scenario though, I just got to reflect on this journey from a kid that didn’t think they had any talent to the day I quit my “good job” because my boss said I wasn’t a writer. Talk about growth.
This week, I want to share that story. You can listen here. I share it, too, because I hope it’s a peek for anyone who wants it, into what I care about, who I am, and what I fight for. My life.
