"This one time..." - My Memoirs

"This one time..."

If I had to engrave my tombstone right now, that's phrase would be on it. Whenever I have a story, it's my introduction. Any memory I tell to my husband starts with that phrase. "This one time, when I was about five..." "This one time in middle school..." "This one time, I was playing with the neighborhood kids..."

It's typically associated with a childhood tale, and usually has something to do with a life-changing moment. I'll start with that phrase, tell my tale of a horrible moment that has since scarred me for life, lke when I ate a doughnut after just brushing my teeth on my way to school in the 4th grade, and usually ends with something to the effect of "...and as a result, I hate doughnuts. I haven't touched them since."

The phrase will pop up anywhere - in line for coffee ("This one time, I was standing in line at Starbucks, and this woman behind me...etc), or shopping at the megamarts ("This one time, I was in Meijers with my mom, I was four, and it was the first time she let me pick out a cereal I liked, and then...etc), and of course car rides ("This one time, when I was first learning how to drive, I accidently hit the gas instead of the break...etc).

My darling husband is the most patient man in the world, and listens to all of my stories, reminding me occasionally that I may have told that one before. I can't help it. All my memories are so very vivid. I can still bring back all the senses associated with any one memory - what I was wearing, what the air smelled like, what I felt. I can put myself in my five-year old shoes so easily and re-experience what it was like to learn how to tie my shoes, and how the wood felt on the banister in the Canton house, and the way the air pressure felt in the beginning of summer. And so I keep telling my stories, over and over, to my poor husband's patient ear, reliving those days I cherished, the battles I won and lost, the moments of growth and clarity year by year.

A few months ago, while I was working at Pepperdine University, busy tending to the Center for the Arts Guild publicity, I came across a magazine article in 805 Living Magazine titled "Writing Your Memoirs." It talked about a writing class offered in the LA area where you could, very obviously, learn how to write you memoirs. "It's very cathartic" the writing teacher explained,"people are able to relive their life and work through some issues long put aside."

It's an intriguing thought, isn't it? I thought so. Writing your memoirs as a sort of therapy and writing practice combined. How fun would it be to relive all these moments, coaxing more memories out of the dark, dusty corners of the archives of my mind?

Still, the thought initially gave me pause. I mean, that word, "Memoirs". What 25 year old writes their memoirs? It sounds so completely selfish on one end and so hopelessly boring on the other. First of all, who am I? I'm not a top level politician or a CIA veteran. I haven't started up a world-changing organization. I haven't even had kids, for heavens sake. Who in the world would care to read my life stories? And who would want to suffer through hours and pages of "this one time..."? Bob does that on a daily basis, and as much as he loves me, I'm quite certain it wouldn't be the first book he'd pull off the shelf.

So why write my memoirs? I harken back to the writing teacher interviewed in the 805 Living Mag, "It's cathartic. People are able to relive their life."

The memoirs are meant to be an exercise, not a coffee table book. It's a practice in both writing and perspective development. It's a way to step back from those "one time" moments, and evaluate those experiences. It's a way to grow and change how I see the world. It's a way to see how God has moved in my life, from birth to May 4, 2010 and beyond, and to relive those blissful moments, enjoying them for all their sensory memory.

All that said, I'm going to take a crack at it. It will certainly chip away at those lonely hours between job searching and reorganizing everything I own, and hopefully will be a way for me to exercise some creativity.

This one time, I decided to write my memoirs...

I'll let you know how the story ends.