Life story: I am from...where? who? what?

The Le Rougetel family circa 1965: Anne, Charles, Amanda, Katy, Colin

I recently attended the celebration of life for a friend’s father who had died at 95. The service was bright with song and lively with memories, and it got me thinking about how we wrap up a life with stories. Stories of fun and adventure, success and achievement, of impact and wisdom. Or maybe stories of hardship and pain, of loss and lack, of hard luck and sorrow. Or, likely, a mix of all that. Regardless, at the end, we celebrate a life in story.

It got me thinking about how my story might be told when my end comes. That’s a long way off, I hope, but in the meantime, I pulled out an activity that Deborah and I have used in one of our writing workshops. It’s a variation on the “I am from…” prompt developed by George Ella Lyon, and it’s surprisingly thought provoking. It asks you to dig ever deeper about where you are from — while the cheap answer is Toronto (city where I was born), the richer, more valuable answer is the response I’ve shared below.

————

I AM FROM…

Me, about 18 months old

I am from the love of family-heart,
second born,
middle child,
peace-keeper,
communicator,
organizer,
loyal.

I am from Anne and Colin,
and Molly and Ian, and Hugh and Barbara before them,
and others before them, unknown to me but on the family tree. Part of me. Unknown yet connected.

I am from talking and debating.
I am from loud voices and loud opinions
at the family dinner table.

I am from
be anything you want to be
and
we believe in you
and
we are proud of you.

I am from the earth, solid beneath my feet.
I am from secular living, and book reading.
I am from roots in England and from international addresses.
I am from packing up and moving on, and also from ties to family-heart as core, as foundation.

circa 1964: Katy reading,
Amanda with Charles
and Booboo, the push-dog

I am from cups of tea,
from biscuits and from the sharp taste of Marmite.
I am from soft-boiled eggs with toast-soldiers to dunk,
from warmed mince pies with brandy butter oozing.

I am from my siblings, all three red-haired, colour now fading from its childhood glory, as we move into our own and different third acts, next chapters, Elder stages.

Photos capture the decades,
developed with love,
collected in albums by father,
digitized by brother
for longer life, for easier sharing.

In those photos, my life exists

in black and white, then colour.
Mix with memories,
Add words,
Tell the story I am.

————

Try it for yourself.

Simply start each line or segment with “I am from…”. Colour way outside the lines to capture the essence and the spirit of your story, more than the concrete and the documented. Repeat “I am from…” as many times as you like. I have closed my current version with reference to photos because I am sorting through my large collection of photos for next year’s family calendar; they are many and they jog my memory vividly. End your piece with something similarly timely and relevant for you, or simply bring the piece to a close with a final “I am from…” stanza.

Don’t be trepidatious. Be bold. What you write today may be quite different from what you write next month or next year; after all, our story evolves as we live it and, most excitingly, our understanding of our story changes over time. Writing can help us understand those changes by shaping our thoughts and capturing them in words.

Caveat: Your history may be quite different than mine -- more loss than love, more grief than good, so your story might be prompted by “I have overcome…” or “I am a survivor and I will…” or “I have lost / I have found...” Craft the prompt that works for you and your history, and write your story. It is yours to tell. 

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Land acknowledgement: I respectfully recognize that I live on the original lands of Anishinaabe, Cree, Oji-Cree, Dakota and Dene peoples, and on the homeland of the Métis Nation.