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A Microbiography of Significance
I’ve just passed another birthday. I can attest to the fact that inside everyone in the second half of life is a thirty-five year old asking, “Hey, what happened here?”Life, that’s what. The best possible school for writers.
For years I taught a class for really senior folks called “Writing Your Life Story.” The class baby was 69 years old. The oldest member was 99. I started with the Microbiography assignment: In one hundred words or less, write the significance of your life. It was fascinating to see what people who had the advantage of looking back over a lifetime of memories considered worthy of their hundred words. Most of the men described what they had done for a living. Many of the women used their words to talk about their children.
I always smiled at these entries and responded, “This is all so interesting. But I want you to tell me about you!”
Most of my senior students seemed genuinely stymied. One time a woman wrote exactly one hundred words describing all her perceived faults and shortcomings, including the fact that she never finished a secretarial course she started in her twenties. Imagine vexing over that for half a century!
Then there was the dapper white-haired man in his eighties, always jauntily dressed in a sport jacket and wool Scottish tie sporting his clan’s plaid. Charles was his name. He began his microbiography this way: “At the age of sixty, I got a retirement watch from the railroad and went to work as a volunteer repairman for anybody who needed my free help. That was when I became a person of significance.”
What a wise man, that Charles! Significance is not about success; it’s about consequence. It’s not what pads the checkbook; it’s what gives real meaning to life.
I’m looking back at twenty-seven years of writing. I’m finishing book number thirty-six. And I don’t intend to stop any time soon. I’ve done just about every type of writing imaginable: articles, short stories, television scripts, school curriculum, advertising copy, greeting cards—you name it, I’ve tried it. I wrote to pay the rent and I wrote to put my children through college. Not any more, though. Now I’m writing for significance. Whether fiction or non-fiction, my topic is social justice. My goal is to give a voice to people who would otherwise not be heard.
Maybe I, too, will live into my eighties or nineties. Maybe I’ll even blow out a hundred birthday candles. Maybe . . . but then again, maybe not.
However many my years, I want my microbiography to follow the advice of Archbishop Desmond Tutu of South Africa who said, “Do a little bit of good where you are. It’s those little bits of good put together that overwhelm the world.”
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