Treasures

I’ve been reading slowly through a non-fiction book titled Light the Dark: Writers on Creativity, Inspiration and the Artistic Process edited by Joe Fassler. The book contains essays by popular writers like Stephen King, Elizabeth Gilbert, Amy Tan and Neil Gaiman. Each author reveals how he or she approaches writing. I wasn’t surprised to learn that many of the writers draw inspiration from what they read. Their writing germinates from the thoughts and phrases of other writers. Each author posted a quote from another author that was the jumping off point of their own work.

Many writers that I know—myself included—keep a commonplace book. Mine is a simple notebook—small enough to carry around—into which I jot notes, observations, snippets of conversations, descriptions of people I see who inspire a story. Often, as I read, a particular phrase will jump out at me and get me thinking. I write those down too. Sometimes those thoughts lead to stories. Sometimes they are just interesting mental digression.

Yesterday morning I was reading an essay on Brevity. The author quoted a line from Lin’s speculative memoir The Night Parade. The line was “create a scene to fill the gap where the lost stories go.” The last part of that line haunted me—“where the lost stories go.”

As we age, there are so many lost stories. I frequently get a flash of memory, an image, maybe even just a vague feeling that I know is connected to something that happened in my life. It’s frustrating to not be able to call up the place, time, event in detail. I wonder if it’s easier for people who have lived in one place for a long time or who have established routines. I’ve lived in thirteen states and traveled a lot. I changed my major in college several times, have two unrelated degrees and still pursue continuing education in new fields. I’ve had multiple careers, various hobbies and met so many people. How could I not have lost stories?

But the phrase “fill the gap where the lost stories go” brought on a wave of melancholy. My life has been so full. I didn’t mean to misplace any of it. Enter nostalgia—the favorite pastime of my peers and a cure for gloominess.

Did you know that nostalgia was considered a form of mental illness until the 19th century? Certainly dwelling too much in the past to the exclusion of enjoying the present isn’t healthy, but there are some clear advantages of reliving one’s past that are supported by research. Engaging in nostalgia:

• Creates positive feelings because people predominantly tend to recall happy memories. Those positive feelings have been found to foster behaviors in the present like creativity, flexibility and gregariousness
• Provides self-esteem and positive self-regard. Who doesn’t like being the hero of a story?
• Affirms social bonds and connects us to others. Even thinking about people who are no longer alive enhances the value of the attachment
• Clarifies the meaning of one’s life and mitigates the fear of mortality

The students in my Life Stories classes experience all those positive effects of nostalgia as they share memories with each other. To me as the facilitator, the last benefit—clarifying the meaning of a life—is the most fulfilling to watch unfold. Over the course of our time together, students make sense of the choices they made, feel capable and strong as they review the challenges they overcame and have a sense of hope for the future knowing who they are now and how they got there.

I’m sure there is such a thing as “lost stories” but I also believe that the important ones are retrievable if you give your mind time to wander through your past. Jot notes in a commonplace book. Your stories will grow from there.