When Hong Kong’s Jumbo Floating Restaurant sank last month in the South China Sea, I immediately thought of a former colleague. Don’t worry: He had an alibi.
But a year and a half ago, he posed a fun question to his nearly 1,000 friends on Facebook, and it stuck with me: “What is something you have done that you’re fairly confident you’re the ONLY person on my friends list to have ever done?” People had some great answers, from getting bitten by a lion to flying with a Blue Angel to babysitting Chelsea Clinton.
If he posts it again, I can tell him that I ate at one restaurant that was later destroyed in a terrorist attack and another that sank at sea. Beat THAT, suckers!
Sorry. Got carried away.
Lots of journalism revolves around an adage: “Dog bites man” is not news; “Man bites dog” is. We embrace uniqueness, or at least weirdness. Getting drunk and passing out isn’t news, unless you do it at a police station (one of my answers to the Facebook question).
But as I thought about capsized boats and journalists, I realized that a lot of those Facebook items are more fun to talk about than they were to live through.
Getting bitten by a lion is rare, but hardly a joy. And babysitting, getting drunk and flying with a Blue Angel certainly could have involved bodily functions that we’d just as soon not mention. Both places in my tragic-meal combo (the other was Windows on the World in the World Trade Center) were great, but they weren’t even the highlights of their respective weeks, much less my life.
It made me appreciate something I hadn’t before: We can be so concerned with crossing shiny new things off our bucket list that we overlook the more significant treasures we’ve already collected.
My mom came from a large family, and by the time the remaining seven kids were past middle age, they had scattered around the country, and air travel was far less common than it is today. When she flew back for a rare reunion, Dad had one piece of advice: Take lots of pictures. Photography was way more costly and cumbersome back then, but the chances of all seven siblings getting together again were fading.
Mom and Dad treasured the moment — and knew that future generations would, too.
I’ve written before about helping loved ones remember you and writing your own eulogy, but often it’s the little treasures that shape you. Joe Lacob is a 66-year-old billionaire who owns a large chunk of the Warriors, but listen in at the 30-minute mark of this podcast and you’ll hear about an awestruck 9-year-old who saw a basketball court with a hardwood floor for the first time.
His story flunks the Facebook uniqueness test, but that’s what makes it so good. That 9-year-old is in all of us.
That’s why you should write something once a week about an item you added to your bucket. Special things happen all the time, even if we treat them like “Dog bites man.” You made a friend, added a colleague, heard a great joke, shared a wonderful meal, walked an unfamiliar path, cried about something.
I’m not talking about writing the Great American Novel. Sometimes when people tell stories, you feel like you need a Sherpa to make it to the end. I’m talking about one great paragraph — not for 1,000 Facebook friends, but for you, and maybe a few loved ones if you choose. If once a week feels overwhelming, do it once a month. But do it.
Think about someone reading those paragraphs 30 years from now — maybe your future self, maybe someone related to you, maybe someone who relates to you. You can share the tales with people today (or not), but consider them part of your legacy.
Before you roll your eyes, suppose your parents had done this in 1992. Wouldn’t you love to know what they were going through at your age? What was important to them as they were getting married or raising you or starting to grow old? What they were proud of or afraid of or wished they could do over?
A paragraph can be worth a thousand pictures.
Maybe you’re proud of something, but too shy to talk about it. Maybe you’re upset, but it feels petty. Share it with Future Reader. If you need help getting your juices flowing, read some great fictional vignettes in “Soloists,” a book by my friend Marty Nemko, a prominent career coach. They’re meant to be read in a couple of minutes each, at most, and might inspire you to go beyond my one-paragraph guideline.
(If you hate writing, record a note or video. Those aren’t as easy to skim through, but it’s your legacy. Do what feels right.)
If you have a week when everything is stuck between ho and hum, think back. What did your parents do that impressed you? (It doesn’t need to be as powerful as this thread I mentioned before.) When did you know a particular person would change your life? (A great love, friend, teacher, boss, even a rival.) What left you in awe? (Artwork, speech, movie, natural wonder.) Where’s the most unusual place you had sex? (Geographical place, just so we’re clear.)
Look over your paragraphs after a few months. Who would Future Reader see? Someone who’s bitter or anxious? Someone too caught up in the past to appreciate the present? Someone stressed out by family members or overwhelmed by work? Someone who doesn’t have any friends?
If those portraits are accurate and you’re struggling, maybe you need to talk to a therapist or loved one. If they’re not, maybe you need to appreciate your life more. Maybe your paragraphs are telling you to meet more people or visit more places or smell more roses.
Listen to yourself. Your future awaits.
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Something old: Just a very sweet thread, especially for those like me who believe in karma.
Something new: Whether you love or hate cats, you’ll find plenty of reinforcement in this video.
Something borrowed: I wrote about a misstep by Lizzo and her subsequent act of kindness. Here’s Trevor Noah’s take on what happened next.
Something blue: I agree with this tweet, but you can read the thread and see all kinds of attitudes and stories, not all of them pretty.
Great advice, Murph. Sixteen years after we met, you continue to feature in the paragraphs of my life.
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