Thursday, May 8, 2014

Biographer of Insignificant Lives


Right after the “exclusive” biography of Apple icon Steve Jobs was released in 2011, I had an opportunity to read an excerpt. Captivated, I decided I wanted a copy.

When my penny-pinching ploy to snag a free version at the library backfired (I was still twenty-somethingth on the waiting list and languishing as December trudged along), my family gave me the 656 page hardcover edition as a Christmas present. A nice gesture on their part, it also gave me some cognitive dissonance: now that I had it, I actually had to read it.

Fast forward nearly two and a half years, the book still unread. When I discovered an unabridged compact disc version of the audio book on the library’s website, I snagged it. I was anticipating some long stretches of time on the road and this would bring a welcome divertissement. After all, if I couldn’t read the book cover to cover, couch potato style, I could at least assimilate it in bite sized pieces, one trip at a time.

Now that I’m well into the thing, I find myself disappointed. Not in the biographer, of course; Walter Isaacson has impeccable credentials. It’s Jobs himself who triggered my disappointment. I found myself entangled in a mental wrestling match upon encountering the many actions, decisions, philosophies and attitudes which Jobs capitalized on—but with which I disagreed.

Perhaps that is why he is famous. And I am not.

Which leads to one of those irresistible vortices that suck you—the unsuspecting witness—into its grasp. The vacuum at the center of that chicken-or-egg whirlpool: do we read about people like him because they are famous? Or are they famous because everyone reads about them?

Perhaps stories like Jobs’ are read because of an innate and compelling human tendency to follow the famous. We are groupies, all of us, vacant of self-actualization but like a magnet, possessed of an ability to point to the true north of stardom—the stardom of Someone Else.

We, the aggregated followers, create the lift that elevates those Somebodies-Else and permits us to be sucked along in their wake, clamoring all the while for stories, more stories about our idols.

While we look toward those gleaming stars, meanwhile, the stories of thousand—well, actually, millions—of others fall by the wayside. They are the stories of the unimportant. The daily drudges of life. The insignificant.

I have a dream—and I call it “dream” for a reason—that I will someday turn each of these insignificant life stories into a book. That I will scoop up the crumbling artifacts of the unfamous soldiers, nurses, policemen, teachers—and yes, even the housewives and mothers who sit at home, tentatively nibbling bonbons while sobbing over soap operas—and transform them into words settled on a printed page. The kind of pages that will long outlive both them and the people who remembered them.

Then, the seventeen-year-old who couldn’t bear the wait to fight for his country, the insignificant blind and deaf man who crafted furniture to support his family, and the young mother whose husband abruptly left her for the haven of a New World may be preserved in memory for a generation which never met them.

I say “dream,” though, because this hope comes coupled with a fear: a fear that it will never happen.

Who would read the tale of an insignificant life? Don’t we all bear those common markings of such everyday happenings? Why would we read, in others, the very struggles we’ve known in ourselves?

Yet these are stories which implore that they be written. Insignificant or not, they are stories that deserve to be told. Somebody will want to know. Somebody.

Before these stories slip away—and with every passing year, they do fade from mind—I feel compelled to capture them. While I may not write those books—or, if I do, they may never get read—there is a way to preserve those memories.

It’s a blog. Like this one. This one for my stories, your blog for your stories. We put our stories out there and invite anyone who wants to join us in remembering to capture the essence and help to preserve it. To pass it along.

It’s been three years since that Sunday—Mother’s Day—May 8, 2011, when I hit “publish” on my first post for this blog. That was 1097 posts ago. There have been all sorts of numbers and statistics to mull over in the journey beyond that first post. Some have been encouraging, some make me needlessly fear my readership is mostly comprised of spam bots. Yet after these few years, I’ve realized it’s not about the numbers, it’s about the words: words that enable people like you and me to become biographers of the insignificant. We alone may be the ones who can have that kind of “exclusive” story.

  
Above: a common daisy chain; courtesy Wikipedia; in the public domain.

15 comments:

  1. Jacqi you are an incredible writer! You so well captured your feelings here and I feel the same way. It's about the words and the stories. Not the stats. There are a lot of "somebodies" out there who will want to know these stories, me being one of them. Keep telling your stories. Happy Blogiversary!

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    1. Thank you, Andrea, for stopping by, and for your encouragement. I'm glad you feel the same way. Those stories are beautiful. They deserve to be remembered.

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  2. When I taught high schoolers, I used to ask them about how they pictured their future. I was surprised and disturbed at the number who said, "I want to be famous." Nothing about their work or hobby or family life. Famous. When I look at the dreary lives of many who are famous, I wonder how the students missed that side of fame. Sigh ~ But like you, I'm hoping to compile my little blog vignettes into some kind of book so my girls will know their family. I can't decide how to organize it though, so I just don't start.

    Happy Blogiversary!

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    1. Now, isn't that telling! An interesting insight into what people see as "famous." You certainly have gotten the 360 on it, though, Wendy.

      Yes, do your book! It won't be just for your girls, though. This is something to keep passing down.

      Can't you just see us as "Ancient History" ?!?!

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  3. There was an "app" running around somewhere that let you publish (in book form) your blog (or selected parts of it). I agree with Andrea, your writing is incredible.

    But.. I think you are wrong - I think seventeen-year-old who couldn’t bear the wait to fight for his country, the insignificant blind and deaf man who crafted furniture to support his family, and the young mother whose husband abruptly left her for the haven of a New World are NOT insignificant. Unknown, perhaps. It's hard to say just how much impact someone like Frank had - some of what he did may have even been "top secret" - the butterfly effect - or the results of the ripples in the pond... are hard to see "down stream."

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    1. Actually, Iggy, now that our family is deep within the midst of another Every 15 Minutes season, Frank's "ripple effect" will hopefully bear fruit yet another year.

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  4. I couldn't agree more with all of the above. NO life is insignificant, regardless of what the current culture would have us believe. Every life deserves to be remembered, and we all need to be reminded that their struggles are our struggles and their triumphs are our triumphs.

    Andrea, Wendy, Iggy, I, and so many others like us look forward every morning to your blog not because you write about people we already know, but because you write (exquisitely, I would add) about people we don't know but can relate to through the universal experience we all share.

    When we are gone one day and the photographs beside your profile and our comments date us, new generations of readers will find your stories. Though some will be grateful for learning about their ancestors, others simply will appreciate that you took the time to record the lives of these people and in the process gave us insight into their souls.

    Write the book, Jacqi.

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    1. I don't normally comment on comments - but Linda says what I was trying to say so much better than I did. Beautifully written, Linda.

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    2. Thank you, Linda, for the reminder of the resonance that the bond of universal experience brings us. And, as Iggy mentioned, well said!

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  5. Oh Jacqi, the words you have written here really speak to my heart. So many of us feel the same way. I have such big ideas on how to lay out my whole genealogy in book form but the years keep passing me by and that project gathers more dust. I fall short on my blog posting and comments more than I want to say but it always lures me back to read for hours on end or to post a thought or two. My other blog keeps me thankful for my own thoughts to share and my genealogy blog shows my passion to keep memories alive.
    Thank you for such an eye opening post. You are a wonderful writer and I for one would love to read your book one day. Keep dreaming for one day, who knows, it may happen.

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    1. Betty, it's how quickly those years keep passing us by that shakes me up! You are right: those projects are sometimes just gather dust. I'm glad you keep coming back to your blogging efforts--and, in your case, not just one! Your work to document your memories is a labor of love that others may appreciate.

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  6. You can go to blurb and publish your blog. I am working on one year...I am way far behind!
    I really don't want to read about people who are already famous...give me the little people who make it all possible anyday!
    Yes I retired March 31 and I am really enjoying having some time to do those things I always said I would like to do:)

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    1. I like that, Far Side, and will have to remember it: it's the little people who make it all possible! Their contribution is worth remembering, too--and their stories have a lingering effect that makes me appreciate what life was like for them in that other time and place.

      Glad you are finding engaging projects to focus your efforts, now that you are retired. Congratulations--and keep writing about all your new endeavors!

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  7. Congratulations on three years of blogging, Jacqi! I so agree that it is worthwhile and admirable work to tell the stories of our ancestors who led everyday lives. And you do it so well! Looking forward to continuing to read along.

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    1. Thank you so much, Shelley! Glad to have you along as I continue this journey--and to share with you in yours as well!

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