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How can I write about my life when I am still living it?
The three most common excuses I hear for not writing about your life “yet,” and how—and why—to overcome them. It’s not too soon for your memoir, I promise.
Even if you don’t love to journal, keeping a simple ideas notebook—with snippets of memories, headlines that resonated, quotes from loved ones, ticket stubs, whatever may prompt life writing ideas later—is a powerful tool. Use a simple composition notebook, or grab this lay-flat one from our store.
There’s a common misconception that a memoir—or any personal writing—needs to be a finished product, a neatly wrapped narrative with a clear beginning, middle, and end. But life doesn’t work that way, and neither does great storytelling.
The truth is, the best time to start writing about your life is right now—not years from now, when everything has “settled.” Writing as you live allows you to capture moments in real-time, with fresh emotions and raw details that might fade with time. It’s not about having all the answers; it’s about documenting the journey.
So, how do you begin? Let’s break down some of the biggest hesitations and how to move past them.
The 3 most common excuses that it’s ‘too soon’ to write about your life
“I don’t know how my story ends.”
Good news: You don’t need an ending to start writing. Memoir and personal essays don’t require a final chapter before you begin—many of the most compelling life stories are explorations, not conclusions.
💡 Try this: Instead of worrying about how everything ties together, focus on individual moments that feel meaningful right now. Write about a recent experience, a challenge you’re navigating, or a lesson you’re learning in real time.
📖 Example: Eat, Pray, Love by Elizabeth Gilbert
Gilbert didn’t write her memoir after she had “figured everything out.” She wrote it in the middle of transformation, capturing a period of self-discovery. Her story unfolds as she travels through Italy, India, and Indonesia, and it doesn’t wrap up with a perfect ending—just a deeper understanding of herself.
👉 Further Reading: How to use short vignettes to create a mosaic of your life.
“I haven’t achieved anything ‘big’ yet.”
You don’t need a dramatic, bestselling-worthy life event to write about your experiences. Some of the most powerful personal writing comes from small, everyday moments—the way you felt on a quiet morning, a childhood memory that keeps resurfacing, the way certain music transports you to another time.
💡 Try this: Instead of chasing “big” moments, focus on specific details that make a memory or realization come alive. If you keep a journal, flip through an old one to discover how compelling small experiences from your everyday life can be.
📖 Example: An American Childhood by Annie Dillard
One of the first memoirs I ever read, Dillard’s book isn’t about a single, dramatic event—it’s about how she experiences the world as a child growing up in Pittsburgh. She writes about curiosity, wonder, and the process of paying attention to life as it unfolds, proving that even the smallest moments can make for profound storytelling. I highly recommend it as a model to emulate.
👉 Further Reading: How to choose which life story theme to explore first.
“What If My Perspective Changes?”
Your perspective will change—and that’s a good thing. The beauty of writing while living is that your story evolves—and your writing can, too. You can revisit memories with new understanding, update reflections with fresh insight, and track how your views shift over time.
💡 Try this: Start a “living memoir” journal where you capture thoughts and stories as they happen. Revisit entries later to see how your perspective has changed.
📖 Example: Hourglass: Time, Memory, Marriage by Dani Shapiro
One of my favorite books from one of my favorite authors, Shapiro’s Hourglass explores how we evolve and change over time, and how those changes impact her relationship and sense of self. Instead of writing from a place of finality, she embraces the shifting nature of perspective—reflecting on the past while still actively living her present.
👉 Further Reading: 5 steps to drafting your own library of life writing prompts.
Your life doesn’t need to be finished to be worth writing about. Your words matter right now—in the middle of the mess, in the midst of discovery, even before you have all the answers.
So, pick up the pen. Start where you are. Your story is unfolding, and that’s exactly why you should write it.
Should I hire a professional biographer?
My biased opinion: Working with a professional biographer can be one of the most meaningful investments you’ll ever make. Here are a few reasons why.
Professional biographer, personal historian, memoir coach—Dawn Roode, pictured with a client, is all those things.
Depending on the day, and my mood, and whom I am speaking with, I may call myself a personal historian, a professional biographer, or a memoir coach; because the legacy preservation work that I do is 100-percent customized to each specific client—and, maybe even more so, because most people have never heard of ‘my job’—I opt for clarity over consistency. Other people who do similar work may call themselves ghostwriters, or family historians, or life story facilitators, even practitioners of guided autobiography.
At the end of the day, though, we are professionals who help everyday people capture their life stories—in my case, in books.
Should you consider hiring…well, for simplicity’s sake, let’s just say a ‘professional biographer’?
I’m biased, of course—I believe that working with a professional biographer can be one of the most meaningful investments you’ll ever make. So, my answer is “yes.” Here are a few reasons why:
1. We know how to bring out the best in your story.
Many people assume they need a dramatic, bestselling-worthy life to justify documenting their story. The truth is, every life is extraordinary in its own way—it just takes the right approach to uncover the details that make it shine.
A professional biographer is skilled in:
✔ Asking the right questions to help you recall meaningful moments.
✔ Finding themes and connections you might not see in your own experiences.
✔ Bringing your voice to life in a way that feels authentic and natural.
Example: Have you ever tried to tell a story but felt like you were rambling? A biographer helps organize your thoughts, ensuring your memories are preserved with clarity and depth.
2. The process is easier (and more enjoyable) than you think.
Many people put off documenting their life because they think it will be too time-consuming or difficult. But hiring a biographer makes the process simple and even enjoyable—it’s just like having a relaxed conversation, with someone else doing the heavy lifting of recording, organizing, and shaping the story.
✔ No writing required—just share your memories in a comfortable, guided interview.
✔ You set the pace—whether you want to do a few short sessions or take your time reviewing your life experiences over the course of a year.
✔ It’s a conversation, not an interrogation—biographers create a safe space for you to open up and share.
Think of it this way: If you’ve ever enjoyed telling stories to friends or family, you’re already doing it! A biographer simply captures those stories and turns them into something lasting.
3. Your story deserves more than just a few scattered notes.
If you’ve ever tried to jot down memories on your own in a journal, scrapbook, or other memory-keeping tool, you might have found yourself starting and stopping, unsure where to go next. A professional biographer helps weave everything together into a clear, beautiful narrative.
✔ We create structure—so your story has a natural flow and impact.
✔ We capture your unique voice—so it truly sounds like you.
✔ We ensure accuracy—so the details of your legacy are preserved with care.
Consider: Leaving behind a device overflowing with digital clutter and haphazard notes, letters, and journals for your offspring forces them to sift through the clues of your life; a professional biographer helps you curate the stuff of your life so your loved ones don’t have to do it later.
4. Your legacy matters—now and for future generations.
One of the greatest gifts you can give your family is a well-preserved, well-told story of your life. Whether it’s a bound book, an audio recording, or a digital archive, working with a biographer ensures that your memories don’t fade over time.
✔ Your children, grandchildren, and beyond will know your voice, your experiences, your wisdom.
✔ Your history won’t be lost—your struggles, triumphs, and lessons will live on.
✔ It’s not just about the past—it’s about shaping how you want to be remembered, and offering up your hard-won lessons to your descendants.
Imagine this: Decades from now, a great-grandchild you’ve never met picks up your story and feels connected to you in a way they never could have otherwise. (Wouldn’t you have cherished such a gift from your own parents or grandparents?) Even better—what if they are able to learn from one of your stories? This is such a biggie, but I’ll leave you with one word: IMPACT ❤️
Hiring a skilled personal historian or biographer isn’t about handing over your story to someone else; it’s about having an experienced guide who knows how to ask the right questions, shape a compelling narrative, and preserve your legacy in a way that resonates for generations to come.
“I’m scared.”
Are you nervous about undertaking a life story project? Working with a personal historian or memoir coach can help alleviate many of the most common fears.
Before I had even met with a particular prospective client, he told me has was scared.
He had filled out a form expressing interest in writing his life story. I replied to him within 24 hours, but did not hear back from him until about three months later. At that time, I urged him to set up a free phone consultation, so I could learn more about the project he envisioned. He scheduled that for a week later, then did not answer the phone when I called.
Then he emailed me: “I’m scared.”
That’s it—two words, but two words that hold so much weight.
Have you ever felt nervous about undertaking a life review project? Whether it’s a reflective memoir, an extensive family history, or just a few short stories encapsulating your favorite memories, starting any personal legacy journey can feel daunting.
Working with a personal historian or memoir coach can help alleviate many of the most common fears.
A few fears that my personal history clients have told me about over the years:
Fear that their family members won’t be interested in their life story.
This is one I hear ALL the time. And you know what? It’s often the case…for now. Your family members are living their lives, and likely taking for granted that you—their parent or grandparent—will always be there. But your stories are the gift they don’t yet know they want. Writing them now—even if it’s for them to appreciate later—is giving them an unequivocal gift.
Fear that they won’t remember enough to write a memoir.
Memories can be elusive. Especially for folks who don’t often share their stories around the dinner table or in a journal, accessing those memories might seem like an impossible task. But we professional personal historians and memoir coaches have plenty of tools and prompts at our disposal to help! Consider using this straightforward and EASY prompt that is guaranteed to yield surprising memories; use your senses to help you travel back in time; or consider picking up a journal designed especially to stir memories, like this one from Beth Kephart.
Fear that they will have a hard time managing their emotions when writing about traumatic life experiences.
It’s a common refrain that writing about hard times can be cathartic. It can, but as Lisa Cooper Ellison writes in this post, catharsis is just the beginning. Writing about trauma is generally only worthwhile—and valuable, even healing—when we can make some meaning out of it. “Writing well requires an open heart,” Ellison says. “That means you must relive a small portion of the incident as you write about it.” In other words, you will relive some trauma if you write about it—but while there’s no way around that, there are ways to cope with it. Limiting writing sessions that cover traumatic experiences to a half hour or so may help; allowing yourself to write from a distanced perspective will, too. Some people swear by writing groups or trustworthy readers to offer them support when writing about difficult experiences; and others find walking this path with a therapist is necessary. Make sure to include self-care as part of your writing ritual, and be gentle on yourself—if it feels too hard today, wait until tomorrow. Though it likely is a scary endeavor, writing into our trauma can be life-transforming for many. (And remember: You can do all of this just for YOU…write in a private journal, either as a first step, or as the thing itself; no one else need ever read your words.)
Fear about being vulnerable.
Exposing our emotions is scary. Remember that you are in control of what makes it into the final draft of your memoir, so if something feels too exposed, you can always cut it. But also remember that it’s our vulnerability, often, that proves most powerful for our readers. “Revealing oneself is an act of radical generosity: letting oneself be seen allows others to do the same,” Robin MacArthur writes. “And this vulnerability creates connection.”
Are you scared of taking the first step in preserving your life story for the next generation? Set up a free 20- to 30-minute consultation to see if working together can help settle those fears—and get you on the path to preservation.
What do you wish you had asked them?
“I wish I knew why Mom moved to New York when she was just 16.” “I wish Papa told me how he makes his Sunday sauce.” Don’t wish for stories; ask for them.
Do you wish you had asked your parent certain questions before they passed away? Are your parents still living, but you know you haven’t asked them for all the stories you hope to one day hear (and pass on to your kids)?
“I wish I had asked my father about his time in the Army during the war.”
“I wish I had asked Gran about what Mom was like as a teenager.”
“I wish I had asked Mommy why she never remarried after my father left.”
“I wish I asked what the heck the ‘secret ingredient’ is in Nonno’s Sunday sauce.”
Whether it’s a seemingly small thing like how to get a favorite family recipe just right or a big thing such as why a loved one left home at the age of 16, we all have questions we wish we had asked.
I hear these laments regularly from prospective clients and from friends, from those I am coaching on their own memoirs to those who are honoring a deceased family member in a tribute book. It’s an unfortunate universal truth: We think we have unlimited time with those we love—time to do the things we want together, to share our appreciation for them, to ask them questions (about any and everything, but especially about themselves).
If there are two things I could impart to you right now—lessons learned from these repeated regrets—they would be:
1 - Ask your parents questions now.
If your parents or grandparents are still living, start asking them more meaningful questions than “How are you?” or “Do you want to meet for dinner?” Instead…
Encourage them to write about their life by telling them how much you really DO want to hear their stories!
Or just start having some intentional, thoughtful conversations and hit “record” on your smartphone. (Need inspiration? I am currently listening to Laura Dern and her mother, Diane Ladd, have these exact type of conversations in the audio book of Honey, Baby, Mine: A Mother and Daughter Talk Life, Death, Love (and Banana Pudding) [Grand Central Publishing, April 2024]).
2 - Answer questions your own kids haven’t asked yet.
Be proactive. I guarantee your children will one day wonder about you. Not you, their parent, but you, the individual. Think about the questions you wished you had asked your now-gone family elder, and find a way to answer some of them. It could be by…
writing in a journal devoted just to this purpose that you will one day pass on to them;
creating a weekly writing practice to preserve your life stories;
working with a personal historian like me to interview you to capture those “answers” (let’s chat!);
simply having CONVERSATIONS over the phone or over dinner where you intentionally share memories and allow them “in” to your world in a deeper way (this is ideally done with adult children, but you can begin sharing your memories and life lessons in age-appropriate ways throughout their young lives!);
preparing an ethical will (also known as a legacy letter), an opportunity to share your values in a way that takes much less time than writing a whole life story book, to be sure, but that may hold as much value to your descendants.
It’s natural to take our loved ones for granted. But I urge you to step off that easy path and take a turn towards intentionality: Ask questions. Answer questions. Sidestep regrets 💕
No readers, no matter—your life story benefits YOU
Walking down memory lane can be fun, but writing about your life has big benefits beyond that, including making meaning out of your lived experience.
“A story is a map and we the mapmakers plotting the landscapes of our lives,” Mark Yaconelli writes in Between the Listening and the Telling.
Most people who approach me wanting to explore their personal history are motivated by a desire to create a legacy and pass something of value on to the next generation. Whether it’s a full family history or short vignettes from their own life they hope to capture, they’re usually thinking about an audience of their kids and grandkids, or a broader circle of friends and family—the point is, they’re aware of an audience, even if it’s small.
Without exception, though, every person I have guided on a life writing journey has discovered profound benefits for themselves. Even without a single other individual having read their words, those words have changed them.
There are myriad ways writing about one’s life is good, of course. But for now I want to share just two biggies.
2 profound benefits of writing about your life
RECOGNIZING AGENCY
I don’t mean to get all jargony on you when I say you will recognize the agency you have—I guess what I really want to say is that you are the writer of your own life: You make the decisions, pull the strings, choose the paths…but often we forget that simple fact. We (and I readily include myself in this collective ‘we’) can get caught up in the things that happen to us. “I lost my job.” “I can’t get pregnant.” “My father died.”
Yes, things happen—and despite the conventional wisdom, not always for a reason. But one thing that becomes abundantly clear when writing about your experiences is that how we choose to respond is what defines us.
You will see that you are an active participant in your life—you are not just a storyteller, but a story creator.
In fact, this insight is the foundation of narrative therapy. “With this perspective, individuals feel more empowered to make changes in their thought patterns and behavior and ‘rewrite’ their life story for a future that reflects who they really are, what they are capable of, and what their purpose is, separate from their problems” (Psychology Today).
I bet you never imagined that writing about your life will empower you to rewrite your next chapters…but it will.
INFORMING IDENTITY
From beginning to end, life writing is an exploration that leads to meaning-making. The memoirist asks themselves questions such as: Which experiences are worth telling? Why did I behave a certain way? How is that part of my life a story?
Those questions may at first seem like mere steps toward completing your personal writing, but in truth they are foundational to understanding one’s own identity, as Phillip Lopate explains in this quote from To Show and To Tell:
“In attempting any autobiographical prose, the writer knows what has happened—that is the great relief, one is given the story to begin with—but not necessarily what to make of it…. Writing is one way of self-making.”
Through your writing, you will begin to understand the value in your experiences, to see them as pieces of a bigger puzzle rather than as isolated events. As the best memoirs mine individual experiences to get at a universal truth, so too will your writing bring your own world view into sharper focus.
The memories that come to the surface, and the stories you write about them, will be gifts to your family; the insights you discover along the way will be gifts to yourself.
Why a recent life writing book isn’t on my recommended list
It’s important to me to stress some sense of urgency about writing about your life—but I don’t think you’ll have regrets if you don’t write about it ALL.
There are lots of books I read and don’t recommend to you, as they’re not worth your time. For a list of the top titles I think ARE worth your time (with notes on why), check out this post.
I read a lot of books about the craft of writing and about life writing and memoir in particular, and I often share the ones I recommend on social media or on the blog. There are plenty of books I read (or, on occasion, only start to read) then decide they are not worth sharing.
I am not a newspaper columnist; it’s not in me to share a bad review—so the ones I think aren’t worth your time, I usually just skip over. Today, though, I wanted to write a “negative” review…sort of. Without naming the author or title, I thought I’d share what I did not like about a particular recent read.
This book purported to be a step-by-step guide to writing about your life. There were a few good writing prompts sprinkled throughout, but beyond that the author was redundant and made few if any insightful or truly helpful points. On the contrary, they hammered home—on literally every other page—how if you don’t write about every single thing that happens in your life, you will be filled with regret.
“The consequence of not taking action is a life’s worth of memories lost,” they write. “Regret. Regret. Regret.”
Now, don’t get me wrong: I see regret all the time. People who wish they had captured their parents’ stories before they died. People who wish they had begun writing their own stories sooner, before memories began to fade, or before illness or dementia interfered. Heck, the quote I share most often is from William Zinsser: “One of the saddest sentences I know is ‘I wish I had asked my mother about that.’”
However, I don’t think we need to worry about remembering ALL THE THINGS.
“Regret,” the author writes. “Nothing documented. I was forgetting my life. You’ll forget your life too. We always do.”
These repeating remonstrations about forgetting our lives rubbed me the wrong way. They reminded me of the compulsive diarying that Sarah Manguso explored in Ongoingness: The End of a Diary (an incredible short read that I highly recommend—and, ironically, despite the title, Manguso’s diary writing has not ended, just shifted the purpose it holds in her life).
Early in that book Manguso writes:
“I didn’t want to lose anything. That was my main problem… I wrote so I could say I was truly paying attention. Experience in itself wasn’t enough. The diary was my defense against waking up at the end of my life and realizing I’d missed it.”
We should not, in my opinion, write about our lives out of fear. We should be conscious of our mortality and feel a sense of urgency about writing something thoughtful to pass on, yes—but it’s my belief that “that something” can be as brief and straightforward as an ethical will or a legacy letter. And when that life writing takes a longer form, such as a memoir or a life story book or even an extended diary—that it should aim to find meaning in some way, not merely record all our experiences, mundane and profound, for the sake of not forgetting.
We’ve all got enough pressures in our lives without adding an unnecessary one around preservation. Story sharing can be good for your health, research shows. And it’s gratifying, too. But it needn’t be burdensome or reinforce fears. It should be accessible and even enjoyable.
So please do get your life writing project off your bucket list. Start small, if you like (this two-word prompt will help, I promise). And if you’re ready to embark on a bigger project and would like some professional help, reach out to see how we can work together.
But don’t worry about forgetting all the time. Be present. Embrace life as you are living it. Pay attention! And make room for your writing amidst your experiences!
Are you weighed down by the stuff of your family’s memories?
Boxes of old letters, family photos, and mementos from a generation ago can feel like a burden if they’re passed down without context. What to do with them.
That box of sentimental stuff handed down to you would mean a lot more if you knew the stories behind the stuff, wouldn’t it?
Passing along our stories to our children and their children is a valuable endeavor, and in my experience one almost always met with joy and gratitude (even if not immediately, on occasion).
People with whom I have worked to preserve their stories have told me their family members tell them they “love” their life story books, “cherish” them, are “in awe” of them. When sharing their books, my clients have been met with extended hugs, laughter, dancing (“my father shimmied around the kitchen with glee when I showed him what I wrote,” one individual told me), and even tears.
But often it’s not stories that are passed on, but boxes of things laden with sentiment—and without context, those boxes can take on undue weight.
In recent weeks I have met with one person who told me she had a large stack of letters written between her parents during World War II. She knew that they were written in German, and that her father was in a work camp at the time. She didn’t, however, know what was within those letters, as she has never taken the time to have them translated or to read them. And now, she told me, she wasn’t even sure where they were. “But they haunt me,” she said.
Another person I visited told me her mother had recorded a Holocaust testimony with the Shoah Foundation in the 1980s (well, she said “she told Steven Spielberg’s people about her Holocaust experience”). No one in the family knew how to access it. They did not have a copy. They did not know the name of the foundation. Even her mother did not recall what she may have said during that long-ago oral history interview. Certainly the weightiness of the subject matter may have given anyone pause, but to let such a personal history get lost would be a tragedy.
And yet another current client told me, near the end of her project, that an aunt had just randomly stopped by to drop off a scrapbook that had been lovingly crafted by my client’s grandmother. The aunt was moving to another house, found the scrapbook tucked away in a closet, and, knowing my client was interested in her family history, figured she would be a better custodian of the materials. She was fortunate—many people who feel burdened by their ancestors’ things don’t have a family member with such interest to hand them off to.
As I think about these things—about how we can feel burdened by our parents’ things, about how stories can so easily get lost—I feel a bit sad, yes, and also compelled to spread the word.
Do you have sentimental boxes of family mementos you don’t know what to do with?
First, think about who might be the best custodian of your family’s archive.
If there is an obvious family history buff in the family, see if they may want the items. If not, then ask around—you might be surprised to learn a teenager or distant cousin may have a greater interest than you’d expected. The sooner you can pass the items on to someone who will regard them with interest and respect, the better. (Are you this person? I’ve met numerous people who tell me they have no interest in sleuthing through these “old things,” only to be drawn in as I curiously pull photos or war medals out and show interest in what they reveal!)
Second, do what you can to restore context to the things.
Even if you don’t have the time or inclination to write a whole book, consider labeling photos with names, writing mini-histories of heirlooms, and at least telling your kids what you know of the contents of that old box in the basement. Spend an hour or two with a sibling or parent to record your memories of all that stuff—it can be as simple as capturing audio with your phone’s voice recorder. Spare your descendants the burden of passing down an archive of things they know should have meaning, but not why.
Third, let go of guilt.
Perhaps you were the recipient of such a box of “cherished” things that came to you without context or meaning. Sure, that watch may have belonged to one of your grandfathers, or it may have been a flea market find that he never wore but stashed in a box…but you hold onto it along with everything else because you feel you should. This is a rich topic that could warrant a few thousand words (heck, the comments alone on some articles covering this topic are worth a read!), but in my mind, as long as you move forward with intention, it’s okay to let go of things that hold no meaning for you.
Do you have a dusty box of so-called heirlooms, letters, or family photos that were passed down to you without context? What are you going to do with them?
Further reading on how to be a good custodian of your family history:
“It was more for me than anyone else—what a surprise”
You may think you are writing about your life for your family—to honor your ancestors, to give a gift to your descendants. But the truth is deeper. You’ll see.
Have you ever considered that writing about your life might be as much a gift for yourself as for your family?
Last week I met with a client with whom I have worked for almost two years. She first came to me having endeavored to write her life story. After writing a few short chapters, she was having difficulty staying on track and writing in a way she hoped would be engaging for her grandchildren. I worked first as her memoir coach, then as her editor, and now we have seen her stories all the way through production—on that day last week, we were reviewing the final draft of her beautifully designed book one last time before sending it off to be printed.
The previous time we met, to go over her first draft proof, my client expressed doubts. She was feeling ambivalent about having told her story at all. Would her grandchildren ever care? Would her grown sons even want to read it? What if she offended someone? Was the effort narcissistic?
That wasn’t the first time I had heard her express reluctance around the telling of her stories. As her memoir coach I did more than provide writing assignments and feedback; I was also a sounding board for how she should frame her stories, yes, but also for the reservations that cropped up during the process. And you know what? I had been there before. So many of my clients experience this rollercoaster of emotions around writing their life.
Each time this client and I had a talk about the value—or perceived lack of value—around writing her stories, we would circle back to her initial goals: wanting to tell the stories of her life both to create a legacy around her parents’ fortitude and resilience during the Holocaust years and beyond (to honor her ancestors), and to provide touchstones for her grandchildren, who might one day find wisdom in her own lived experience (a gift to her descendants). She always resumed her writing with renewed vigor. She had tapped into both the gravity and the joy of writing about one’s life.
During this particular meeting, though, my client became aware of something I had known all along: That examining and writing about her life was as much a gift to herself as to her family. She smiled at me and grasped my hand across the table: “Do you know what?” she whispered. “All of this, it was more for me than anyone else.” I sat quietly, smiling at her revelation. “What a surprise that was for me!” she added.
And here’s the thing: I can repeat this over and over when talking to a prospective client; I can write about it till the cows come home, as they say. But no one really gets it (or believes me) when I tell them that writing about their life is a gift they can give to themselves. That it is healing. Revelatory. Fulfilling.
So together we focus on the other why’s—honoring those who came before, and sharing with those who come after. We create legacy and family history and write FOR our loved ones.
And then, almost always, a surprise…that the process was worthwhile even if it was just for THEM.
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