The Muse of Mortality

When writing becomes a matter of life and death

I had the most wonderful conversation this week. It was brief — probably not more than five or 10 minutes. A man asked me about writing — how to do it, where to start. He explained there had been so many moments in his life, so many experiences that affected him deeply, he wanted to make sure there would be a proper record for his children and their children and on and on.

After all, we agreed — no one writes letters anymore, people barely keep journals anymore, now it’s a photo on social media — #IWasHere.

I told him the thing that no one who wants to write wants to hear, myself included: I told him to just start writing. Turns out, he had a head start on that but felt overwhelmed by the process. I assured him it was perfectly understandable and gently suggested he not be discouraged.

“Think about the things you really want them to know,” I offered, “maybe make a list and then just write about those things — one thing at a time. Make it easy on yourself.” I continued, “write as if you are having a conversation, write the way you would tell them that story. Don’t worry about anything except getting it on the page.”

I can tell this project means a great deal to him and I hope my words brought at least a small bit of relief. We talked some more and then he said something that stuck right to me, the kind of thing so familiar the words feel like your own.

“I,” he paused, “I don’t want to be forgotten.”

If ever there was motivation.

I understood completely and I also admire his bravery. From the sounds of things, he has spent a lifetime summoning courage for one thing or another and now, as he looks back on all those harrowing, maybe even traumatic events — it’s the task of telling his own story that feels daunting. Writing, as Lin Manuel Miranda wrote of Alexander Hamilton in the hit musical Hamilton, “like he’s running out of time.”

Photo by Irina on Unsplash

It’s quite human, I think, to want to be understood — certainly in our own time — but even more so when we are gone — when we lose control of our own story. We want to be remembered and I think the older we get, the more we think about it, worry about it even. Leave it to us to spend our lives ruminating over what people will say about us when we’re dead or, even worse, feeling horrified at the thought they won’t think to say anything at all.

All of that is out of our hands but our story is ours and we craft it through our actions, how we live — now. I believe each human makes a significant difference in the world just by their very presence. I believe everyone leaves their mark, often in ways they will never know, in the smallest of moments, the blink of an eye — in just five or 10 minutes.

This essay originally appeared in my column in the May 22, 2025 edition of the Perry Herald in Perry, NY