When a particular memory invites us to write, we should ask ourselves:
1. Why this memory now?  With so many memories surfacing all the time, why did this one take hold? It is here that insight can be gleaned.
2. Who is this me that is remembering? Reflecting on a memory is, in fact, a conversation between who we are now and who were at the time. Indeed, remembering is an ever-changing perspective.

The me now who remembers my father’s death twenty-three years ago views this memory differently than the me who remembered it twelve years ago before my daughter was born than the me who remembered it nineteen years ago when I was living in England and deciding to return to the States for graduate school. Each remembrance is motivated by something different and informed by a new set of circumstances.

Another question that challenges our exploration of a memory: So what? We love our stories because they are ours. But the listener, the reader, does not share our allegiance. They want a reason to attend to what we have to say. They want an engaging, well-told story, but they also want to be offered a mind on the page, looking to make sense of his/her story. We read about other people’s lives to get a view in, to feel our shared humanity, and to see how someone brings coherence and meaning to the jumble of experience. We want to know both What is was like? (The reader wants to be shown) and What did the writer make of it? (The reader wants to be told.)  This meaning is constructed.

In the midst of living, it is too hard to take this measure. But writing allows us the space to reflect and gain perspective. It allows us to bring shape and meaning to our lives, helping us fashion a story in which we can live.