As time has passed, I have gradually come to have a better understanding of why people sometimes feel inclined to write their memoirs as they grow older.

It seems that we reach this point where we become increasingly aware of the fact that there is less life to be lived *ahead* of us, than there is life *behind* us that we have already lived.

![0908-Irises.jpg](https://cdn.steemitimages.com/DQmXs2xJF1QroeBAfSSFqXJsnDLGqrGJ4NK25ieBF1k5Xzx/0908-Irises.jpg)

When that happens, there seems to be a shift in the way we think about life. More specifically, there is a subtle shift in the amount of time we spend *remembering* things that have already happened; events and people from our past.

And then we reflect on the fact that in the not too distant future all that stuff we're storing inside our heads will simply vanish into thin air. So we start writing it down.

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Is it *ego* that makes us want to write about the things we did and the things we experienced? Or are we afraid our *memories* will grow weaker and we will forget unless we write stuff down? Or are we trying to leave something of ourselves for future generations to remember us by?

As I write these words, I will also make the confession that I have actually *not* been compelled to write my memoirs. With a slight sadness I find myself recognizing the fact that my life simply hasn't been *interesting* enough to warrant writing about. That said, I still dedicate a good bit of time every day to writing in a journal. And maybe — in some strange way — that's actually pretty close to the same thing.

I sometimes wonder what will happen to my journals once I'm gone. Will one of the kids decide to keep them and read them? Or will they just end up in a dumpster with all the other stuff that is no longer needed when I'm no longer among the living?


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No, I'm not having morbid thoughts about dying! 

There's far too much that needs to be done yet for me to even *think* about things like that. However, writing these words brings back memories of my own parents who often seemed like they were *”preparing to die”* *decades* before their actual passing. I always thought it was kind of strange. They were in their 50s and were always busy *”putting their affairs in order,”* as they used to call it. 

Anyway, these days I'm actually *grateful* to them for that particular preoccupation. When they *did* pass away (in their late 80's), managing their estate seemed like it was relatively simple compared to the nightmares I have heard of when people die.


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I suppose this is a bit of a strange post in the sense that it's just *”random thoughts”* flowing through my head. On the other hand, this kind of post is not terribly far removed from the sort of style that was often part of my very first web site and blog *”Inner Reflections.”* Somehow, I think it is in my nature to *”reflect”* on things; to reflect on life in all its magnificent weirdness.

I stopped working on *”Inner Reflections”* in 2016. Well, I didn't exactly *stop working* on it, I left the domain lapse because we were so broke that I couldn't justify paying the hosting fees anymore. And so it has gone with an awful lot of things I've been involved with. They were fun, and they were even emotionally and spiritually and psychologically rewarding, but in the end they cost money and that money was needed to pay for essentials like food and electricity.

Although I no longer have the site archived copies still exist on the Internet Archive. Again, *words saved* of a life lived.

I guess I'd better end this missive there. Thanks for reading, and have a great remainder of your weekend!

***How about YOU? Have you ever considered writing your memoirs? If yes, what was your motivation? DO you think people write their memoirs to "leave a mark" after they have gone? Leave a comment — share your experiences — be part of the conversation!***

***(All text and images by the author, unless otherwise credited. This is ORIGINAL CONTENT, created expressly for this platform — NOT A CROSSPOST!!!)
Created at 20210530 00:25 PDT
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