When I was in college, I was driving back to my parents’ house in central Washington State. I was only a few miles from home when I saw a couple standing beside their car on the side of the road.

The hood was up. They were clearly stranded.

This was out on the Yakama Reservation. And out there, when you see someone stranded on the side of the road you pull over to ask if they need help.

So I pulled over.

Turns out their car had died, but they were only a couple of miles from a cousin’s house. (Because out there, we’re all only a couple of miles from a cousin’s house.)

I offered to give them a ride. As I drove, they asked where in Oregon I was visiting from.

I explained I grew up out here, that I was coming home for the weekend from university in Seattle, and that the car I was driving had Oregon plates because it belonged to my uncle.

“Who’s your uncle?” asked the woman, because out on the Yakama Reservation, everyone knows everyone.

I told them his name, and the man broke into a huge smile.

“Not Mrs. Clark’s son?” he exclaimed. “She was my first grade teacher. She taught me how to read. How is your grandma?”

I shouldn’t have been so surprised.

My Grandma Clark taught hundreds of kids how to read in her elementary school classroom—including myself and my sister. She was also the biggest fan of my novels, and asked me to bring a set of my sci fi books to her retirement community’s library so she could tell all her friends to read them.

And, soon, I’ll be able to tell all my friends to read her book.

Because, in her final years, Grandma quietly became a writer herself.

She’d mentioned to me once or twice that she was writing down some memories, but it wasn’t until after her death that I understood the extent of what she’d written.

My mom collected and edited Grandma’s essays on her early life, her years of service work on the Yakama Reservation, and her love of teaching. And for the past week, I’ve been polishing them up and formatting them for print.

It's gotten me thinking about something I've talked to several clients about lately:

How do you choose what stories to tell?

Each of us lives a rich and varied life full of different adventures, mishaps, trials, and joys. When we tell our stories, whether through writing a memoir or using our stories to illustrate a different kind of book or project, how do we pick which ones to include and which to leave out?

It's all about finding that central intention—the theme—and using that as a lens through which to filter your stories.

Grandma did this beautifully. She could have curated her stories in many different ways.

• She could have talked about being resilient through the tragic loss of her first love, and how she found new love and got remarried in her 80s. 😍
• She could have talked about the importance of being open to adventure and new experiences, and how she embraced the explorer’s attitude she had until her passing.
• She could have written an ode to the Pacific Northwest, the place she and Grandpa fell in love with after moving here from Indiana with their young family for work.

Instead, she chose to view her life through the lens of her calling as a teacher.

The themes of grief and love, adventure, and her continuing awe of the beauty of the Pacific Northwest are all present in the essays she wrote. But they take a back seat to the narrative of what it means to be a teacher.

And that choice is what turned her book from a collection of unrelated essays into a powerful message.

What’s your lens?

Each of us are messy, busy human beings with lives made up of stories that don’t always form a neat narrative.

And that’s okay.

But if you've been struggling with how to narrow down the stories you want to tell, try brainstorming a few lenses that you could layer over them.

Spend some time freewriting or talking to a friend about how the different lenses would change the stories you chose, or how you would tell each story. Experiment with picking one lens over another, and see how that sits with you.

There’s no right or wrong answer here.

And, in fact, you don’t have to limit yourself to one theme for the rest of your life. Grandma could easily have written another book (or six) by choosing different areas of her life to explore.

But you do need to choose one theme for your project.

If you don't, you risk creating a narrative that no one can follow.

Talk soon,

Jessie

P.S. If you need a hand brainstorming, I’m always here to help. Getting to the living, beating heart of people’s messages is one of my favorite things to do in story coaching calls. Just hit reply and we'll get something set up.