I adore my thirtysomething daughter. But ours is not the huggy, lovey-dovey relationship I envy in my friends’ families.
Even so, and to my great delight, last Mother’s Day she sent me a subscription to Storyworth. Her offhand comments (wanting more details about my life) were bearing fruit. And taking this initiative was endearing as it symbolically lessened the 3,000 miles between us.
To clarify, Storyworth’s format entails receiving a question each week, to answer by email, which they would store and print – in hardcover book form – one year later.
This sounded promising. A very personal gift, in both directions, that could remove some of the mystery in a fragile family history, and paint a slightly different picture than the one we each imagine. Indeed, it can also be filled with as many photos as I care to share. (Oh, yes, lots!)
Foolishly I presumed that she, herself, composed or at least selected the questions for me. And wow, #1: “How did you feel when your first child [her brother] was born?” That’s a doozy. Took me the whole week to compose a full reply.
But eventually I sent it off and eagerly awaited my next turn with The Inquisitor.
After a few weeks, though, the questions had become odd, unrelatable. Truth be told, she was not at all involved in their selection. They were from the Storyworth algorithm. No shame in that. But the sparkle vanished. I preferred spending time focused on details that specifically mattered to her, or to me. So, all their future questions fell unanswered.
Then a memory struck as my obstinate, childhood mantra chanted: “I’d rather do it myself.”
It prompted my recall of a lost opportunity, in 2014. Both my thumbs had developed CMC basal joint arthritis and needed major reconstructive surgery. That frightened me to the core! Because, for decades, my livelihood depended on the skilled use of my hands. (Doing what?)
Well, that’s me (age 25) on the book cover, with my VW bug, the day I left NH to embark on a drive. A solo, life-changing, cross-country, month-long adventure that coalesced into my becoming a full-time, self-directed, self-employed, jewelry-making, woodworking, sandal-wearing, pot-smoking, vegetarian street artist in Berkeley, CA. Later (tangentially) a wife and then a mother (and retired pot-smoker).
Fast-forward thirty-three years.
