Turning Points

Life is a series of decisions made at the crossroads of our journey. Every decision takes us down a different road where we experience the consequences–good and not-so-good ones–that result. In other words, life is not a straight line, from birth to death, but a roadmap full of twists and turns. Some roads are chosen for us by our parents or some other authority; others we choose for ourselves; still others may be roads we travel with our peers. Some roads are well marked; others are dark and secret. Some are experienced with family and friends,and some are explored alone.

So how does a person make sense of her life experiences so that she can begin to shape her stories? One the best ways, in my opinion, is to make a list of turning points. A turning point is that crossroad that marks a difference in your growth as a person–that time in your history where you changed in some significant way.

For example, the day you had your first period. Before that day you were a girl, maybe even a tomboy. But then your menes came, and your body changed. What prepared you for this day? Were you looking forward to becoming a young woman, or had your mother warned you of "The Curse," so that you were dreading this day? How did you feel… powerful? scared? confused? Did you talk about it with your friends? Maybe you were the first one or the last one in your group to go through this rite of passage. Explore your feelings as well as the facts that you remember about those early days.

Other turning points can include whatever is important to you: skipping school and getting caught; failing algebra (or making the top grade in the class); first paying job; death in the family; facing a bully… The turning points are yours to list.

But then examine them. Why do they stand out in your memory? Is there a pattern? Did facing adversity shape you into the strong woman you are today? Write about it.

Flooding the senses

There is nothing like a trip to Europe to flood the senses of a Texas small town woman. My trip to Italy, one week before the earthquake, was memorable indeed.

The Pope opened his window and blessed the crowd in 27 or so languages as my friends and I emerged from the Sisten Chapel. Turns out it was International Women's Day, and he was blessing us. Yes, I felt very special, even though I stood among tens of thousands of women. Crowded but civil under a clear Roman sky.

I won't recount my adventure here. This is a blog about lifewriting, not travelogue, but I will say this: The only way to truly understand the world is to see it. I studied world history, Roman mythology, the major religions, etc., but until I walked where Caesar walked, until I actually saw Michelangelo's's David, until I meandered through the Catacombs, knelt in the church St. Francis rebuilt, until I sat in a gondola as it slid through the narrow canals of Venice,until the aroma of garlic and oregano and basil teased my taste buds to attention, until the taste of Parmesan from Parma melted in my mouth, until my own eyes witnessed the exquisite architecture of antiquity… until those ten days in Italy, it was all second-hand information.

In the meanwhile, the journal I have is full of pictures, postcards, menus, and scribblings to bring up those memories that I believe are now a part of my DNA. Nothings beats first-hand experience, but the memory fades unless prompted, and my journal is the key to my memories of Italy, 2009.