Universal truths are grounding me right now
And some exciting new classes in 2025
Universal truth: Nature heals.
One of the precepts of the kind of memoir and life story writing I practice is that an honest retelling of our past doesn’t always line up with the facts of our past. Here’s a taste of what I mean, an excerpt from my book How to Begin Writing Your Life Stories: Putting Memories on the Page:
Memory is an interpretation of facts, not a mimeograph of them. The subjectivity, pliability, and selectivity of memory are part of what makes life story writing such an interesting endeavor.
My advice for your writing going forward is to honor the truth of your own memories while also remaining curious about them. Maintain a sense of wonder as you recall the events of your past. Are your stories even worth writing if your brain is an unreliable warehouse for what actually happened? Of course they are. Stick to the facts where you can, but don’t let an unreasonable attachment to facts hold you back from writing what you honestly remember . . . You get to claim your memories. These are your stories. Your job is not to write them as factually as you can, but as honestly as you can.
I still stand behind all of that. And yet.
The most troubling aspect of the past week for me, independent of my personal politics and the fact that my preferred presidential candidate lost the election, has been realizing how completely we Americans live in silos of our own truth—and how that impedes any possibility of collective harmony. Many of the Americans who voted differently from me listen to, read, and watch information outlets I’ve never heard of and wouldn’t know how to find. (And vice versa.) Their information outlets feed them facts that don’t just disagree with my outlets’ facts; their facts deny my facts. (And vice versa.) In this environment, social and political “facts” are becoming increasingly subjective, pliable, slippery.
It’s difficult to square what I believe is a fundamental right of the memoir and life story writer—that “alternative facts” are part and parcel of our craft—with what I think is dangerous for my country.
I’m not going to solve this problem for us today, alas, but I do have the seed of a notion that gives me some hope.
Walking is a balm when the mind is afire, and I’ve put on some miles over the past week. During one of my walks, I started thinking about our relationship to details, and how the way details function in writing is different from how they currently seem to be functioning in sociopolitical life. As a writing instructor and an editor, I’m always asking writers for more detail. What did it feel like in your body when you told your boyfriend that white lie? The t-shirt that caught on the fence and ripped—what color was it? Your car was small, but small compared to what? Details help the writer drop further into their own memories, and well-placed details pull the reader further into a story.
On the other hand, as a political being walking around the planet, it feels as though an overly strong adherence to details might be obscuring my view of the big picture and making me part of the problem. I’ve gotten very granular about my own details: my specific pain points, my priorities, my definitions of justice and freedom, my preferred facts. Living only at the detail level has created a narrowing. What if we all get stuck at that narrow detail level forever? Feels like that could be an extinction-level problem.
What, I wondered on my walk, would zooming out look like for me? Is it possible to lift my head from the details and take in the broader view while still maintaining my core values? Could I loosen my grip on personal details and preferred facts without giving up my entire belief system?
As I asked myself these questions, I thought about why details don’t pose a similar problem in good storytelling, and the answer was pretty simple. Good stories aren’t just collections of details; the details are rungs on a ladder that lead to larger truths. Storytelling is most enlightening for both writer and reader when the facts and details of a story culminate in a universal truth. Details don’t narrow a story; they help it expand.
You may know this, but I’ll explain so we’re all on the same page: A universal truth is a concept, an insight, or even a fact that rings true across cultures, time periods, and individual perspectives. (See my PS below.) Universal truths in literature resonate deeply with readers because they shine light on shared aspects of the human experience. Written stories can be both reflections and mirrors. Even when the facts of another person’s story don’t match the facts of mine, I may find community and comfort in the broad similarities between my life and the writer’s. Our stories meet in universal truth.
The following are some universal truths that repeatedly appear in my students’ and clients’ life story and memoir writings (and in my own), regardless of the writer’s age, gender, sexual orientation, race, political persuasion, geographic location, etc.
Hurt people hurt people.
Change is inevitable.
Actions have consequences.
Bodies have limitations.
Some problems are generational or inherited.
Suffering and joy coexist.
Life is finite in this plane.
Everyone experiences pain and hardship.
We are products of our past.
Growth is uncomfortable.
Humans crave connection.
To be consistently misunderstood creates a wound.
Knowledge is power.
Time marches forward.
Nature is both beautiful and brutal.
Life goes on.
Typing that list was a softening experience. Remembering the common humanity among us by way of universal truths relaxed my entire being for a few minutes—mind, body, heart. What a relief to remember their existence.
I intend to revisit that list and add to it over the next several years at times when I feel lost in the details of my own story or of my country’s. Any small reminder of the shared human experience is reassuring. I’m not advocating for willful ignorance or for tolerating bad behavior or for giving up the fight; I’m simply seeking some protection from the panicky feeling that our home is burning and half of us can’t smell the smoke.
Change is inevitable.
Actions have consequences.
Suffering and joy coexist.
Growth is uncomfortable.
Knowledge is power.
I’m in the revision phase of my next book, a year of tips and prompts for memoir and life story writers. In the draft of that book that I gave an editor to evaluate, I frequently mention my belief that everyone’s life story is worth telling. My editor is pushing back on that belief. What’s your proof that everybody’s story is worth telling? her notes keep asking me. I’ve had some difficulty answering her, except to say that the more life stories I read and hear, the more the evidence accrues to support my claim. Shoulder shrug emoji. I’m trying to get more specific about it, though, and I think I’m getting warmer with this universal truth thing. When a person takes the time to write about their life from an honest and reflective place, they naturally, often unconsciously, hit on some universal truths—and every time I read that happening, I think to myself, Now wouldn’t it be a shame if that story had never been written?
Universal truth. Common humanity. Story sharing. Let’s have more of that as time marches forward, shall we?
PS Not all universal truths are cross-cultural, but many are.
New Classes in 2025
I’m excited to be offering two new ways to learn together in the New Year: a memoir and narrative nonfiction incubator to begin in late January, and Saturday office hours for book publishing questions beginning February 1. Click HERE to read more, and please pass links along to any authors in your life who might benefit.
Shameless Ask
If you’ve read my book How to Begin Writing Your Life Stories: Putting Memories on the Page and have any positive takeaways, please consider writing an Amazon review. For better or for worse, reviews sell books. HERE’s the link. Thanks!