Your Life on Paper

Your wishes in conversation

Photo by Nilson Junior on Unsplash

When author Beth Kephart published a book called My Life in Paper: Adventures in Ephemera, a beautiful account of her creative life and relationship with paper and paper appreciators, she identified a medium that still defines us even as we assign electrons the task of preserving our words. As you might imagine, my shelves are full of paper—books, journals, binders, scraps of ideas, file folders, letters, scrolls, stationery, postcards—words and more words. And some paper saved for its beauty alone—handmade, flower-pressed, folded, quilled—and its potential for artistic expression. One of the notebooks is labeled, MY PLAN…(because you know I have one. I even have a pair of socks that says, I Plan Things. It’s What I Do.)

Side note: I began writing this piece in April after cleaning my home-office floor of its tax season detritus. The paper involved in U.S. tax filing by every April 15 has little in common with beauty as we dig through receipts and account statements to reconstruct a year of income and expenses. It’s enough to make you never want to see another document again!

But before you file, stash, or shred all that paper, take a minute to think about what all those numbers represent:

Your goals and dreams, responsibilities and values—what you make and give, how you spend your resources and time, who matters most to you, and your hopes for the future.

Let’s transform the tax obligation into a day-after for thoughtful reflection and conversation. Did you know April 16 has been designated National Healthcare Decision Day?

It’s an invitation to ask yourself, Who would speak for me if I could not speak for myself? Would they know what matters most to me? Have I given them the guidance they may one day need? And if you’re the immortal exception, think about your relatives, friends, and neighbors—who would speak for them? And what if it were you?

That’s why conversations are so important. Before a crisis. Before the unexpected diagnosis, accident, sudden medical condition, or other medical emergency. [We’ve had a few of those in my family and circle of friends recently, so I’m mindful of the consequences.]

I once worked with a gentleman who gave me great communication advice when I expressed frustration with colleagues who, in my opinion, had neglected to “do the right thing,” whatever that was. He reminded me that perhaps they were missing an important piece of information.

“Ask yourself,” he said to me, “ ‘What do I know? Who else needs to know? Have I told them?”

Oh. Right. That’s the kicker. It’s possible I never told them. Or I didn’t communicate clearly. Or I told them only once and never wrote it down or reminded them. Or I didn’t give them the opportunity to ask questions. Got it.

What do you know about your own life, right now, while you’re living it? Have you told your people? Have they told you? If you want to dip your toe into the conversation, take a look at the National Healthcare Decisions Day website. And if you’re inclined to put off the conversation, at least note it on your calendar for next year: April 16, 2027.

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I write about things I care about. Things I think about. Ways of seeing the world, ways of noticing. Like yesterday, I saw a ladybug in the garden… She made me stop mid-snip (I was trimming dead blooms off some roses) and wonder where she lived and how long her life would last, and if her presence meant there were aphids in my yard. And if she were enjoying the dry wind and clouds or if she wished, like me, it would rain. And I think about you, too, and how you’ll spend the month of June. I’ll pop in again, soon.