A Postcard Memoir ~ Midlife

Lawrence Sutin is famous for his book, A Postcard Memoir. It's a series of brief narratives about his life, written by pairing them with old postcards. His writing hinges on the unexpected things he finds in an image. Sutin's stories are written in brief vignettes and coupled alongside the corresponding postcard that inspired them in his book. The result is a fascinating exploration between what we see and what we remember, what we imagine and what we desire. In a quick second, our mind creates an image of the outside world, while our hearts construe a story on the inside.

And, here is mine...

POSTCARD: CABIN – SOUTH TOE, YANCEY COUNTY, NORTH CAROLINA

I never thought I would want to come back to the Appalachians, believed that I would run hard in the opposite direction for the rest of my life. I wanted to erase the memory of poverty, cleanse myself from generations of racism, and rid my skin of its white supremacy. Now, in the middle of my life, I long to be lost in the thick mountain mists, calmed by the quiet of the forest. To sit in an old cabin and warm myself with whiskey water, pulling my pen out on occasion to diddle my thoughts. I might make sense of the beginning of my life, perhaps long for the end of it at times, but most importantly, I’d try to unravel the stitching of my days.

This is the middle of my life. I imagine it as a noun: a person, place, or thing, some small ship cutting through ice fields, a garden growing past lingering livestock, or a snarling river left sadly unattended. It is something I should have begun to master, a place made into a home, people carved into intimacy. I am supposed to have accumulated things by now. I am expected to have responsibilities and perhaps a few achievements framed on walls. I am required to have experience and wisdom.

I’m supposed to be a person of substance.

Lost, in the middle of my life, sequestered in an old cabin, I would try to make peace with my childhood ghosts, to write them out of existence and into creativity. I would gather them about me as gently as snowflakes, cradle them in tenderness, and caress them with frailty. I would look at the middle of my life and know that it is okay to still be wandering.