Writing for the Future

The Importance

What sort of man was my grandfather? What hobbies did my grandmother enjoy?

I grew up in a household that didn’t spend much time preserving the present or thinking about how it might be viewed in the future.
As I got older, I found myself genuinely wanting to know — not just the facts, but the texture of their lives — how they thought, what made them laugh, what mattered to them.
So, like any curious child on a mission, I went to the people who ought to know: my parents.

Stories soften around the edges — and that is where the idea took root for me: I would journal for my children.

What began as a small project — writing entries for my daughter — grew into something more intentional.
I wanted her, one day, to have answers to the kinds of questions I had asked.
I know that by the time she’s old enough to ask them, I will have forgotten far more than I’d like.
Writing things down while they are fresh preserves them as first-hand accounts, not reconstructed memories. (It’s also one of the reasons I write this blog — so that they, and I, can look back at my thoughts and see who I was at different stages of life.)

For now, I keep their journals private.
When they’re older, I plan to gather the entries and handwrite them into a bound book.
I once imagined producing neat “volumes”, but the truth is I’m not disciplined enough to write daily.
Life is full. Evenings are tiring. Some days simply pass without ceremony.

I would like to build a stronger writing habit — that’s a topic for another post — but the frequency matters less than the intention.
What matters to me is preservation. I want to capture as much of their early life as I can so that, one day, they have a window into their own beginnings.

I sometimes wish I had more insight into the child I was.
I was born in the 90s — video recorders existed, but who knows where those tapes are now?
I have photo albums, and while a picture may speak a thousand words, it cannot replace a detailed, first-hand account written by someone who was there at that moment in time.

I want my children to grow up knowing that a record of their early years exists — something waiting for them.
Perhaps I’ll give it to them when they turn 21.
Perhaps on their wedding day.
Or perhaps just on an ordinary Tuesday when it feels right.

Beyond preservation, there’s something else: writing about them strengthens my attachment to them.
When I sit and reflect on who they are — their mischief, their curiosity, their small daily triumphs — I become more attentive.
I notice more. I savour more.

In some sense, I am the narrator of their early chapters.
I see the sneaky grins, the stubborn streaks, the bursts of kindness. I witness it all, and I want them to know that it was seen.

My hope is that one day they’ll read these words — perhaps even this very post — and come back with more questions.
Because closeness is the goal. Their happiness is my goal.

So I would encourage you to consider writing — not only for your own reflection, but as a gift.
And then, when the time comes, they can continue the story themselves.

— Rich