The Tragedy of Unwritten Stories

My great-grandmother is pictured here with “friends at the ocean.” That’s all that is written on the back of the old photograph. The stories here died with her years ago. It doesn’t even indicate which one is my great-grandmother. (Photo from the author’s collection).

The real tragedy in death isn’t merely that our stories are cut short; it’s when they were never shared and, worse, never written down.

It’s said that a library burns to the ground when someone dies, losing volumes of critical information and experiences. This analogy holds because the person hadn’t taken the time to distill what they’ve learned or experienced through life into stories. When they die, their stories die with them.

If a library burns down, it’s a shame, but there are often other copies of the books. While expensive, they can be replaced. Even first editions, valuable because of their status, aren’t the only editions.

What makes the metaphor powerful is the idea that when we die, we lose the only edition copies of our life’s stories. All the information, experiences, and insights are lost because they were never shared.

A burning library full of one-of-a-kind books is a far bigger tragedy than a burning library where the books can be replaced. Similarly, a hard drive crash isn’t a tragedy if the information is all backed up to the cloud.

What’s in Your Library?

We can’t just write down, “This happened, and then this happened, and then this happened.”

No one wants to read that.

We have to translate our experiences into stories that document not only the who, what, where, and when but also the why and how. It’s the why and the how that brings meaning to our lives.

We have to distill our lessons and give them context and meaning through storytelling.

Merely telling our stories to others isn’t enough. Their memories fade, and they have their own stories to preserve.

In the minds of others, our stories may survive a few more years, but they are destined to be lost unless we write them down. We have to make it easy for our stories to survive and to be passed down.

There is an amazing story here about my great-grandmother and planes—but it is a story that has not been written anywhere. (Photo from the author’s collection).

The Role of Photographs

What about all the photographs? What about the stories captured there?

As a professional photographer for the past 35 years, I’ve always been paid to capture what things look like, but that has started to ring hollow for me.

This is why I want to go beyond capturing what moments look like. I want to help them capture what they mean.

There is much more to a story than its visual representation, yet people are obsessed with capturing images. They misplace their trust in the 1,000 words that photographs are supposed to capture, leaving it to photography to do all the work.

While photographs are beautiful and compelling, their real value lies in the memories they evoke.

Photographs are ONLY placeholders for the memories we hold dear.

The memories disappear once we’re gone, and the people who shared our moments are gone.

The photographs remain with only their aesthetics, conveying their contents in a one-dimensional way.

Look through your grandparents’ (or worse, your great-grandparents’) photo albums and see how many images say nothing beyond the visuals they represent.

There are no actual stories in those albums — no literal meaning. Beyond their sentimental and visual value, photographs provide no depth in understanding what was happening in the photograph—you need words.

You need your grandparents there to tell you the stories the images represent.

My great-grandmother could tell amazing stories about the images in her albums — and then, in the matter of years, she couldn’t. (Photo from the author’s collection).

The Power of Words

It’s only through words that our stories and experiences truly persevere.

Photographs capture what we look like, but it’s only through words that we can capture who we are.

The stories behind the images give them life and depth. By writing down our stories, we ensure they live on and can never be burned or erased. Sharing our stories adds volumes to the library of human experience, ensuring it’s filled with rich, meaningful content. By contributing, we increase the value of our lives.

No matter how mundane our lives seem, everyone has a story that can help someone else. We all experience life differently, and our perspective could help someone along the same path.

It’s not just about the big moments; it’s about the small, everyday experiences that hold lessons and insights.

The true tragedy of life isn’t that your library burns down. The real tragedy is that we never took the time to write any of the books in our collection, much less publish them for others to read, enjoy, and learn from.

Join the Conversation

If this article resonates with you, I’d love for you to join the conversation on my Substack page.

I want to explore how we can capture more than just what things look like.

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