The importance of “archiving yourself”
The people who get their own archives are usually the people who need the attention the least. They have big names and big assets. Some historian has already written or is writing a book about them. I’m for widening the historical spotlight. Every community should have a Real People’s archive where everyday people can deposit their letters, trinkets, and other mementos. The Internet seems to be serving that function right now. People across the spectrum have Facebook pages and websites, their very own personal-public archives filled with their memories.
In the late 1990s, I did research for a digital archiving project run by a forward-thinking history professor who could see where the Internet was going. My first task was to go through the personal papers of a once-prominent Durham, North Carolina family. I wonder how they would have reacted had they come back from the grave and seen me reading their letters. Did they write knowing that their correspondence would one day be made public? What did they think were the most meaningful moments of their lives? Did they consider themselves Important People? How did they want to be remembered?
I have good memories of my research gig, so I was happy to learn that one of this semester’s assignments would be to create an archival finding aid. It was a fun experience. It made me feel like a little Somebody. I used all my names in the title (“Personal Papers of Stacy Lynn Torian“) and wrote a longer-than-necessary bio. I sorted through my beat-up poem scraps and journals, envisioning myself as a historical figure. It was surreal to think that one day I would seem as old to someone as George Washington in his powdered wig. It was depressing, too, so I did not dwell on that.
I was surprised by how moving the whole assignment was. There were points at which I felt like I was in the middle of a sacred rite of preservation. It was a strong emotion, one that I used to experience sometimes in my African drumming class, on the nights when we were playing the ancient rhythms so forcefully that I could feel the ancestors speaking through us. Staring at the writings was like watching the past do a ghost walk before my eyes. It reminded me that, although time disappears, history – especially personal history – never goes away. Everyone has one, and the history we leave behind defines us, to a degree. (I imagine one has similar thoughts when preparing a will. It’s getting to be time for me to write one of those, too.)
On a cynical note, doing the finding aid reminded me of how easy it is to construct a false public narrative of one’s life. There I was choosing (hypothetically) what people would remember about me, focusing on the creative Me, and omitting the less flattering parts. Well, I only omitted them from the finding aid that got turned in for a grade, not the collection itself. There are several unflattering parts in the journals. (As noted in the finding aid, these journals are closed to public viewing until 10 years after my death).
Writing your own biography and assessing your personal effects makes you think about the value of what you have and have not done. What matters most about my life? What kind of impact have I had or will I have on people? How will I be remembered? If you have a tendency toward mischief, asking yourself these questions could keep you out of trouble. If you’re too goody goody, it could make you remember what you’re missing and live more adventurously.
All this to say, if you haven’t “archived yourself” yet, you should try it. Here is a link to my archival finding aid, if you need some inspiration: Stacy Lynn Torian finding aid
Copyright © 2017 Stacy Torian. All rights reserved.
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Stacy Torian 