The Wisdom of Age: How My Life Experiences Make Me a Better Storyteller
I've been asking embarrassing questions to tell stories for as long as I can remember. Like when I was four, sprawled on the grocery store floor of our small town, staring up under a pregnant woman's dress and asking, "Where's the ball?" much to my mother's horror.
Decades later, I understand the embarrassment my mother felt, especially in rural Arizona in the late 1960s. Women weren't supposed to be forward or ask embarrassing questions, and children were to be seen and not heard, a prevalent Christian belief in that era.
I defied both. I survived breast cancer at 23, ran with the bulls when women weren't supposed to run, climbed Mt. Kilimanjaro, and earned my New York University (NYU) master's degree at 57 while caring for my ailing, long-divorced parents.
My path to becoming a female storyteller defies age norms, but I discovered my experiences give me a unique perspective that enriches my storytelling. I weave the wisdom I gained, my resilience, and my never-ending thirst for knowledge into the fabric of my narratives. As an older woman venturing into journalism later in life, I discovered that my unique perspective enriched my storytelling.
Late Bloomer in Journalism:
I started in journalism when many might consider it too late, particularly given the industry's current upheaval. When NYU took a chance on me and accepted me into their online journalism master's program, my life experiences—surviving breast cancer, scaling mountains, and earning my master's degree at 57—became threads woven into the fabric of my narratives.
Breaking barriers, defying stereotypes, and telling powerful stories are not just the ethos of who I am but paramount to the stories I write. Helping other women do the same and being that voice for them is crucial to me as a journalist and writer.
Caregiver and Compassion:
It was both a privilege and a challenge caring for my parents. As their life stories unfolded before me—their joys, struggles, and unspoken dreams—I witnessed the weakness of ageing bodies, the weight of memories, and the quiet courage of those facing life's twilight. These intimate moments enriched my compassion for storytelling. The numerous days I spent at my mother's assisted living facility visiting with her and the others living there, I realized that every person, regardless of age, has a story. When the story is worth sharing with a broader audience, take the time to listen with patience and care. Tackling sensitive topics, whether it's the passing of a parent or women's health, has always influenced how I've approached storytelling, including my own health.
In my early thirties, I became the face of hope and inspiration for the American Cancer Society's Breast Cancer Awareness campaign in Arizona. As a young survivor, sharing my story was crucial. But even more important was encouraging women, regardless of age or family history, to be proactive about their health.
As a female journalist, I play a vital role in addressing sensitive issues like sexual harassment, gender discrimination, and women's rights. My empathy and understanding can create powerful narratives that resonate with diverse audiences.
The Art of Storytelling- Balancing Objectivity and Empathy:
During my undergraduate journalism studies at Arizona State University, one professor challenged us to find stories of people struggling during the 2008 recession. She wanted us to find compelling stories, so I chose a single mother on a low wage at Walmart. It was crucial to tell her story honestly and compellingly without victimizing her. I wanted to highlight her strengths while depicting the challenges she faced. My own experience as a daughter of a single mother made me wonder, "What if this was my mother? How would I want the story told?"
Balancing empathy with journalistic objectivity is challenging. Sometimes, being a journalist makes it hard to empathize with sources. Sometimes, being me makes it hard to be an objective journalist. As a woman, sometimes this is a constant struggle. Yet, for me, the story invariably wins. And I'm fortunate to be the woman who tells the challenging stories of these women. Being brave for them means being brave enough to tell their stories accurately and compassionately.
Capturing the stories that matter is what matters. Caring for my parents at the end of their lives changed how I see life and, thus, how I write. Looking back, I wish I had captured more of my parents' stories – their laughter, heartaches, and the life lessons they carried. As journalists, we hold a sacred responsibility: to be custodians of memories. Our parents' narratives deserve preservation, even if they aren't headline-worthy.
Their ordinary lives hold extraordinary value—the love letters, conversations, and quiet sacrifices. As a mother, daughter, and wife, my storytelling now encompasses all those and adds to my role as a female journalist.
Passing the Torch- A Message to Young Women:
Imposter syndrome affects many women, and for female journalists, sometimes, it isn't just our gender that makes us wonder if we deserve a seat at the table. Writers of all genres struggle with imposter syndrome, too. Remember, you deserve a seat at the table. Believe in your abilities and try to find the balance between your own self-critique and pride in your work.
To my fellow young female journalists, pursue this craft fearlessly. Your perspective is a powerful asset, contributing to a more inclusive and accurate portrayal of the world. Embrace your voice, amplify the stories that matter, and continue challenging the status quo. Remember, as you navigate this path, being a female storyteller empowers you to shape narratives, defy norms, and advocate for meaningful change.
My age or gender isn't a limitation; it's an attribute that adds depth and nuance.
And so, I continue—fearless, compassionate, and committed to amplifying voices across the ages.
“Remember, you deserve a seat at the table.”
