LESSON FOUR: KNOW WHAT MATTERS
What’s in the Shed?
NOTE: Throughout the month of July, I will be writing about and sharing a short list of “lessons learned” from both my mother (Mimi) and grandmother (her mother, Nana).
Lessons from Mimi & Nana:
Publishing Wisdom Before I Knew It Was Publishing Wisdom
Every family has a story, and every family has a shed. Maybe not a literal shed. But a place where things are stored; boxes of photographs, letters, recipes, treasures, mysteries, stories.
“Do NOT tell anyone what’s in the shed,” my grandmother whispered in my ear. Of course, the warning only made me more curious.
What was in there? What was so important? What was worth protecting? As children, we imagined secrets and adventures. As an adult, I’ve come to realize something deeper.
The shed was never really about what was inside. It was about the stories attached to what was inside. Every object has a story, every photograph has a memory, every keepsake has meaning. Every family has pieces of its history tucked away in places that future generations may never discover.
In my family, I am the “keeper of all things handed down to me.” I have hat boxes and shoe boxes full of old black-and-white photos of people I should know… but don’t. Photos that represent history — the stories, the names that are forgotten, the faces that no one can identify, the recipes that have no signature, the struggles you can see in the faces, but no one talks about, the lessons no one records, the family legends that disappear when the last person who remembers them is gone.
I’ve reached a stage in life where I understand something Mimi and Nana probably knew all along: Every family is one generation away from losing a piece of its history. Not because anyone intended for it to happen, but because life gets busy. We assume we’ll ask later and write it down someday. We’ll record the stories when we have more time, and then one day, the opportunity will be gone.
I see this happen far too often. A parent passes away, a grandparent is no longer here, a family business changes hands, and suddenly everyone wishes they had asked more questions.
They “could have” captured more stories, saved more memories, and documented more wisdom. The truth is, most families don’t lose their history all at once. They lose it one untold story at a time. That’s why I’m so passionate about legacy books. Not because they’re books… because they’re bridges between generations. A bridge between the people who lived the stories and the people who will one day want to know them.
A bridge between “I wish I had asked” and “I’m so glad we preserved that.”
When people think about legacy, they often think about financial assets. But I’ve come to believe that some of our most valuable assets are the stories we leave behind.
The lessons, the values, the memories, the experiences, the moments that shaped who we became. Those are the things future generations treasure most. Unlike the contents of an old shed, they don’t have to remain hidden. They can be shared, preserved, celebrated, and passed forward.
So, this month, as I remember Mimi and Nana and the wisdom they left behind, I’m reminded of an important question:
What stories are sitting in your family’s shed (or attic, or guest bedroom, or guest house)?
What memories have never been recorded?
What lessons have never been written down?
What treasures are waiting to be discovered before it’s too late?
Because the greatest inheritance we leave behind isn’t always found in what we own.
Sometimes it’s found in the stories we share.
If you could sit down with one family member you’ve lost and ask them one more question, what would it be?
That answer may reveal the very story worth preserving.
PS: If you REALLY want to know what was in my grandmother’s shed, feel free to reach out. Maybe I’ll tell you . . . and maybe not.