I’m writing this post on Thanksgiving Day from Kauai, Hawaii. I’ve been here for two days but still have to double-check the spelling every time I key it. Using that many vowels doesn’t come naturally for me.
The resort I’m staying in is a slice of paradise–much as you would expect. I have yet to see an ugly part of this island that is referred to as the “Garden Island” for its lush greenery. Even if you haven’t visited, you’ve likely seen it in movies like Jurassic Park or the opening waterfall scene of the cult classic TV show Fantasy Island (the original, not these try-hard remakes).
Within a stone’s through of my balcony is a dense clump of tropical beauty, a tangle of bougainvillea, feathery evergreens, sea plums, and the like. It gives visual interest to the rolling green expanse and the ribbon of winding concrete trails through the resort.
But the most interesting thing about the plant clusters are the signs erected in front of them.
It struck me as both surprising and strangely grounding. In places like Florida, development often means quietly relocating human remains. Here, the resort was built around them.
Maybe it’s not what we’d call a peaceful resting place, but what can you do when the living and the dead want an ocean view?
I’m not making light of it. If anything, it reminded me how often we live in the shadows — or the company — of those who came before us. Our ancestors shape more of who we are than we tend to acknowledge. Some traits are rooted in DNA, not upbringing. Whether you lean introverted or extroverted, for example, has more to do with inheritance than environment.
James Clear referenced several of these patterns in Atomic Habits, and many surprised me:
- How many hours you tend to spend watching television
- Your likelihood to marry or divorce
- Your tendency to get addicted to drugs, alcohol, or nicotine
- How obedient or rebellious you are when facing authority
- How vulnerable or resistant you are to stressful events
- How proactive or reactive you tend to be
- How captivated or bored you feel during sensory experiences (like attending a concert)
And then there are the parts shaped by nurture: what we value, what we fear, what we define as success. These influences don’t control us, but they do set a frame — a kind of narrative scaffolding — we either accept or work hard to dismantle.
Which is why, when we tell our own story, we’re also telling the story of our ancestors. Their decisions, struggles, triumphs, and limitations course through us.
They show up in our choices, our emotional reflexes, and the biases we carry into adulthood.
Most of us don’t live on land where our ancestors are buried. But they’re present nonetheless.
They are the hidden ingredients in what it was that made us. They are the herbs you can’t quite taste but differentiates our recipe from another.
Bringing that awareness into a memoir or book can be the difference between a good story and a great one. When we work together, part of our process is uncovering those quiet influences — the inherited threads that shape the arc of a life.
If you’re ready to explore the deeper layers of your story, I’d be honored to help you shape them into something lasting.
Book some time today and we can talk about it.
Aloha.