The purpose of our life is sometimes known to us, and sometimes it isn’t. We may have changed someone’s time here by setting them on a different path. Or we may have made them feel just a little bit better with our smile. We may not know what our purpose is, but knowing it is less important than living it. I don’t know if mine has a name, but I believe I have found it in my moments. I hope my stories help you share yours.
Raynia Carr has worked as a medical social worker in hospital settings for the past couple decades and the interactions that she’s had with patients (many elderly, many at the end of their lives) has prompted her to think deeply on her own life; tying key memories to lessons learned, sharing how those learnings often became applicable later. Moments is a collection of essays (each chapter themed on a topic like Hope, Courage, and Gratitude), each including these personal stories, and the whole making for an interesting and relatable memoir. Carr doesn’t share a lot from her work life — this would not truly be categorised as a medical memoir — but she has something to say and a smooth delivery that made for an interesting read. (Note: I’m rounding up to four stars to reflect my admiration for a debut effort. Note also: I read an ARC through NetGalley and passages quoted may not be in their final forms.)
What if we were to view death as part of the certain, albeit unknown, lived experience? What if we spent our lives not running with our feet pounding on the pavement but instead we floated through it like a river, secure in knowing that death is our final harbour?
I was particularly interested in Carr’s writing on the topic of death and the lessons that she’s taken away from her interaction with patients: Start talking about death and its practicalities, live life as though death was near, and do not fear the unknown. This last was particularly compelling as Carr explains: No one knows what happens once our last breath is taken. We spend our time agonizing, fearing, dreading, and doing everything we can to avoid it, yet it is an absolute fact that it will happen. If we can be aware of our fears around this, we can allow the mystery of life to take its course and have faith in knowing that, in the end, there is an infinite space where we go, returning to the same source from where we came. I was right there with her until she seemed to contradict herself (but I would like to have such faith in knowing where we end up.)
One thing I have learned so far from parents, children, friends, and patients is this: the big moments are important, but so much more happens during the spaces in between. I speak of those times that aren’t planned in our calendars: strolling in meadows; falling in love; finding hope in times of adversity; watching the sun as it sets in a clear evening sky; accepting an ending; growing old; conquering a fear; giving birth; smiling at a stranger; failing at something; watching a flock of birds take flight; making mistakes; feeling an animal's care; meeting new people while away; seeing an ocean wave approach and recede and knowing it’s been doing this forever. These moments are the stories that make our lives, and the ones that truly matter in the end.
Most of the writing in Moments is about Carr’s core memories (lies told, classroom injustice, first loves) but she does a commendable job of linking the big moments with small ones to demonstrate common themes that played out throughout her life. In a way, this works as a guide — maybe even an impetus — for others to explore their own core memories — the big and small moments — that have made up their own lives. I enjoyed this and feel inspired.
