I’m currently writing a narrative nonfiction memoir that weaves together art, travel, place, nature, rowing, and outdoor adventure. Underneath these experiences lie deeper questions about identity — who we are, why we’re shaped the way we are — and how landscape, immigration, and family influence a life.

My father spent his retirement painting small copies of well-known artworks. More than 50 of these pieces fill my home. Only after both my parents died did I begin to look at these paintings closely, and they’ve become unexpected portals — some leading me into actual journeys, and others into memory, imagination, and reflection.

I began drafting the book in January 2025 with little understanding of what writing a memoir truly required. As I learned more, I wondered — with my terrible memory and private nature — what am I doing writing a memoir? And yet, I feel compelled. Researching the artists and paintings is fascinating; describing trips and discoveries comes easily. The harder part has been learning to look inward — to examine memories, understand their significance, and articulate what they reveal about my family and myself.

With guidance from my writing mentor, I’m now allowing the work to lead me rather than constraining it. The themes and narrative arcs emerging feel honest and surprising. I have a story shaped by an unusual upbringing and remarkable experiences — and I’m learning how to invite the reader not only into where I’ve been, but into what it has meant.

I love taking readers with me: rowing the Vogalonga in Venice, searching for Corot’s ponds near Paris, standing before a painting in the Gemäldegalerie in Berlin, or tracing family connections in Japan. Now I’m also learning to go deeper — to write closer to the bone, to reveal who I am, why I am, and who I might have been. This memoir is becoming a journey of unexpected self-discovery, one that I believe will resonate with readers seeking meaning, connection, and understanding.