Name a book. What’s the first one that comes to mind?

If you’re into classics, it might be War and Peace, The Little Prince, or The Catcher in the Rye.

If you’re into non-fiction, it might be Atomic Habits, Sapiens, or How to Win Friends and Influence People.

If you’re into fantasy, it might be Harry Potter, The Hobbit, or The Hunger Games.

You probably didn’t think of a memoir. They’re just not that popular. And for a long time, I didn’t read any simply because nobody talked about them.

But recently, I’ve discovered the potential of memoirs. And now I’m addicted.

The short reason is this: reading another’s life helps shape our own. When we read childhood trauma, we inherit part of that trauma. When we read the struggles of alcoholism, we inherit those struggles as well. When we follow someone’s life, their story gradually moulds into ours.

This statement might be too much, one might argue. One’s lived experience outweighs a second hand recount. But I disagree.

The purpose of a memoir is to give others the gift of a story. It’s to offer them your childhood, your struggles, your hopes, your desires, with the goal that others may inherit some of these for themselves. What a beautiful achievement – sharing a part of oneself with others.

Nowadays, most of the audiobooks I listen to are memoirs. It’s amazing how another person’s crazy story immediately improves yours as well.