Glennon Doyle’s third memoir, Untamed makes me think. It was published in early Spring 2020, just as we all began to stay inside. Part One is entitled, “Caged.” Doyle writes in pre-pandemic frankness about the cages she experiences. She writes about pressures, expectations, and failures. She writes about addiction, infidelity, and pain. She writes about love and truth and the relationship between the two. I have found a few golden lines — of the many lines that resonate with me — in “Caged.”

“You are not crazy to be heartbroken over the polar bears; the rest of us are crazy not to be.”

There is so much to be heartbroken over right now. It is impossible to wrap my arms around every issue. Doyle’s daughter has it right. I want to lift up the beauty of children’s eyes to clearly see what is and their hearts to feel deeply. I write in the hope that we all see more clearly and feel more deeply. I write in the hope that the beginner’s mind, so soft and careful and curious when we are young, knows it is never crazy to question, challenge, defend, resist, and lead. Unlearning, and fighting off, the cynicism, fear, judgement, and anger of adulthood is a constant battle.

“I rigged an election trying to be golden.”

I have struggled to be golden my entire life. Without question, I would have rigged an election to be golden somewhere along the way if I could have. The pain of the uninvited slumber party in elementary school. The pain of not making cheerleader in high school. The pain of sorority rush in college. The pain of internet dating. The pain of losing a job. Period. All of it stings like a 1000 wasps. The deep need to be golden is part of my story. The realization that external things (completing a PhD, finishing a marathon, writing a memoir, traveling the world) and/or other people’s opinions would never make me golden if I did not believe it myself never occurred to me until I was well into adulthood. Even now, I have to remind myself that I am golden.

“Hell have no fury like a memoirist whose husband just f*&%$ up her story.”

Doyle writes about this as a writer whose story has been hijacked, but I think it works more broadly, too. We all have a story, and we all have things that mess up our story. I realize the things that have messed up my story are the very essence of me. The parts I would rather leave out are the parts where strength and compassion are born. The parts that are the most painful are fuel to my fire and remind me to be gentle in all things. The parts I try to keep in the shadows are the parts that shine the brightest in broad daylight. The parts I want to change are the parts that have changed me, for the better, the most. That is how it goes with stories. Our willingness to be vulnerable and share our stories with others is the sweetness of what it means to be human.

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