Thoughts on memory, legacy, and the conversations that matter most.
Watch someone tell a story they love and you'll see it: they sit up, they laugh, they come alive. It turns out there's research behind that look.
There's a moment in most lives when your own story starts to feel important. Psychologists have a surprisingly clear picture of when it happens.
Every year we ask what to get the people who already have everything. Maybe we've been asking the wrong question. Not what can we give them, but what have we never asked them.
Grandparents often think their stories are too ordinary to tell. Their grandchildren, and the research, say otherwise.
At seventeen, my teacher had her whole life planned, right down to the tree in the front yard. This term, she asked our class to do what she did: write a letter to our future selves.
What was inside taught me the question I never asked her.
I'm about to finish school, and I can't remember a single thing about how I felt on my first day. I wish someone had pressed record.
My generation has never been more connected, and the research says we have never been lonelier. The most hopeful thing I've found isn't online. It's in the generations above us.
This is my favourite question so far, and it started with a grandma who didn't know where to begin.
My grandad wasn't famous. But when he died, a whole village stopped. This is what he taught me about time, and the stories we put off asking for.
"My legs don't work like they used to, but my brain is as sharp as anything." A 77-year-old in aged care on dancing, motherhood, regrets, and why a visit means everything.
He spent the sixties on the London stage. Never famous. Always working. Then someone handed him a tablet and asked about his life, and the whole room changed.
You're sitting with someone you love and a thought slips in. There is so much I don't know about you. The questions you ask today become the stories your family keeps.
Your mum has a whole life you've never really seen. Before she was your mum, she was someone's daughter, someone's friend, someone with dreams that had nothing to do with you.
Some stories are harder to access, not because they aren't important, but because they've never been asked for. Behind every father is a lifetime of decisions that shaped everything that followed.
We document everything: photos, videos, quick snapshots of moments we don't want to lose. And yet something is missing. A photo captures what happened. But not what it meant.
You can say exactly the right thing, with exactly the right words, and it can still miss completely if the timing is wrong. Timing doesn't just add to a message. Timing defines it.
We've come a long way from handwritten letters, not just in speed, but in something deeper. Somewhere along that journey, we optimised for one thing while losing another.
I'm 16, and I live my life on my phone. But the people sitting across from me at dinner have entire lives I know almost nothing about, and we're losing those stories faster than ever.
We're always connected, but not always communicating in a meaningful way. As a 16-year-old, I'm learning that real interaction is a skill we need to practise.
Grandmothers grew up in a world where privacy was valued and personal matters stayed personal. Here's how to open conversations that feel comfortable for both of you.
Grandfathers grew up in a different world, one where personal matters stayed personal. Here's how to start conversations that uncover the stories worth preserving.
The idea of FromBeyond.co came from a simple but powerful moment: an Irish man who asked his friend to record him telling one last joke, to be played at his funeral.
I've seen firsthand how a will reading can tear a family apart, not because the will was unfair, but because the person who wrote it wasn't there to explain their decisions.
When someone dies, their family faces hundreds of decisions while grieving. A funeral plan video removes the guesswork and protects your family from unnecessary conflict.
