Fresno author: The holidays offer traditions and new opportunities, so take them | Opinion

A best friend’s wedding. My daughter’s 40th birthday bash. A retirement party for my husband’s law school roommate. My granddaughter turning Sweet 16. A gathering of generous-hearted people raising funds for a friend’s sick child. An abundant tapestry of love: the immeasurable gift of family and friends celebrating life together. These are moments that buoy our spirits and enrich our lives. And they happen daily right here in the heart of the central San Joaquin Valley. A place we call home.

Our village of stories.

As a native Fresnan deeply rooted in this community, I know firsthand that it is here we build and nourish family ties while sprouting new seedlings. Our goal: to grow and nurture the future. Plant hope. Almost daily I meet people who make me better, who leave a permanent imprint on my heart, and remind me that together we are greater than the sum of our individual parts.

In a world where lines constantly blur, where life is hard no matter who you are, it’s gratifying to know we can cross the street and meet up with neighbors, friends, relatives, even strangers, all willing to embrace our journey, lend a hand, and share the triumphs and tragedies of life. Here, we are family.

In the Armenian culture, we are famous for our timeless tradition of “breaking bread” together. Our gatherings — even the small ones around a modest kitchen table — become feasts of plenty: love infused mezza: lavash and string cheese, yalanchi, melt-in-your-mouth pastries like choreg and kurabia, Armenian coffee laced with love and secret fortunes.

My mother’s kitchen was always my center of gravity, a place where time and worries came to a screeching halt, remedied by the aroma of her baked breads, delicious stews, and as she often confessed, “leftover vegetables quietly wilting on their deathbed” but somehow miraculously resuscitated by simmering chicken broth, a handful of hard-to-pronounce spices, a few squeezes of lemon and, of course, her magic touch.

Like her mother and her mother’s mother, there was never an exacting recipe — everything baked by achkachap (translation: eye measure). Like so many of our mothers and grandmothers, she nurtured my soul — fed my hopes and hurts. Feeling her absence this time of year, an undeniable sadness seeps from my pores. “Holiday blues” comes from too many empty chairs around the table.

I teach memoir writing for the Osher Lifelong Learning Institute at Fresno State. In these courses, I encourage students to dig deep and go to the cavernous spots where lost memories and trauma tend to hide out. These stories matter, I tell them, and whether they’re revisiting them to make peace with their past, or simply creating docu-memories to pass down to children and grandchildren, the first step is memorializing them on paper. More often than not, that’s an arduous, painful task.

A few years ago, I took a writing course from Terese Mailot, a New York Times best-seller author of “Heart Berries.” She was guest artist for the acclaimed CSU Summer Arts Program, currently housed at Fresno State. She told us that when she’s teaching students how to write about trauma, she asks them to carry five stories about themselves for self-protection.

We all have personal stories that show our resilience — stories demonstrating times when we stood up for ourselves or occasions that made us feel confident, worthy. Remembering them empowers us to stay afloat when sharks are circling. It’s like wearing a life jacket before diving into the deep end of the ocean. My personal short list includes surviving a hijacking in the 1970s, being a devoted caregiver to my mom at the end of her life, and returning to school in my ‘50s to get serious about writing.

There’s never been a better time to make your list and stash it nearby as a ready reference — part of a survival tool kit as the holidays stare us in the face. Recognizing stressors, knowing limits and boundaries, understanding when pain exceeds our ability to cope — if a person has symptoms of depression, i.e., emptiness, loneliness, desperation, for more than two weeks, they need to see someone, preferably a doctor. All of us need a personal mental health plan.

Years ago I wrote a column about a string of high school suicides that happened in Kingsburg. In a quest to hunt down answers at that time, trying to wrap my arms around how and why someone might decide to exit life, I researched and received sound advice from local experts reminding me we are all vulnerable.

One suggestion I share constantly whether I’m teaching students or lunching with friends: Each of us should carry names and phone numbers of three people who without question or judgment will show up 24/7 to sit and hold us in our moment of uncertainty.

Recently, I listened to an interview with New York Times columnist David Brooks, who posed an interesting question. He asked, “Are you an illuminator or a diminisher?” Diminishers, he explained, make us feel small, like we’re fading away — becoming invisible. Illuminators do just the opposite — they act as light sources for others.

My grandmother once told me it is our love of life, our resilient spirit, and instinct for survival that has gifted us a profound connection to everything. We see beauty in the mundane, we talk using both hands and hearts, our history teaching us to understand and respect life’s precious and fragile nature, never taking anything for granted.

And so we laugh, cry, and love out loud with every ounce of heart and soul every chance we get. This will forever be the soundtrack we play for our children and grandchildren. Unbridled joy, gratitude, unbreakable spirits, and a promise to live life to its very fullest. Because the more we give expression to the journey, the better we support each other through the complex and unpredictable maze of life.

To that end, William Saroyan’s famous words are forever tattooed in my heart: “In the time of your life — live, so that in that wondrous time you shall not add to the misery and sorrow of the world, but shall smile to the infinite delight and mystery of it.”