This Was Life: Why I'm dedicating hours every month to writing obituaries

“That you are here—that life exists and identity,

That the powerful play goes on, and you may contribute a verse.”

Walt Whitman

“What’s your dream job?”

Two years ago, I attended a work offsite in Chicago. After a big day of sessions, my team and I walked to a fabulous Mexican restaurant to unwind and celebrate our reunion after two long years of COVID-era separation. Margaritas and beers were in ample supply. Idle chit chat turned to deeper questions of purpose and career, which is when my friend Vivian posed this thought to me and a few others seated at the end of the table.

“If you could do anything and money were no issue for you, what would you do?”

Before I could think I blurted out my answer.

“Write the obituaries for The Economist.”

Half the group chortled back laughter. I think I chuckled myself. I don’t blame them or myself; it’s a ridiculous proposition for a guy twelve years into a tech sales career. But Vivian, she didn’t laugh. She smiled. I’ll always appreciate her for that.

“Really?” her eyes narrowing in genuine curiosity. “That’s wild. Tell me more. Why?”

This put me in an interesting spot. Other than casually mentioning to my wife what a cool job that writer at The Economist must have, I don’t think I had ever expressed this idea directly. To anyone.

So, why did that job appeal to me?

To make my point, I rattled off a handful of my recent favorites from my beloved Economist back page.

• There’s Rosanna Banti, a member of the Italian resistance to the Nazis & Musolini’s blackshirts during World War II.
• Samuel Paty, a French schoolteacher who was beheaded for using Charlie Hebdo cartoons depicting the Prophet Muhammad in his lectures on free speech.
• And maybe my favorite, Wang Fuchun, a Chinese photographer who chronicled the lives of train riders in China over a thirty-year career.

People are endlessly fascinating to me. They’re the reason I never miss a post from “Humans of New York,” or the photographer David Guerrero. They’re the reason I love “Desert Island Discs” from the BBC. Obituaries in The Economist and these other forums lay bare what we so often forget in our busy, hyper-stimulated and digitized world: that each of us has a story to tell. And the best stories often come from the most surprising of protagonists.

As I wrapped up my soliloquy about stealing Ann Wroe’s job at The Economist, my friend thanked me for sharing. Then we largely moved on to other things.

Fast forward to today: that conversation has lived rent-free in my head for the last two years. That’s also given me time to think a great deal about why this idea might just also be vitally important vs simply interesting.

Here’s why two years later, I’m starting a new project chronicling the lives of ordinary people:

#1: To Remind Us That People Matter

In a world that’s being optimized toward an AI-first existence, where we as humans are feeling less like the features of our world and more like bugs trying to maintain our relevance, I want to gently push back against the idea that modern humanity is simply a drain of resources and hazard to the natural world.

As a tech employee for the last twelve years, I’ve listened to many in my industry decry the human race or belittle our feeble brains that can no longer keep up with our creations. To be clear, I’m not a luddite. I draw genuine inspiration from the innovations of the tech industry every day in my work. But I do worry about the logical conclusions of those who are cynical about human potential and blame human existence as the root cause of a host of environmental and social ills.

Another Substack can hash out arguments on overpopulation, or you can read Hans Rosling’s “Factfulness” and compare his notes with those of a group like Population Matters. This project isn’t about economics or demographics; it’s a celebration of humans and what it means to be one, which I believe is under subtle attack from the narrative that there are too many of us.

We are the feature, not the bug.

I choose to celebrate the idea that no algorithm could possibly replace the beauty and dynamism of the human experience.

#2: People Deserve to Have their Stories Told:

You shouldn’t have to die a head of state or a well-known activist to have your story told thoughtfully and respectfully. There are lessons to be taken from every life, and I can think of no greater gift to give than properly memorializing the lives of those who have gone before us. Talking about and celebrating our dead is a particularly weak point for us Americans. This backdrop of stereotypically American squeamishness when addressing the deceased only makes this, for me, all the more worthwhile and exciting.

Every single one of us, no matter the walk of life, no matter the position of status or influence, has a story to tell. Lifetimes are made up of impossible victories and heartbreaking defeats. Acts of cowardice and bravery, pranks gone wrong, beautiful mistakes and regrettable successes. Those stories deserve to be told.

And so, that’s what I’ll aim to do. I’ll tell stories. Once a month I’ll find and document those moments of the extraordinary coming from every walk of life. Hopefully these stories will remind whoever reads them that we have so much to gain by paying attention and listening to each other.

Of course I don’t know where this will go from here. All I know is it feels right, and it feels really good to start.

First up, a bit of a softball, but someone whose story is etched into my heart: my father Bill. He died over thirteen years ago in August 2010. I look forward to sharing his story soon. (Update: view that piece I wrote about my dad here on Substack).

Until then, look after each other, and if you’d care to subscribe or pass this along to a friend, I’d be grateful.

-Andrew

If you’re reading this and your mind races to a human story you believe is worth telling here, I’d love to hear it. Send me an email at [email protected], or drop a comment here on LinkedIn.

Subscribe via Substack here. Thank you for reading.