19 January 2026 — Alexandra B.W.

20 November 2015

Claire, Auntie Al, Mom, and I went to see David Sedaris in San Jose on Wednesday. He was an extremely interesting man – intellectual, the kind of sharp, dry wit that makes him everyone’s toughest critic. Most of his material came from his everyday personal experience. Just growing up, his family, his husband. Things that happened to him, in a restaurant in New York, at a book signing, on the side of the road while he was picking up trash. What he went through when gay marriage was legalized. How could 2,500 people really be captivated by that? For one thing, he makes it funny. But it’s more than that. More importantly, he is not afraid to cut to the quick of things and tell it like it is. He is not afraid to voice his opinion, to offend people. If anything, he asks you not to take things too seriously.

He told us that he’s been writing a journal for 40 years now. And he had reminded his husband Hugh that if, after he died, Hugh read something offensive in his journal, to just keep reading, because chances are he’d say something complimentary on the next page. Because life was fluid in that sense. Nothing ever sticks in the end, because things are always changing. He said growing up for a time – when it was just him and his mother, he used to think he was her pristine confidant, someone she could unload her criticisms of others on and laugh about it. But as he grew older, her criticisms of him would always get back to him. And they used to hurt until he realized that they didn’t really matter. You have to think about how Sedaris has adopted that mantra in his own life. For it’s not just his husband and family and friends and strangers he encounters that he’s cutting into, but also himself. His humor called on me not to take life so seriously. Nothing is that big of a deal in the end because it always begets something else.

A particular striking comment was about writers and their material. How he doesn’t even understand how people don’t write about what happens to them, “Like if I got in a car accident, I’d think great! That’s two paragraphs right there!” His experience is his material. Nothing fantastical or imaginary. He said when you begin to adopt that mindset, you start to see the world differently. Like you embrace whatever might be happening, good or bad, because it’s something to share. It’s something worth writing about.

He sort of made me realize that I am indeed a writer. I’ve been journaling since I was 20 years old, so a little over six years now. I consider my journals, however many I’ve filled, to be the most precious things that I own. Even though they’re probably all filled with crap about feelings. Sedaris is currently working on publishing a book of material from his journals. Hearing that gave me goosebumps. Could that ever be me? He said the most obnoxious thing about re-reading the material he wrote when he was younger is that it was all about feelings. Feelings, feelings, feelings. And that, I relate to. I pour on and on about feelings a lot of the time. He read some material from his journal of the past 3-4 years, and I noticed the content was about experiences. Things that actually had happened, not how he felt about them. This rang loud and clear in my ears.

I want to focus more on writing stories, instead of how I feel. In the long run, those small moments will remind me much more about my life and myself than a personal psychological examination. And I love my life. It’s remarkable. And if not seemingly so on the surface, it’s all about how you tell the story. I suppose this is a transition that happens. Write for selfish reasons or write for others. I realize now that it shouldn’t just be about me anymore.