In 2019 I gave a talk at a law firm about my breakdown. In 2026 the same material became a book.
A proper book, with hard covers, a dust jacket and terrific reader feedback. But a shortish book, of just 124 pages.
It’s a specimen of what I call a micro-memoir. Not a whole life story but a meaningful slice – the kind of thing that many people mean to write some day.
This morning I rediscovered a recording of that talk.
It reminded me that the raw stuff was there the whole time. What took seven years wasn’t finding the material. It was finding the shape – and a deadline.
Most people carrying a story to tell don’t need more material. They need a container.