Issaquah, Washington, was a peaceful place, usually a steady presence. But on that quiet December 12th, 2011, the world felt like a storm around me, both literally and figuratively. I was grappling with the emotional turmoil of a painful divorce. Each day seemed like a battle, a step into the unknown after years of certainty.
Compounding that heartache was the memory of Hurricane Katrina devastating the lives of so many, including my parents. It wasn’t just their house that perished under the merciless skies; it was an entire archive of family memories—photos, films, letters, documents, timeless stories—washed away as if we had never existed. My heritage, a rich tapestry of stories and experiences, had vanished.
Amidst this chaos, a familiar fire began to smolder in my heart. It was a quiet longing, a yearning to reconnect with, and regain, the lost roots of my life. I realized that “a desire to recover my heritage and to preserve my stories for future generations” was no longer just an echo in the back of my mind; it was a clarion call for action.
I wasn’t alone in this sense of loss. Conversations with friends revealed similar tales—a collective lament over stories untold and memories buried with the past because people didn’t know how to express them. They “wanted to tell their life story but did not know how.” This realization was no lightning bolt of an idea; it was more of a “smoldering ember,” taking its time to catch fire in my mind. It took time to illuminate the path I needed to follow—to understand how not only to preserve memorabilia and artifacts related to family heritage but also how to capture the vivid stories attached to those artifacts.
Storytelling is an art; most felt “daunted by how to tell their life story,” lost in the enormity of it. I saw that the solution lay not in one long, monolithic chronicle but in a “series of short stories,” creating a rich “multimedia anthology” of life. My vision began to take shape—a virtual biographer to interview and assist in writing these stories.
The birth of “Times of My Life” was catalyzed by a defining moment—a moment of profound validation that came when I witnessed my 93-year-old father, usually taciturn about his past, interacting with a prototype of our virtual biographer. Watching as it gently guided him to narrate his cherished life experiences, I saw the sparkle of gratitude in his eyes. When he read his story, tears of pride streamed down his face. He understood then that his story would not just live on; it would resonate through the hearts of his descendants.
The virtual biographer offered people the priceless gift of immortality through legacy, a feeling that they would “never be forgotten.”
Early on, the challenges seemed insurmountable. “There was no artificial intelligence like ChatGPT,” no ready-made virtual biographer. Everything had to be done manually—painstakingly writing, blending print, audio, and video. But I pressed on, learning that the path to success is often paved with missteps and relentless iterations.
We integrated and refined a voice cloning feature, which was complex and time-consuming, but it allowed people to hear their stories in their own voices, an authenticity that technology had never before offered.
My co-founder, Anthony Phills, a visionary UX designer, joined me on this journey. Our partnership was a mix of synergy and strain, especially since Anthony could only contribute occasionally, focusing solely on design elements. Still, our shared vision—to “help people capture and preserve their stories”—held us together, even through the friction.
Aided by advisors with different skill sets, we received invaluable insights. They were the sounding boards where half-formed ideas crystallized into actionable strategies.
Throughout this journey, our guiding principles were clear—we are a “public benefit company,” measuring success not by profits but by the number of stories captured and preserved, the legacies safeguarded for future generations. Building The Leaves Legacy Project has been about creating a culture of storytelling as a means of doing good rather than making money. Every person’s story, I believe, is a thread in the broader fabric of human experience.
Our culture was modeled not after any I had lived, but after the one I wished had existed—one where every voice is valued and every life remembered.
My long-term aspiration is grand—a global call to action for everyone to use our application, each capturing at least one story that marks their journey through life. I dream of collaborations with organizations that have vast audiences—churches, schools, funeral homes, and so many more—helping them adopt and tailor “Times of My Life” to suit their communities.
In setting a new standard for how life stories are captured, shared, and preserved, we hope to redefine cultural practices, moving from fleeting greetings to meaningful “story cards,” personal gifts that echo across years to come. It’s a vision rooted in a deep personal loss but grown into something that touches countless lives, ensuring that our stories live on, etching moments of human truth into the history of our world.