Inspired to write some type of memoir, I asked my big strong hubby to cart my large, heavy tote filled with all my journals through the years from the garage to our music room. I’ve been wanting to re-read through them and hopefully spark some memories that are worth recounting.
Every time I open this tote, I am usually surprised at how much is in there. I have pretty journals with flowery print, boring spiral notebooks, and Bible studies from years ago. There are my everyday here is what happened in my life journals, prayer journals, notebooks with song ideas sprawled in them, and even little scraps of paper that have snippets of something I deemed worthy of preserving. Sometimes I wonder if holding onto these is practical. It does take up lots of space, and when I’m gone, will anyone really want to read them? But then my journals make the list of the three things I would grab if my house were on fire. These are special to me. They’re filled with memories that have slipped from my subconscious. They show how I’ve changed and matured through the years. Above all, the physical act of putting pen to paper is so therapeutic to me that I can’t see giving up on journaling. So I will continue to write, and continue to fill totes.
When I began rifling through the tote, I figured chronologically might be the best way to start. I found the diary I kept in elementary school, complete with a lock that I don’t think I have the key for anymore. I guess I’ll have to break in. For now, I’ll skip it and come back to it later.
The next journals I had were from high school. I could only bring myself to read snippets from them. I have a low tolerance for teenagers and can only put up with so much drama and self absorption. Apparently my teenage self isn’t exempt. I cringed at the shallowness in some of the entries. Filled with self pity and oh woe is me mentalities, I rolled my eyes at half the entries. I put them down and went onto the next one; my college journals. I know I’ll need to read thru ALL of my high school journals soon, but we’ll just take it a little at a time.
It’s interesting to read thoughts of a former me. There’s a country song entitled “Letter to Me.” It talks of writing a letter to himself at age 17, shedding some light on his breakup and other teenage dramas. He’s pretty gentle and understanding in the song, but I think if I could write a letter to 17 year old me, I’d be shaking me and yelling, “GET OVER YOURSELF!” But I suppose I should be gentle. I was young, lacking life experience, and still learning. Heck, I still am.
As I wrote a bit in my journal last night before bed, I found myself wondering what I’ll be thinking when I read this journal ten years from now. I wonder if I’ll be shaking my head and saying, “Oh, how naive she was…”
