My wife and I were going through boxes and drawers we hadn’t opened in two years, and she came across journals from her study abroad in college. (We don’t currently journal). She read a few pages and exclaimed “oh my god, I was such a whiner,” and trashed them.
When I read my journal writing from years ago, I also am surprised at the stranger I sound like.
Do you journal? Do you keep them? Do you ever revisit them?
I see the value in journaling to order your current thoughts. I can imagine being amused re-reading my worries when I was younger. I can appreciate the admonition that the hope my younger self held could possibly give a possibly disillusioned older self. Or alternately, the pride my more productive and satisfied older self could feel considering all the procrastination complaints of my younger self. I say if they’re not too heavy, keep them. But if they’re shelves full? To the dump!
In college, I sold my personality to this girl’s group from one of my communication classes, she said they were looking for “unique characters” as a basis for an in-development TV show. I had to fill out a questionnaire and was team-interviewed. To this day, I’m not sure if it was for real or a psychology experiment.
Curiously, only a few years later, influenced maybe by reading too much C.S. Lewis, I decided to redefine “soul” as “personality”
[scream face emoji]
So, a little “find and replace” linguistically, you could say I sold my soul for $60 and they never even made a TV pilot!
I have a giant drawerful and then some. My sister has strict instructions to confiscate immediately upon my death. There's some cringy, cringy stuff in there.
Some I go back to when I'm looking for a voice. Like I've got this middle grade novel and so I went back to all my middle school journals to see what I was thinking about (boys), what I talked about (boys), etc.
Some years are more difficult to read, and I only go to when desperately trying to remember something or if I'm looking for a clue (I know that sounds weird, but my journals are totally the gift my past self left to my future self).
As cringy as they are, I would never ever throw them away. I once threw away a box of notes I'd saved from basically kindergarten through senior year, and I deeply, deeply regret it. Luckily I saved some of the more sentimental ones. Like I have notes from childhood boyfriends who are now dead, that I will save forever.
My great grandma journaled, and when she died, all her grandkids passed them around. It has in it how she felt bad for my grandma when my mom got pregnant with me (at age 18). Like but that's as steamy as it gets. If people read my diaries...well. Let's just say I hope my sister doesn't let that happen.
I tend to only have journals from trips, some event where I’ll want something to help me remember later. Otherwise, knowing there’s no audience, why bother?
But once, when my heart was broke, I couldn’t sleep, these accusing thoughts kept tormenting me, keeping me awake, until I wrote them all down, and the act of saying them, writing them, made them less powerful, made them manageable, so then I could sleep and rest and reconsider. Since then, I’ve appreciated the therapeutic use of journaling. BUT, also since then, I’ve never journaled to exorcise emotional distress.
I see the value in journaling to order your current thoughts. I can imagine being amused re-reading my worries when I was younger. I can appreciate the admonition that the hope my younger self held could possibly give a possibly disillusioned older self. Or alternately, the pride my more productive and satisfied older self could feel considering all the procrastination complaints of my younger self. I say if they’re not too heavy, keep them. But if they’re shelves full? To the dump!
Next time you are about to send to the dump, mail to me instead. I will fictionalize you in a nanosecond, Wil. ;)
In college, I sold my personality to this girl’s group from one of my communication classes, she said they were looking for “unique characters” as a basis for an in-development TV show. I had to fill out a questionnaire and was team-interviewed. To this day, I’m not sure if it was for real or a psychology experiment.
Curiously, only a few years later, influenced maybe by reading too much C.S. Lewis, I decided to redefine “soul” as “personality”
[scream face emoji]
So, a little “find and replace” linguistically, you could say I sold my soul for $60 and they never even made a TV pilot!
😂
I have a giant drawerful and then some. My sister has strict instructions to confiscate immediately upon my death. There's some cringy, cringy stuff in there.
Some I go back to when I'm looking for a voice. Like I've got this middle grade novel and so I went back to all my middle school journals to see what I was thinking about (boys), what I talked about (boys), etc.
Some years are more difficult to read, and I only go to when desperately trying to remember something or if I'm looking for a clue (I know that sounds weird, but my journals are totally the gift my past self left to my future self).
As cringy as they are, I would never ever throw them away. I once threw away a box of notes I'd saved from basically kindergarten through senior year, and I deeply, deeply regret it. Luckily I saved some of the more sentimental ones. Like I have notes from childhood boyfriends who are now dead, that I will save forever.
My great grandma journaled, and when she died, all her grandkids passed them around. It has in it how she felt bad for my grandma when my mom got pregnant with me (at age 18). Like but that's as steamy as it gets. If people read my diaries...well. Let's just say I hope my sister doesn't let that happen.
Never wrote a journal. Not sure why. I have a super good memory though, aided by spite, so perhaps that's why.
Oh no! Ha!
I tend to only have journals from trips, some event where I’ll want something to help me remember later. Otherwise, knowing there’s no audience, why bother?
But once, when my heart was broke, I couldn’t sleep, these accusing thoughts kept tormenting me, keeping me awake, until I wrote them all down, and the act of saying them, writing them, made them less powerful, made them manageable, so then I could sleep and rest and reconsider. Since then, I’ve appreciated the therapeutic use of journaling. BUT, also since then, I’ve never journaled to exorcise emotional distress.