Return to Journaling

One of the first Christmas gifts I received when I immigrated to America was a diary, a "Secret Garden" themed diary to be exact. I am not sure why my parents decided to get me this, though to be fair, I had asked for a Brittanica Encyclopedia for Christmas...so perhaps the diary didn't seem so farfetched. I remember my Dad having one of those large video recorders (he has and still is very into whatever latest tech gadgets exist) recording me opening up the Encyclopedia and me ripping open paper and shrieking "I got it! I got it!" which when we played back our home VHS videos, he proclaimed "You were the weirdest kid, who asks for an Encyclopedia?" I explained, apparently, I don't recall saying this, that now I could "learn about anything". This small request for knowledge by my very small self later lead to only education themed Christmas gifts from then on, which as I got a little bit older, was kind of a bummer. 

I digress. The diary was received that same Christmas, and I am pretty sure I started writing in it right away. I believe the next few years after I would receive a new diary for every Christmas (I recall my Pocahontas themed one, the inside covers had glued photos of JTT and Lisa Frank stickers) and it sort of started this tradition for me of writing all throughout the year and by New Year's Eve, to retire the old diary and begin anew. I did this up until I started journaling in an online diary (in my late teens), which I did avidly, which led to blogging accompanied with photos (my 20s), which led to softly capitalizing on blogging and creating content (my 20s to mid 30s), which burned me out and for several years I didn't blog at all, though Instagram sort of served that purpose. 

For Christmas, three years ago, my little sister bought me a diary. Which I used for a couple of weeks, then stopped writing in it again. Sometime this summer, out of the blue, I picked up my diary and saw I had written 3 entries in 2022, and 6 in 2023. I realized as I read how little I remembered of my day to day because work occupies so much of my brain. As I read, I actually remembered other details of that day because of something else I wrote in my diary. Now, looking back, I regret not having documented the minutia of everyday life. I love those little details and they help recall so much more of the day. I know so many things had happened in the last two years and my regret mingles with melancholy as now I can only faintly recall the weddings, the births, the deaths, the joys and heartaches. I know they happened, but the little details are gone. I know I was there, but without my memories and thoughts of the day, it feels as if the memory has grayed out and becomes fragmented.

Sidebar: One of my fears is getting dementia. I think forgetting people, places, memories, and bits of my life and things I hold dear sounds absolutely horrible. Forgetting those I love, forgetting our times together, it tugs at my heart even now to think about. Because this is a fear of mine, I try to exercise my brain by teaching myself languages, learning how to do new things, reading, and researching in depth whatever it is I am transfixed by at the moment. 

I started journaling in my diary again and trying in earnest to get back into this habit of penning down my thoughts in the evenings or early in the morning. It has been really wonderful and as of right now is a good holding space in lieu of therapy as I am currently not in therapy and didn't really find my therapy sessions all that helpful. That's another conversation and probably not one I'll journal about here because it's not important. Everyone's therapy experience is personal and different.

In wanting to write this journal entry I asked myself what was the purpose? Why did I want to share this with all of you, whoever you may be dear reader. My hope is it encourages you to write, with ink on paper, in a physical diary, to document your thoughts, your ideas, your hopes, fears...for your future self. Not for an audience. Not for anyone to read and be inspired by or take action. Write in a diary to preserve your present self and your memories. No one is going to read it. No one will have anything to say. No one will comment or give their two cents or tell you your opinion is wrong or your feeling isn't valid. It is truly just something for yourself. Your own words, your own thoughts. A part of you in the present to reflect back upon in your future.  

Painting: René Magritte, Our Daily Bread (Le Pain Quotidien), 1942