I am so grateful that I kept journals in my youth. I am not as grateful for the lack of journal keeping in my young adult life.
Tonight, I was sorting through boxes of old stuff from my high school bedroom. My mom has kept boxes in her basement since I graduated high school and I haven’t seen them since then. It’s been nearly seven years, and going through the different papers and photos felt as familiar as though I’d been in high school last week.
I found my journals from the age of 13. I couldn’t help but read the heartfelt, funny entries. I literally laughed and cried as my eyes passed over this time capsule of emotions. It’s almost hard to comprehend how real those life events are to me still, even after all these years. It is difficult to understand how all of the experiences I had have woven together into the tapestry of my life.
In many ways, growing older has spoiled my sense of wonder. I’m skeptical and cynical at a lot of things. Even the thought of writing on a blog – something I used to do simply for the fun of it – feels like it should be strategic and SEO oriented because, why else write a blog?
I guess it’s safe to say that I probably have no readers on this blog at this point, so maybe it’s time to get in the habit again. Josh and I are moving to California in a few weeks for the next unknown amount of years – three at the very minimum! We have a whole life a head of us! And I have a lifetime of new journals to fill and blog posts to publish.
Here’s the future. Here’s to saying “goodbye” to old memories in old journals for now and “hello” to new adventures.