First and foremost, sorry for the hiatus, folks. I’ve been backpacking with some fellow college freshmen, preparing to move into my dorm next week, losing sleep over getting tuition and everything paid for, but also, in some weird, paradoxical way, managing to feel very at peace with everything. I returned from the backpacking trip feeling like a new person for some reason, and I’m still working out why that may be, and I promise when I know the answer, or at least have the slightest idea, I will try to write a post about it, because it was a really pivotal experience and I want to share it. For now though, I want to talk about journaling again, because I’m thisclose to filling one of my own up and starting a new one, and I am totally, extra all about the journaling thing these days. Also, don’t expect this post to be a very organized one. I’m just trying to get back into the headspace for blogging, so I don’t know what I’m doing.
I realized recently that the kind of journal I keep is actually not really the norm. Not that there is a norm. It’s just that, when I read blog posts about journaling that are written by people who seem equally passionate about the activity, they all seem to have really different ideas of what journals are for. For me, it serves as a convenient place to hoard my memories. I write about moments that matter to me, and read into them and suck all the emotional nutrients out of them. Then two or so months later, I decide I want to relive them and flip back a year in my life story and reread them because I have a nasty habit of dwelling in the past. Journaling is my way of making sense of everything that happens to me. I rarely use prompts. I choose to record my creative ideas elsewhere, usually. My journals are my life stories. They are full of my thoughts about the reality I am living in and dreams for the future that I want to have. But they really aren’t that creative. I feel bad about that. Like, what kind of journal keeper am I? There’s no poetry in my journals (I take that back actually… there are some pitiful attempts from 2012. I try not to think about those though). There are no little stories or beautiful drawings or inspirational quotes or romantic observations of the world. You might find a corny joke or two or an awful pun though. It’s likely that you will find pages of my languid, numb, depressed musings. Or the word ‘fuck’ engraved into the page twenty one times along with bits of broken pencil led and murderous holes stabbed in the paper (I do not miss my days of being a suicidal wreck).
It’s like every other journal keeper has a way more creative approach to journaling though. Among those people, there is a vast diversity in journal types, but I was so sure I was the majority. So I don’t know whether to feel like I’m missing out on a type of journaling that could be super awesome, or to feel proud that my simple approach to journaling is something that is apparently out of the ordinary, even though I was so certain it was the norm. Or maybe I should stop fussing over it altogether. I don’t know. What do you do with your journal?