When I was in middle school I kept a journal. I didn’t write in my diary every single night, but it was always there, ready to listen, ready to help me work through thoughts and feelings I wasn’t quite ready to share with anyone else.
I’m not sure what happened to those diaries, or when they stopped being important enough for me to care. But now, more than twenty years later, I often wish I’d held onto those journals.
Like many writers, I’m completely obsessed with writing instruments. I’m admittedly snobbish about which pens I use. (The disposable pens in my possession serve one purpose–to be loaned to other people.) But my true obsession is notebooks and journals. I fall in love with them as easily as a tween falls in love with the teenage heart throb du jour. I collect them the way the eccentric lady up the block collects cats. I write in them with the frequency of rainfall in the Mojave Desert.
Time and again, I start a new journal, determined to maintain it faithfully. But within a few weeks it becomes one more chore, and eventually it falls by the wayside. Still when I run across another journal, I fall in love all over and the process starts again. Maybe this time will be different. 😉
What about you? Did you keep a journal as a kid? Do you keep one now?