The thought of the week is: Never write something if you don’t want it to live forever. I was scanning through a few of my journals the other day and for a few minutes I sat. Staring at the spiral bounds and hardcovers, flipping through to see my mental progression. I’ve progressed.
As a child writing, it was (of course) mostly angry words about how much I hate so-and-so, or who did what to me. A giant pity party. Then the teenage years struck, documenting my crushes and friends/foes, complaining lightly. Reading any of my recent journal entries, I have unintentionally realized anything I write, lives forever. Someone someday, most likely a family member, will end up going through these thoughts.
My generation was always about documenting every little thing but what no one thinks about is when everything is rounded up and viewed as a whole by grand-kids or people who don’t know you, what will they think? Are you the light hearted person, who’s enjoying their life and recording everything for someone to some day see what you got to experience? Or are you whining about your t.v. breaking, and then informing everyone you’re going to Fry’s to buy some hot-wings for dinner…? Was that really what your life is about? Complaints and unimportant food runs? No.
I’m going to give every journal (I have 12) one good last read, and then burning them. There’s nothing in those worth remembering, or indicative of my view of life now. And as long as those hang around, it’s a constant reminder of how unhappy I was, conflicting with how comfortable I am with things this very second. Forward and not back. But in the event you do decide to travel to the past, it should be something wonderful.