What I Put Down In Ink

Pictured: Blue Journal (August 28, 2002 – December 13, 2006), Red Journal (December 17, 2006 – December 5, 2009), Black Journal (December 5, 2009 – present), and a black Bic pen (I use these to write everything).

I’ve been journaling off and on for most of my life, I guess, but never with any kind of consistency. Some of that writing I still have, but a lot of it I destroyed. It’s risky business having a journal around when you’ve got four siblings. I count my real start as the night before I left for college. It was August 28, 2002. I began with, “this is it”–very possibly the most optimistic words in the entire journal. No, it’s not that bad, but if I didn’t have this accidentally-symbolic blue journal, I think it would be too easy for me to forget about a time in my life when I was miserable.

I’m also grateful for the way it catches me wrestling with the theological questions that have become such a big part of my life. Admittedly, it is difficult for me to read some of the things I wrote when I believed in a supernatural God and all the meant to be and everything happens for a reason stuff that goes along with it. ¹ The worst is that the whole things reeks of a girl struggling to be perfect. You can imagine the kind of disappointment and self-loathing that followed from that.

Four and a half years after starting, I reached the final page of the blue journal. I had a college degree and a great deal more confidence, but best of all, I was happy. Looking back over all those pages, though, I was a little embarrassed with the self preoccupation and so I ended with, “For so many years now I have been blinded by my own struggles and insecurities, and have failed to see those of others . . . .” Now, I’m willing to cut myself some slack. If there’s one place you should be given free reign for even the worst kind of self-importance, it’s in a journal.

I began the red journal while at home for Christmas during my first year of grad school. I was about to turn 23 and I meant business. My first words, “22 was the year I sat patiently and waited for an amazing life to find me. 23 is the year I say, ‘screw patience–there’s no virtue in waiting quietly–I’m fighting for the life I want!’” The red journal was when I discovered a thing called paragraphs, and I haven’t looked back since.

As if life is consistent enough for a summary, I’ll say that this journal is mostly about me trying to figure out what I want to do with my life, trying to become bolder and more confident, and an embarrassing lot of boy-craziness. It’s also where I first wondered if I could do something with this kind of informal writing. A blog perhaps?

I could say the blog has negatively impacted my journaling. For a while I didn’t know what to do with my journal if I was pouring my heart out to the internet, but I eventually found a place for it again and I’ve gone back to slowly filling the pages, sometimes writing every day and other times taking weeks and even months off.

Just a couple days ago, I wrote the final words in the red journal.  Sure, it didn’t happen as dramatically as I hoped, but I have become bolder and more confident–exactly what I wished for myself when I started three years ago. Finally, I encouraged myself to stop shying away from things, to stop trying to be anonymous, and instead to work on creating a name for myself.  For the first time ever, I’m thinking about my career.

For my first entry in the black book, I decided to ponder the question of why I journal in the first place.  Like blogging, I can think of many reasons, but the real one is that I just enjoy it so much.  I love it.

1. It’s true that I don’t believe these things anymore, but the reason it bothers me is that I used them as an excuse to sit and be patient rather than go after what I wanted in life. [↩]