I never could keep a journal, handwritten, digital, or otherwise. I’m not really sure what stopped me, but I know that plenty of people experience this same phenomenon. And oddly enough I have this bizarre desire to write even though I’m not good for more than a sentence or two, or the odd poem.
I started blogging. One day, I realized that not only was blogging a way of keeping a journal, but also that every time I tagged a post as “personal,” it was like a daily entry. I went back through my history and read these entries—every single one. After reading through all the bad times and the sporadic good, I realized that some of them were more beautiful than I thought at the time. I had developed a style of writing.
These are not recollections of events, these are my feelings as I can best describe them. I don’t want a journal of events, I want a journal of moments, of feelings, of emotion taking over my body and forcing my hands to write. I want a journal composed of comments on myself and of my relationships and the things that matter so much my own body felt compelled to record them. Come to think of it, maybe that’s why I couldn’t ever keep a journal in the first place.
This is a (growing) compilation of those posts I found most relevant, most beautiful, and most true.