Last night, after watching “Enough Already,” on the new OWN network, I started cleaning closets.
I tried on clothing that I haven’t worn in years. I opened drawers, cabinets and closets and heaped books, broken lamps and throw pillows around the living room. I assembled 25 boxes and set them by the back door. Today, in light snow, I drove everything to Goodwill.
All except this pile of old journals.
I was going to toss them – just hurl them into a trash bin and walk away.
Then I thought, I’ll just read through them – just one time. I’ll type up anything that I absolutely love and toss the rest.
Yeah, right.
Might as well cut an arm off – or put all the blood from my body into mason jars. I have been assembling this pile of composition books, spiral notebooks, sketch pads with stiff black covers in various sizes for 25 years. They contain every mystery, every complaint, every experience, every moment of my children’s lives – and mine.
The problem is that the woman who recorded all of that memory wasn’t the same woman who’s reading it.
I piled the journals on the kitchen table in four neat towers. And I thought, I am going to read through every one. It will be a life review – in between book projects. I’m long overdue. I pulled one out. A random choice – made without consideration for the color of the cover, the date of the entries. I began to read.
Ouch.
That was a story I’d forgotten – thank Heaven. I closed the cover. I watched some more Oprah TV – the reality show where we watch Oprah and her team producing the episodes of her last season. In this episode, they were assembling the booty for the “Favorite Things” episode – the one where Oprah gives everyone in her audience a pile of gifts. You know, diamond watches, Ugg boots, AND an Ipad.
Distracted by bling and fantasies of my “best life” I fell asleep.
The next morning as I left the house, I pulled two journals from the pile.I settled into my spot in the corner of the cafe. Got my fresh brewed iced tea (no ice) and my ham and egg on a plate. I opened the cover of the first journal.
Ouch.
So this is how it’s gonna be.
These books are emotional bombs – delivering me right back into stories that I lived through, sorted out and set aside. Most of that sorting was done right in those pages.
And though I am finding some bright and beautiful prose, what I am finding between these pages is a rather extensive list of repeating patterns.
- Pledges to change this and revamp that.
- Complaints, blame and worry.
- Obsessive worries that circle back and back and back again; plans – oh, I have such plans! And yet, though I seem to know exactly what I want to do and even, sometimes, how to do, I don’t.
It isn’t pretty. But it’s real – and it’s time. Here they are: In brightly colored ink, the patterns of thought that keep me stuck.
What an incredible gift.
Yup. I said gift. It hurts, it aches, it sucks to read through this but you know what? From here, at once-remove, I can do something about it.
I’m ready.
Then, there are the big dreams that weave through each journal like threads of golden silk: the apartment in Paris where I’ll live for a month or two each year; the lifestyle – writing in cafes, living in yoga clothes, making my own hours, completing books about spirituality and…
Hey, wait a minute, I’m doing that.
With a shiver, I keep reading. I see how some of these goals stayed with me – the cafe-writing thing, the books, me, the author.
And there are others. Teaching at conference centers, buying my family a summer house by the beach, building a website, healing my marriage…
Wow.
There are repeating patterns here – and one of those patterns is healing, positive and powerful: Steady and open inquiry. Constant open questioning – and, my constant listening friend, the blank white pages of my journal have been there all along.
In this way, I have figured out (so far) who I really am, what I need, what matters most to me. I have tried on all kinds of hats – naturopath, psychotherapist, herbalist, mother and wife – and discerned, for myself, which ones sat properly on my head. Between the pages of my journal there are discarded fancies – but there are also those golden threads that have led me onward and through this labyrinth life and led me here.
So I will continue to read these old journals – and I may or may not discard them. Unlike the books I donated yesterday to the thrift store, the contents of these books cannot be found online. They are one of a kind treasures, filled with gold.
Evidence of a woman struggling to find herself, and though the journey has been full of struggle, the road uneven, there is one repeating pattern of which I am truly proud: Through it all, I never settle for less than happiness. And that is a very good pattern, indeed.
{ 13 comments… read them below or add one }
So often my journey seems more circular to me than one of forward progress. And there is some truth to that. But what I often miss and fail to give myself credit for is my commitment to continuing on, even if that means moving in circles until I’m dizzy sometimes. Maybe I am a slow learner. At least I’m not a dropout. Thanks for reminding me of that.
I like these kind of reminders. In life I feel we all tend to gloss over the bad and remember only the good; sometimes it’s invigorating and reassuring to stumble upon some mess or anxiety we obsessed over long ago and forgot. It’s a reminder of what you can do when you put your mind to it.
It is – the stumbles make me wince a bit but I’m taking great pleasure in seeing how far I really have come.
In my early 20s, I threw out a bunch of old high school journals because I believed them to be nothing more than angst-ridden drivel (which, for the most part, they probably were). But now that I’m 40 and my feeble brain can’t remember like she used to, I feel like a big chunk of my writing history is missing. Thanks for the reminder to hold on to the words that defined us in the past. They are, after all, the roots from which we’ve sprung (even if they should stay underground and never see the light of day). I’m inspired to pull out all my old journals and reconnect with who I am. Thanks!
I did the same thing – blithely (and tearfully) tossed several scrapbooks into a dumpster when a boyfriend broke my heart. Out! I shouted, discarding, along with the pain, many photos and bits of writing. Later, I regretted it. But I also felt free of it and that was important, too.
Ahhh…imagine, if you will, many years from now, when you and I are long gone from this plane ~ young readers meeting a woman, maybe a great, great grandmother, through her writing. They will get to know her and her life, and imagine what an adventure it will be. I wish my ancestors had left writings for me to discover. I would have love to have known their thoughts, and what they dreamed about; their hopes and dreams and successes and failures and daily life routines. My own journals were lost in a fire in 2003 , and I have only sporadically begun again. Oh yes, keep your journals. What a legacy to leave!
Peace and light on your journey.
I’m sure that I will.
I’m finding that reading them is one of the most empowering things I have ever done. More posts to come!
I finally moved my journaling to a private online blog… though I’ll probably print them out some day for posterity sake. I love that pretty little books contain my random rambles about life. It is great to look back at the things I’ve overcome. It always motivates me to get back out there and create some good stuff for my next journal entry!
Oh MAN! I have just been wondering what to do with the filing cabinet drawer full of old journals, that I KNOW are full of “drivel”. See, I’ve been a regular at Goodwill over the past few months (isn’t it amazing that you can just drive up and they take your crap, no questions asked? it shocks me every time), and those journals are getting to be all that’s left in the “haven’t looked at or thought about it in years” category. I too, Donna, have often thought that they will be a gift to some writerly grandchild of mine, but what of space considerations? What happens when the filing cabinet drawer grows to be a walk-in closet stacked densely with annoying journals? But now I guess I will keep them, since this post and its comments have confirmed my fear that some future self will curse this decluttering phase and feel lost without those links to who I once was, and perhaps still am.
Sounds like you have your next book in the pages of that journal.
I’m behind the ball here but just had to say I recently discovered that show and am recording them in hopes they will inpspire me to do what you’re doing (since I can be quite the packrat).
Thanks for sharing your experiences with the process. Also inspiring!
We will do it together. Just reading some journals again today. What a gift.
Amy, A belated happy Valentine’s day to you. Congratulations on your book! AND thank you for sharing this perspective on the journals. I too have bins and bookcases full of them. Yes, the circular path — but no. It’s a spiral really, passing vistas that look subtly familiar, yet never quite the same, even when it maybe looks that way. There’s been learning and some increase in altitude as we circle the mountain. You’re going through what I sometimes call “mining” the journals… gathering all the nuggets of gold in the archaeological strata of our lives. Thank you for sharing your gifts!