Reactions to my announcement or remark that I keep a journal range from slight curiosity to rampant indifference. Questions like "what on earth do you write about?" which seems to indication that my life is so uninteresting, unfulfilled or boring that I could not possibly write anything that anyone else would find interesting. Then my favorite: "Am I in it?" I love this question because the answer is cooked to the tastes and individuality of the one that asks. A good friend would be told, "Of course you are in it." accompanied by the relating of a time that we both enjoyed or created together. One of whom I, or he and she, would not find our association particularly solid, might be told a simple "No" or at worse, to make the point, "Definatley not, are you kidding?"
That may not be true of course. One writes in ones journal about everything, good, bad, up times and down times, special occasions and unspectacular events.One's journal is a continued writing made by one, me in this case, in response to their life experiences and events. Most I write some kind of a description of day to day events. Besides those it also contains reflections on what took place, and why, and expresses emotions and understandings about them. It comes a history of your life.
I have been writing my journal(s) since 1972. I can, and do, look back and see myself then, make comparisons as to any progress or failures in my life, its triumphs and its tragedies. Anita Brookner, the English novelist,said "You never know what you will learn till you start writing. Then you discover truths you never knew existed."
One thing I have learned; never use your diary as proof of, or to justify, anything, unless it is a matter of survival or of a life or death experience. In two marriages, I have made the mistake of trying to win an argument, make a point, or defend myself against an uncalled for attack. The response to this has been "You and that damned diary...." or to be accused of actually going back and rewriting the event to my advantage. This is why it is more appropriate to actually put pen to paper and write, in my case, scrawl, the event to keep it in its original meaning and entry.
Nevertheless, I have found great satisfaction in my journals. There have been times when I have completely forgotten an event, or remembered it in a different way, often realizing in the reading how much I have grown, matured, progressed or, thank goodness, forgotten. Many of my published writings have emerged as re-writes of my journals. Those I have loved and who have loved me, have filled my pages positively, and those that haven't have been remembered more in affection or nostalgia, than in bitterness.
My childhood, the growing years, my marriages, the birth and maturing of my children, waymarks and milestones of my journey from birth to present day, are all spread across the pages, recording family, friends, and the world at large. I can no more NOT write in my journal than to stop breathing. Journals have been reliable records of the famous and infamous. They have been records of families and fortunes by those fortunate to have both. "Writing is my refuge." said Charles B. Johnson, "It's where I go. It's where I find that integrity I have." I agree.
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