Journaling Journey
While looking for paint rollers this week, I stumbled on the only journal I ever maintained, more or less, upstairs in a worn box that says "Fred's Junk". I wrote the first entry on Jan 23, 1974 and the last on 23 Dec 1982. With many lapses all along. I am going to look back through it and see if it tells me anything about who I was then, or why I am the who I am now.
Last entry from almost exactly 20 years ago reads:
Why do I ever abandon the keeping of this journal; and then, why do I ever pick it up again after it sits idle for months? What need, what approach or avoidance requires that I write? What forces sustain or extinguish those urges?Perhaps the answer to both is frustration.
I fail to start writing because words are imprecise, any words; and especially my words. Then there are words I have the ability and desire to say, but refrain, for fear of...?
And yet I must write; I cannot bear to grow old unrecorded, without a word.