I’m slowly re-reading my hand-written journals, starting with one I began in August, 2002: nearly ten years ago, when I began journaling in large, lined Moleskine notebooks that now fill a shelf of their own.
It’s strange and surreal to have a day-to-day chronicle of one’s own life, an account that’s infinitely more raw and personal than anything I’d share on my blog. I’ve always enjoyed reading writers’ journals: my fondness for May Sarton, for instance, comes from her prose journals, not her poetry, and I love reading the mundane thoughts of essayists such as Virginia Woolf and Henry David Thoreau. I’ve intermittently kept a journal since high school, but I destroyed most of my scattered and self-absorbed notebooks from high school, college, and even the early days of graduate school. Only in 2002 did I start keeping the journals I kept.
It’s interesting to eavesdrop on another’s mind; it’s interesting to see how the rhythms of thought get patterned into prose. When you read the journal of a writer you’re familiar with, you can recognize in embryonic form the ideas and images that appear in later published pieces. One fascinating aspect of reading excerpts from Thoreau’s 1851 journal with my former writing students, for instance, is the way bits of Thoreau’s later essays appear there: for instance, scattered passages that ultimately appeared in the essay “Walking,” which was published in its present form only after Thoreau’s death.
When you read your own journal, you can trace the foreshadowing of a story whose outcome you know, having lived it. In 2002, my father was diagnosed with a cancer I now know he survived; in 2002, I applied and began training for an online teaching job I still have. In 2002, I knew my first marriage was doomed but didn’t have the courage to end it: that wouldn’t happen until two years later. In 2002, I lived with, tended, and had as my constant companion a dog in the prime of life who I couldn’t envision ever growing old, much less dying.
When literary scholars read the journals, letters, and other ephemera of published authors, they are looking for the seeds of greatness: how did this artist take the thoughts in her or his head and commit them to paper? When I read my own journals, I’m similarly looking for suggestive patterns, but only as they provide insight into personality: who was I then, and what happened in the interim to make me who I am now?
I think it’s significant, somehow, that it took me ten years to complete my PhD; I taught for just over ten years at Keene State; and now I’m revisiting nearly ten years of journal entries that offer their own partial slice of both experiences. Now that Reggie’s dead and I’ve left Keene State, it feels like it’s time to move onto something new–something Next. When I finished my dissertation, colleagues warned me of the let-down graduates often feel in the absence of a Big Project…but when I finished my dissertation, I quickly moved onto the big transitions of divorce, life as a single woman, marriage to J, and ultimately moving from Keene. Only now do I feel like the emotional aftermath–Buddhists would say the karma–of so many changes is starting to clear, providing an opportunity for me to discern my next step. What better way to figure out what to do with the next ten years of my life than by re-visiting my journals with their day-to-day account of the past ten years?
Jul 17, 2012 at 9:14 pm
Hm, this is making me consider going back and reading mine from the past 10 years, because I think that’s about how far back my saved journals go. I have felt like the past 7 years swept me up from my quiet rural freelance-from-home life into a maelstrom of parental changes, relationship changes, exhausting full-time job, new town, 2 new apartments, and now dropped into freelance life again in a new place, the maelstrom having moved on and left me here.
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Jul 17, 2012 at 9:53 pm
Okay, that lasted about 10 minutes. I guess 10 years back was too far – unreadable!
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Jul 18, 2012 at 1:12 pm
Ha! Well, it was a good idea while it lasted! You’ve definitely been through a lot of changes these past 10 years: we both have!
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Jul 17, 2012 at 9:19 pm
Strange timing of this post since I started doing that too. Over the weekend when cleaning things out I ran into my journal with entries from 1996. In many ways I had the same realization you did.
My goals seemed insumountable at the time but I had an inkling that it was possible somehow, someway,in some cases it was way more rewarding than imagined and a lot easier. There were a few surprises and some rough patches along the way but I wouldn’t trade that time in for anything.
I’ve since switched to journaling on the computer, since it’s password locked the depths of the journal increased allowing me a new freedom to explore seemingly impossible dreams and darkest fears.
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Jul 18, 2012 at 1:14 pm
This blog is the closest thing I have to a computerized journal. I like the immediacy of pen-on-paper: it feels less formal, and less like “work,” than typing on my laptop. But yes…you can’t “lock” a paper journal. You have to trust that the folks you live with won’t peek into pages that weren’t written for them.
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Jul 18, 2012 at 5:59 pm
I love re-reading my old journals, though I don’t do it much. Some of them I’m sure I’ve never re-read. I have them from 1989-2009, and from 1979-1984. Like you, I destroyed the ones in between, from college. Do you ever regret that? I do, sometimes, but my god, they were embarrassing to read.
I find it hard these days to keep a handwritten journal. Purely mechanically, handwriting is difficult for me now. My hands just don’t work as well as they used to! I’ve pretty much succumbed to typing everything. My blog is all the journaling I do now, and I do miss the depth of my private writing.
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Jul 18, 2012 at 6:16 pm
Steve, I actually thought of you when I started re-reading, since I know you’ve blogged about your journals in the past! I don’t regret destroying my teenage and twenty-something journals: if I had kept them all, I’d be drowning in notebooks!
For the time being, I love the physical immediacy of handwriting: I sometimes think that I think more freely that way. But I’m sure there will come a time when writer’s cramp turns into something more troubling, and I’ll have to revisit a typed journal.
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Jul 20, 2012 at 2:09 am
There is definitely an intimacy to handwriting that the keyboard lacks! And yeah, drowning in notebooks is an unfortunate side effect of journaling. 🙂
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Jul 19, 2012 at 1:39 am
With the exception of the last few years, I had a habit of reviewing my diaries a few days before each birthday-it was a spiritual cleansing process that made for a great birthday. Don’t know why I stopped doing that. Need to return to it.
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Jul 19, 2012 at 6:14 pm
That sounds like a great practice! I’ve never done that with my handwritten journal, but I try to do a “year in review” post at the end of December, to mark my blog-anniversary. It’s always fascinating to look back on the previous year.
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