Journals

I was just reading a review of a book I'll likely never read that referenced a scene in which the narrator refers to a room of his house where one wall is concealed floor-to-ceiling with journals, some of which are written in huckleberry juice. This immediately made me think of Fight Club, when Edward Norton is reading stacks of old books and magazines rotting away in a house with leaky ceilings and sporadic electricity. But I also wondered, how long would it take to read all that stuff?

When you consider how long it takes you to write a page versus read one, it's pretty clear you could do it up until a certain point in your life, even if you wrote in your journal everyday. The serial killers and mentally ill you read about may even write all day everyday to accumulate their libraries. But there would eventually come a time in everyone's life when it will become impossible to read everything you had written up to that point in the remaining life left to you.

This blog is only the fourth journal I have ever kept, following an English class assignment, my travels on my semester abroad, and "Notes from the Road", published here in February 2004. My roommate keeps journals, and when he comes to the end of one, he re-reads what he's written before starting the next one.

Now imagine how much better of a grasp you could have on your own history if you were to read your journals all the way from the beginning to the present. Memory is unreliable, personality is malleable, but the written word doesn't change. Assuming you weren't making things up, and allowing for the fact that you may have consciously or unconsciously held things back when writing, you may discover truths that you were blind to at the time and gain real insight into yourself. Or you may just unearth forgotten memories and the faces of lost friends, like looking through a photo album.

But this is the promise of blogging for me, and probably many others, keeping a record and being able to reflect on it in the future. Sometimes we lose ourselves to our circumstances or surroundings, and this is a new tool available to us to find our way back. It's up to each individual whether or not to let others peek in at the same time, like handing someone your diary, and here's the difference: almost everyone blogs for the world, while reading someone's diary is still an intimate act, and done without permission, a violation. I don't know if that's a sign of the connected world's narcissism or truly a blossoming of openness in expression, but it feels like a good thing to me.