I filled out another journal last night. This is an occurrence that is always set to happen the minute I put pen to paper with any journal I start. At the same time, it’s one where each time it happens, it leaves me feeling both fulfilled and constantly wondering.
In the time since I first wrote about my constantly growing collection of journals, my life has changed and so has this world. Some people who were in my life three years ago are no longer there, and vice versa. The same can be applied to the world. Circumstances of varying degrees have arisen and taken their hold on my life to some capacity or another, and without a doubt, a lot of my thoughts about them can be found written down in my journals.
I still write of milestones of my own making in my life, along with any good and bad moments that come at me on a daily. But because of all that has been happening in the three years since completing my undergrad studies, I feel that my thoughts have deepened with the times. Yeah, I consider that a natural occurrence the longer and more frequently one writes in a journal, but this is different. I’m starting to understand how it is to keep a private documentation when times are the most unbalanced. Anne Frank wrote through a war. I’m writing through a crazy political climate.
With the journal I filled out last night and the one before that, I concluded both of them by musing over how it will be to read these entries many years from now, from a (hopefully) more peaceful era. What will I think of my current circumstances then?
Ultimately, that is both the gift and the burden of journals; they are spaces for jotting down your thoughts, only to reflect back on with new thoughts later.
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