A Journal Prompt
And my own answer to it.
I still remember the small chunky diary I kept when I was 13. It was a peach color, with peach pages, peachy thin faded lines to write upon, and decorated with not only the simple line drawings throughout, but with stickers I stuck upon the cover. I can’t recall much of what I wrote about other than school, friends, and cute boys. I threw it away along with mountains of other journals probably about a decade ago.
Perhaps that is strange, the throwing away. However, throughout all of the years I’ve kept a journal, the purpose of it was not for a historical record for my family to peruse should they be inclined, but for my own meditations and musings, a place to work my thoughts out, to consider my ways lest I fall into deep ditches that become normalized and comfortable trenches of needling discouragement I can’t put my finger on. Somehow, seeing the challenges I endure described right there in pen on paper takes the bite out of them, and frees my mind to t…