I’m a terrible journal-keeper. Always have been. It goes back to the days of pink lock and key diaries, continuing through to the beautifully bound notebooks that I bought annually and swore to maintain daily. I’d occasionally write an entry, spilling out my deepest thoughts and ramblings, then inevitably tear it out days later so no one else could ever read it. Maybe it has something to do with my fiercely private nature, or maybe I just don’t have anything worth writing about? Either way, it’s something that I’ve always longed to do. To be one of those thoughtful writers, documenting life and love and history. Hmmph.
The final realization that I am not, in fact, meant to be a journaler, came to me after a tour of Europe following college graduation. LC and I, along with 30 other recent grads were trekking through 11 European countries in 25 days; an experience that I would surely want to capture in journal form for old me to enjoy for years and years to come. LC even bought us both notebooks. They were matching, spiral bound with lilacs on the cover. The first two days I wrote. I tried to capture every scene, every moment, every emotion with passion and $10 adjectives. By day three, LC and I were reduced to drawing stick figures in her journal to tell the stories in our heads, the ones we came up with as we traveled through historic and beautiful cities. The ones depicting President Bush and the French President playing Boggle. The ones that kept us occupied during the long bus rides and the kept rest of the group rolling their eyes. Yeah, that kind. Her journal is full of chicken scratch caricatures of imagination that kept us giggling for hours. And mine? Mine has two long and painfully boring entries brimming with sentences like, ‘The lush green hills peeking out from underneath the wing of the plane are breathtaking.’ Yeeeah. Confirmation: me + journaling= lame.
I need to make a copy of LC’s journal. Because that, ladies and gentlemen, is what a journal should be. It should make you laugh, or cringe, or blush with memories – even if they’re represented through ridiculous little stick figures. So, maybe that’s it. Maybe I am a journaler. Maybe my definition of journaling has just always been wrong. Maybe instead of trying to capture the innermost workings of my cognizant soul, I should simply be documenting the things happening around me. In pictures and stories and laughter.
That, friends, is my new goal for this blog. Levi started this blog for us before we got married, but it’s obviously been sorely neglected. From now on, I’m going to *try* to be a faithful blogger. I’m even going to go back and predate a few entries to fill in some of the gaping holes in our story. I know that’s kind of cheating, but a lot has happened in the past year that should never be forgotten. And, I want for all of you to know us more. You should do the same, so we can keep up with you. Especially now, as we grow up, move away, change, and build families…
As of today, the last post in our blog was from July 10, 2008. We have a lot of catching-up to do!
:)
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