June 6th, 1997 is the first journal entry I made at age 7. Journaling is a practice I’ve carried throughout my life, and it had evolved over the years, waxed and waned, but never left me. I have 24 journals filled from my earlier years of life. Some were daily gratitude journals, some recounting my days and sharing my emotions and struggle, some were prayer journals where I recorded who specifically I was praying for and what for them, some were journals for designated travel/trips sharing stories, details, insights, and all contain thoughts and ideas of my quandaries throughout life. Seeing my mental, emotional, and personal developments over the years through my writing is trippy.
In college I purchased my first bound journal. These journals have 388 numbered pages. I buy them from a hardware store in Canada. They claim to be waterproof and fireproof, though I’m not anxious to test that theory. October 20th, 2010 is when I started my first journal like this. Today, I start my fifth. I don’t like to proclaim myself a writer, as I struggle to identify with something I don’t consider myself a near expert in, and then imposter syndrome sneaks in. But, looking at the evidence I am indeed a writer. Because I write. And I find I write often. And at times, feel compelled to share what I write with either video or written text. 24 journals from earlier in life and now on to my 5th journal of 388 pages for some of my later years and chapters.
I also blog on this site. I was reminded of this when a student of mine who is taking Asahi Nordic with my at the library came to me before class on Saturday and told me they had been going through tons of my blog posts and sharing them with people she thought they would help. I was touched. I had forgotten about them, the hours I would spend constructions my thoughts and ideas into coherent sentences with the hopes that even one could relate, feel connected, or feel challenged. It reminded me. I am a writer, because I write.
My final entry in journal #4 I reflect on what will happen to my journals someday. It’s a curiosity of mine, though the answer will not matter to me in the end. Where do you think all these words will go? Will the float off to sea with words still intact? Are these journals really fireproof? Time will tell.
Thanks for listening to my writing,
Courtney Anne
CaH
