I grew up in the late 1960’s and early 70’s. Almost every girl I knew kept a diary. It was usually no larger than your hand, with a pseudo lock on the front that could easily be picked with a bobby pin. But why go to the trouble, because the little key was generally attached.

My little diary was filled with all of the highs and lows that a preteen girl could have!

Dear Diary,

Today was horrible! I stopped off at the girls bathroom before going to lunch. When I walked out, there was a piece of toilet paper stuck to the bottom of my shoe, and I didn’t notice it! A bunch of people saw it when I walked into the lunch room! I was so embarrassed. I don’t want to go to school tomorrow.

Dear Diary,

You know I told you about Freddy the other day? I think he’s really cute. Well, I think he likes me. Today he came up to my locker and asked me if I was going to the basketball game on Saturday. He wants us to ride the pep bus together. Wish me luck!

Dear Diary,

Tomorrow is my last day of eighth grade! We had an assembly at school today just for the eighth graders. Our principal got up in front of everybody telling us about high school… something about today we are the big fish in a little pond. He said, as freshmen, we will be the little fish in a big pond. Dang. What if I get lost on my first day of high school?

These aren’t actual excerpts, but you get the idea.

Move on to adulthood.

As much as I have tried, I can’t seem to journal.

I love the idea of a beautiful leather bound journal with blank pages. I love the idea of having the luxury of time to put my innermost thoughts on paper. Sure, I can share some pretty intimate things on this platform, but it’s what I cherry pick to share.

But to get real about my thoughts, my challenges in life, my fears, my insecurities, my relationships, and to put it all on paper…. that’s tough. Is my fear that I can’t be authentic with the threat that my words might be read by someone else? Is my fear that I might have to act on areas in my life that need improvement? Am I really the open book that I thought I was?

Regardless of my reluctance, I’m going to try this again.

Maybe I’ll skip the beautiful leather bound journal with blank pages. Just maybe I’ll pour myself a glass of wine, open up my laptop, open up a blank page with that damn curser blinking, and get started.

Password protected, of course 🙂

Dear Diary,

Wish me luck!

Love, Me