I read this article today, all about the benefits of keeping a journal.
I’ve been a sporadic journal-er since I was a young teenager. Probably, I would imagine, spurred on by reading The Diary of Anne Frank, or something similar, and feeling that I really ought to preserve my wise and important thoughts for the edification of future generations.
Occasionally I come across an old diary in a collection of my things and have a little flick through it. And usually I can only read for five minutes or so before I have to stop. Turns out that re-reading one’s teenage thoughts is usually painfully awkward, and quite far from edifying; future generations should not hold their breath.
These days I don’t tend to journal as much actually. There are bits and pieces going on (especially whilst I’m travelling) but by and large, the journal has been replaced by this old blog, although – and you really, really ought to be thankful for this – with slightly less access into the disturbing inner-workings of my mind. It probably doesn’t have the cathartic benefits of the old journals, but at least I’ll be able to read back over it when I’m an old lady with grey hair and fading memories and get a little reminder of what I was thinking back when I was in my twenties.
Assuming the internet still exists, that is, and we haven’t experience some sort of global regression back to a computer-free agrarian society. Natch.
How about you? Are you a journal-keeper?
In summary: diaries.