I’ve been writing since I learned how to form sentences. Technically, I’ve been keeping a journal since elementary school. However, the earliest complete volumes of my life date back to 2012.
From March of 2012 to now, I’ve completely filled two books and 3/4 of a third book with the best times of my life. I didn’t start journaling regularly until this year, so most of the 467 pages are filled with stories and reflections of concerts, trips, and summer camp.
I made a point in my teenage years to write about all the good times and crazy opportunities I had; that way I could go back and read about being happy when I couldn’t remember what happiness felt like. I tucked notes and mementos in the covers of each journal, so I had more than just words on a page to remind me of the good times.
Between 2012 and 2016, I wrote so many entries about an abundance of great things. How many 13 year olds get to go to Europe without their family? Or become friendly with their favorite band? I got to connect with so many amazing people through so many different opportunities. At 15, I planned a roadtrip to Tennessee, meeting some of the best people before finishing up the week in the studio while my favorite musicians finished up an album. At 16, I got my first job, saved up for a new guitar, and still managed to spend three amazing weeks at summer camp. After I turned 17, I got to stand on a stage and introduce my favorite band to a few thousand peers. I landed a dream job as a camp music leader the summer I turned 18. I was living and it was amazing.
In 2017, I wrote in my journal four times. It’s not that good things weren’t happening; I had one of the best weekends of my life that year… when I got to meet some of my dearest internet friends and host my favorite band at my house. I also started dating my boyfriend and moved out of my parents’ house not long after. I guess that year was the year I started adulting more than experiencing life.
2018 had a grand total of two journal entries; one about not being productive enough, one about being burned out. I think I’ve blocked most of that year out of my memory, since I don’t really remember anything that happened.
This year was supposed to be the year of the blog; obviously, I haven’t been blogging nearly as much as I planned. But that’s okay. Maybe I need to get back to physically writing about my life. As much as I enjoy blogging, I’ve never been one to share every little detail of my life with whoever will read it. I’d much rather have one fairly well thought out post every week, instead of multiple posts resembling what I write in my journal.
Maybe my life has gotten way more mundane since I turned 20, but I’ve written 47 entries of memories so far this year. None of them are nearly as exciting as the stories from my teens, but I think I’m learning that happiness resides in simplicity as well as adventures.