halla, it is currently — yes, as you guessed it — four in the morning, yet here I am for some inexplicable reason.
the inexplicable reason is my arms are hurting. Not sure why. The only inexplicable part is why they’re hurting.
In any case, it’s time to start an early-morning rambling before I inevitably go back to sleep and wake up regretting this several hours later. Who knew arm pain could keep you up? I did before actually but I forgot. Fun reminders.
Anyway, what is up. I was sorting out some crap in my room yesterday, and I came across a couple old letters that an adult friend ‘sent’ nine-year-old me to humour me at a time when I put up little cardboard mailboxes on every family member’s door in the house. What a champ. Those letters are epic and I will keep them. Anyway, I didn’t want to keep them in the little box they were in anymore, so I decided to stick them in one of my old journals — my first journal, actually, which I’d originally started for some kind of project my mom made us do, then just continued afterward.
The ramblings of a 9-year-old are hilarious; I journaled quite literally and just explained everything that happened in a day. My mom was the one who made us kids start it for some reason, so she read through them like they were some kind of homework assignment (which in a way they kind of were). At one point I started an entry with, ‘My mom said I don’t have to write every detail.’
I guess my mom didn’t want to read what I ate for breakfast every morning, or about how I ate said breakfast with my sister under the dining table because it was fun.
A few years ago I wrote a mandatory post on why I personally find journaling fun, but one thing I’m pretty sure I left out was the bit where you get to read your old journals to see how you’ve grown or changed over the years. Of course, most of the information in my very first journal isn’t exactly insightful or deep, but it does give a glimpse into the mind of a kid and how they process things. Reading through some of my journal entries from a couple years ago reveals things like just how dark of a place I was in without realising it. Some entries from when I was a sixteen-year-old were surprisingly mature and thoughtful. (Imagine having depth of thought nowadays.) In a way, reading past journals is like meeting your past self to see what you think of them now. Is it always fun? No. My journals are full of random crap and details that are no longer important to me now, but sometimes you can find interesting tidbits amongst the past brain throw-up.
Huh. I knew this post would end up focusing on one thing. Good thing it usually does.
Well, that’s my 4am self’s thoughts on journaling in light of reading some old journal entries. My arms still hurt, but maybe exhaustion will trump the pain.