Take a peek into my bedroom, and you will see many books. Of these, one entire shelf is written by me, 12 books of varying styles and sizes. The first one, from when I was 6, is merely a stack of white computer paper punched with holes and tied with string.
These journals sit right next to my bed, and under my bed I keep a cloth sack handy. If there is ever a fire or an emergency, I will grab this sack and fill it first with these books, as they are my most prized possessions.
For some, journal writing evokes a sense of dread or even an eye roll. Others may mumble they would like to keep a personal record, but they are too busy, or don't have a way with words, or simply don't have enough desire. Maybe they are afraid of snooping siblings. Excuses, excuses.
For me, writing in my journal is addictive.
Writing gives me a way to channel my thoughts and emotions so I can begin to understand them. It gives me a place to vent, other than the pillow or the mirror. It helps me become more aware of my life, and it awakens me to the world. When I write in my journal I take more notice of the beauties life cradles and of the service and love others give me.
Because of keeping a journal, I am more aware of the simple wonders of each moment and the way I spend my precious time. When I am writing in my journal daily, I dream more, aspire higher and accomplish greater things.
The other day, I came home from track practice in a rotten frame of mind. I had just had a bad workout, and my mind was festered with negativity. Why was I doing track? Putting myself through this pain and misery? Did I actually believe this was fun?
And there was my answer, imbedded in the pages of my journals, in my own handwriting. Living proof to the wonderful memories I have experienced in previous track seasons. Testimony to the friends I've made. My own words looked me in the eye and breathed out encouragement to stick with it.
One of the greatest parts of keeping a journal is looking back on what you have written. You can laugh at yourself. You can learn from yourself. You can inspire yourself. Whenever there is a dispute in my family about when something occurred, I thumb through my journals, stick my finger on a page and say, "Ha! Let me prove my point!"
When we keep a journal, we not only remember the things we write, but the words on the page trigger a switch in our minds and we remember whole scenes and situations. Even if we were to never look back and reread, the mere act of writing something down helps us remember.
Someday we will all pass on and leave some kind of legacy. There are only two kinds of records we can pass down, those we make and those others make for us. Personally, I would like to have a say in what my posterity thinks of me.
So drive down to the store and pick out a journal the suits you, or dust off an old notebook, or crack open that diary that you haven't looked at in years, and begin writing. Do it every day, even if some days all you can write is, "Today was incredibly busy," or "Bad day. Don't ask," or "That sunset was beautiful." Fill your journal with words. Fill your journal with ticket stubs, event programs, drawings, poems, pressed flowers, letters ... anything and everything. These are your memories. This is your life.
The page is laid open before you, crisp and clean like newly fallen snow. It is almost too pure to write on, but only almost. Just pull out your pen and set the tip of it delicately on the page, and as you begin to scratch a tiny prick will strike in your heart and your soul will leak onto the page in the form of ink words.
If you do this, I will promise you something. In a few years, you will look back and you will laugh. And cry. And possibly cringe.
And you will hug this treasure that you have made for yourself.
Alexandra Burton is a junior at Ogden High School. You will find her running, reading, writing or playing the violin. E-mail her at chickitaliewrites@comcast.net.
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