Dichotomy of Me
Updated: Feb 19, 2020
Before yesterday’s blog, it had been three weeks since I posted a blog. This is evidence of a residual mindset that keeps cropping up in my life. I think I get rid of it, only to find it on a new level. I’ve always journaled…not very consistently, but just when I felt like it. People know this, and I seem to receive a relatively large amount of journals as gifts. Nice journals, too. When I was younger, I had this idea that I didn’t want to “mess up” these pretty books writing anything that was too negative, or even writing things that I may scratch through or correct.
I didn’t even like to spell anything wrong while writing in them. Consequently, I didn’t write in them. I wrote in them when I was happy and relaxed and thought I had something worth saying. These were going to be the kinds of journals you show people. The handwriting was pretty, the words were pretty…you get the idea. However, the urge to write would hit me much more frequently than happy, relaxed and meaningful thoughts would. But, I could not waste my good journals on this, so I would buy standard school notebooks to write in. It’s like split personality journals, and the excessive number of full school notebooks I have compared to the number of full pretty journals is frightening. Ummm…meaning, that I have NO full pretty journals, but a box brim-full of tattered and worn notebooks. I have several nice journals with one or two entries in them. I have only conquered my compulsion to separate the together me with the chaotic me within the past couple of years, and this only through my boyfriend’s influence. Now, my crazy rantings are sufficiently mixed in with triumphant entries and scratched out to do lists and notes on lectures and notes on thoughts of things to write one day and songs I was writing and doodles I was drawing. Did you know that Leonardo da Vinci’s notebooks are full of this type of thing? Grocery lists next to notes on anatomy and physics. It actually makes for a much more interesting (and accurate) journal read. It has other benefits as well. A couple of months ago, I was having a particularly down day for some unknown reason, and was writing all sorts of sadness in my current journal. When writing itself began to seem too much of a chore and entirely useless, I stopped writing and began flipping backwards. I read the previous entry, and the entry before that, and so on and so forth. By the time I got to the beginning, I was cured of my sadness. Reading it reminded me of ways that God had grown me, ways He had blessed me, ways He had taught me things I didn’t realize I was learning, and it encouraged me that although I cannot see the reason, there IS a reason. If I had not merged my two selves, flipping backwards in my journal would have undoubtedly only served to sink me further down, given which journal I would have been using. The problem now is that I haven’t learned this in life, only in journal-keeping. Me should be ME, but it is not. I have public me and private me and beyond that, me that I lie to myself about. I was thinking of this because it had a lot to do with why I didn’t write a blog for three weeks – not because I was particularly down or anything, but because I didn’t feel I had anything sufficiently wise or profound to say. I’m sure there’s a line between giving you my grocery list just to write something and dropping the ball on quantity here waiting for something “significant” to happen…I just have to figure out what that is. And for everyone who’s ever given me a journal, well, I’m getting to it. I promise it won’t go to waste.
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