For most of my life, I’ve written in a journal of some sort whether it be physical or online. I’ve always jotted down my thoughts and most importantly, I’ve always noted the date of the entry. I like to keep an archive of my life through written words and photos. I revisit them from time to time and it’s nice to see how things have transformed since then.
I found an entry from April 2022 when I visited Austria and Germany. I wrote about how nice it was to travel again (internationally) after the pandemic. I talked about how peaceful it was and how I knew I’d like to move here one day. If only I knew that within six months of writing that, I’d be preparing to pack up my belongings and move to Germany.
And you see, that’s the funny thing about journals. You go back and read them and it’s like reading a book when you already know what happens in the next chapter. Some of them are hard to read, too. I looked at my journal from the past year with caution. I skimmed certain parts that I didn’t want to relive and focused on parts where I knew things were turning a corner. But moreover, reading my entries from this time last year was horrific. If only I knew what was coming but I didn’t.
And yesterday, I sat down to write in my journal but instead of writing something normal about my day, I wrote a letter to my future self. I wrote to myself in the future and gave an update of life and where I’m at through that lens. Most importantly, I stressed how much progress I’d made in one year, noting how beautiful my life had become despite my hopelessness at times. Finally, I reassured my future self that everything is in fact okay now.
I hope I keep memorializing my life in this way—for better or for worse.