Why Do we Keep Journals??

This is my journal, the cool cover bought for me by Tracy on one of our trips, I have kept one now for the last three years since my surgery. I also have a different one that I use for when I’m out on one of my adventures. I first started it to document my recovery from the first surgery I ever had and as a way to keep busy while I was laid up for a month, unable to do much and trying my best not to spend all my time bing watching whatever the latest streaming service threw at me. It did a good job as I could reflect on how my progression was coming along day to day and week to week. From being bed ridden and drinking fluids to walking the block and eating my first solid meal in a month, Mary Brown’s fried chicken and I’m not sure why I picked that, my journal tells me it was the smell of the wedges that won me over. It tracked physical, mental and emotional well-being and how steady that progression was coming along, it was encouraging and needed during days of reflection when things weren’t going the best. I filled volume one within almost that month, that’s how much time I had. Then on week five when I got the phone call telling me I had stage four Nueroendrocrine Cancer, well that journal became much more than a way to tell of recovery, it became a book in which to tell a story.

As time has raced by since my diagnosis I often find large gaps in time have gone by between entries in my journal. Is it just laziness or complacency that has me staring at it every night thinking, “I’ll just get to it tomorrow?” or is it something else? I have thought about this for a while now and think I have what may be the answer or at least part of it. When I look at it a bit of fear comes over me, let me explain… inside is sheets of paper chronicling my life and it’s not easy to put that on paper or even read it after three years of entries. The journal holds me accountable, it doesn’t lie or tell me things I want to hear, it’s nothing but the matter of fact truth and that is frightening, sometimes down right scares the shit out of me. It holds secrets, feelings physical, mental and mostly emotional and that leaves you open and venerable and sometimes at your absolute weakest, which for someone like me is tough to deal with. It tells a story that I would never thought I would ever have to tell, it is there as a reminder of who I am today and who I was in the past. It’s just always within my reach on the window sill beside my bed begging for me to share with it how I feel, how was my day, what I want in the future, not an easy task to do when no matter how I feel today the future is always so uncertain. It bares your soul on thin sheets of paper.

Now it can also be a source of inspiration and resiliency, of small victories won throughout the years. It tells a story of how a person can transform themselves and how small, simple things in life can bring so much more joy. It is a reminder of things and places that I’ve yet to see and experience with a greater appreciation for almost everything and everyone around me. It reminds me to be empathic and to be so very grateful for what I have and remind me of all those materialistic things we don’t need to be truly happy. It stops me from feeling sorry for myself and the cards I was dealt here, to be fortunate to be surrounded by friends and family that care and love me, for a wife that always has my best interests in mind and for two young men that we have raised to be good humans, regardless of the path they choose. It pushes me to better than the day before, to enjoy what’s right in front of me to stop thinking about what’s next, to take it easy when I’m not feeling the best and to rest when necessary. It is there when I don’t feel like talking to anyone and a small comfort, and a way to express unwanted feelings when it’s just a bad day.

The journal is a reminder of travels done and the joy it brings to try new foods, experience different cultures. How it felt to dip my toes in the ocean or the awkward bartering with a pushy vendor. It gives a story to the pictures I take along the way and as memory fades a way to keep those moments always in the present. It is a way to track progress on a long canoe trip, how each campsite looked, the wildlife viewed or a wrong turn taken. It tracks the kilometres I travel in a day and the fish caught along the way (if any), of all the struggles and victories. Most important they tell MY story and that while I was here I did the most I could with the time I’m given. Like I said I’ve filled three volumes already, there is much more to tell and I have many empty pages waiting to be filled. Don’t be afraid to tell your story it means something to somebody. Cheers, Steve. Subscribe, like, vote and or comment I’d love to hear from you.