Or two? Or four? Or ten?
I love this kind of reflection. In the past, I’ve relied on memory alone to answer this question.
But since I bought a five-year journal last year, now I can read exactly what I was doing last year, on the same page I enter what I did today. Genius.
I always fantasized about keeping journals, but felt intimidated by the large blank page awaiting my entry at 11 PM when I’m about to go to sleep. This journal gives you six lines to enter something for the day — just enough to capture what you did, or felt, but not enough to take longer than a few minutes.
I tested the waters last summer and then began to fill it out religiously after Owl was born. I love looking back through the pages and looking at what was happening 3 months ago on this day, 6 months ago, 9 month ago . . .
I was doing the same thing with pictures the other day — on July 9. And then I found this gem.
This was the second-to-last night of our honeymoon. It was only four years ago but it feels like a hundred. We basically look the same, but there are more gray hairs (me), more lines on our faces, and some sagging skin here and there (me also). Those physical relics are our evidence of all the has happened — new life, loss, needing to be stronger, more energetic, more patient, more creative, more forgiving, and more loving than we sometimes think we can be. I look into these faces and see children, even though I was 35, and Eric was 39. Though we did not know it, nine months later we would be parents.
On July 9 of this year, BRK and Eric’s mom and I returned home from a trip to Florida to see my mom. This was BRK’s first flight as a toddler.
“Look, look out the window!” I urged, “We’re inside a cloud!”
“Can I watch Shrek now?” BRK was laser-focused on the TV screen embedded in the seat in front of her.
“BRK, we are LITERALLY IN A CLOUD.”
“I want to watch Shrek.”
Seamless logistics, and Shrek on demand, returned us home without a scratch or a tantrum.
That night I wrote the following in the five-year diary: “Flew back home. Was so good to see Mom, to see BRK to with Mom.” I was tired and even those 6 little lines seemed to vast to fill.
I looked up, to last year’s entry, and then across the page, to the next entry, July 10, 2016:
“ . . . took Dad downtown . . . we went to Starbucks. Told him I hate that he has to go through this, and that I have so many good memories and that I love him . . .”
The sensations of that day washed over me. The smell of Starbucks coffee permeating the car, the gray dress I wore, my belly grazing the steering wheel because it was full of 20-week-old Owl, that conversation.
Would I remember this if I hadn’t written it down? Of course. But there is something magical about getting to experience it again, on that day, one year later. And on the future July 10ths when I write in these journals.