Saturday morning I opened what would become my 4th installment of Letters to Dear Diary. Exactly 2 years and 2 months after my first letter, I began my journey into a new chapter of its chronicles…
I first began writing to Dear Diary in hopes it would help me cope with the passing of my Father. Starting my Letters I had no idea how much they would grow to mean to me and how often I would turn to Dear Diary for comfort, courage, strength, whimsical outpour, delight, efforts to sift through confusion, frustration release, silly fairy tale dreams, and every little detail along the way.
I’d always written in a journal or diary but this time when I started again, I felt I was writing with reason – with hope – to somehow find my way back to myself in a time when nothing made sense. Two years later I’m still reaching for my book of blank pages. I’d never been this faithful in continuously writing for personal release….and not just the “ohhhh my gooooosh [insert crush of day's name here] is *so* cute, he totally looked at me today in class” (granted there’s still a few of those in there, but not of the 6th grade over-dramatized sorts)….but the real deal this is me, take it or leave it but you’re gonna hear it because you’re Dear Diary and that’s your job, sort of release.
Opening a new installment and seeing the blank pages waiting to be filled ignites a certain sense of excitement for me, and for Dear Diary I would suppose. The anticipation of what shall fall onto these lines and fill these pages is mind boggling. What thoughts, what wondrous words of laughter, frustration, love, rage or success will my Letters hold?
Of course only the stars above really know, but it’s quite the thrilling idea if you think about it.
