My Failed Attempt At A Gratitude Journal

Awhile ago my son shared a conversation he had with his friend. She said that when she died she wanted everything erased. Journals, diaries and unfinished manuscripts were to be burned. Hard drive wiped clean and all evidence erased. My son on the other hand said he would rather that we find everything he had ever written, recorded or painted to be posted or published in some way. Completely unedited. Raw. He thought I would be funny to freak people out to see what he had been going through all those years and, what he had been thinking. And in a way I understand both sides.

My blog posts are a diary of sorts but more along the line of thoughts and opinions as well as a way for my grandchildren to one day get a picture of who I am and who I was. I have written in diaries for years and once in awhile I pull out the ones from my adult life. The ones from my childhood are all gone. I am good at starting. I write for a while and then life gets in the way. Time passes and I get into the writers vibe again and I buy a brand new notebook and start again. There is no rhyme nor reason to my ramblings and there is no timeline in the books. They start and end in a very abrupt manner with no context as to what went on before or after.

One year, I realized that all of my journals were somewhat depressing. Not all but they were often filled with incredible long and sad ramblings about whatever marital issues we were having. In a young Moms life there is never enough sleep and sometimes things are a little overwhelming. As is my wont I would write my woes away. Now I did throw in a few blurbs about the kids and their accomplishments but for the most part I was a bit of a whiner. Then out of the blue, all of my acquaintances, were getting into gratitude journals. Oprah was big for my girlfriends at the time. I am not nor was I a fan, for various reasons, but that is a story for another time. However, Oprah was into gratitude journals at the time and so it became the rage. Once again I bought a brand new shiny book with its white lined pages all ready for my beautiful thoughts of love and thanksgiving. I wrote one long thing about a woman I had met and the impact she had on my life. She was actually the mother of a young man who I had rented an apartment to and we had met for coffee. I walked away from that conversation feeling I had met an angel. I can still feel her. It was such an incredibly vivid experience for me. And then, nothing. I found the journal after my husband died and read the blurb. Looked at the blank pages and thought to myself, you should use this book. But it seemed weird to leave a ten year gap between writings about gratitude. Someone might get the impression that nothing good eer happened in my life and that just wasn’t true.

Now I understand why it was so much harder to fill that journal than the ones that centred around my whiny days. When I am sad and lonely, and feeling like I haven’t a friend in the world, I need to get my words out. I need to feel heard. I need someone to feel sorry for me. But when I am feeling grateful and my life is full and wonderful and I running through the woods like I am in a Disney movie, well who has time to write. Those are the times I am living the gratitude. I am loving my life and I can’t stop what I am doing even for one moment. The bliss is too great and I want to ride the wave as long as I can. Perhaps I love the good times a little too much. But when you are riding high and there seems to be no end in sight, why not?

While talking to a therapist throughout the years has put me on different tracks and thought processes, it has never happened when I was overcome with the joy in my life. Nope those poor people only get to hear about all of the shit storms we create. And we do create so much of the drama and angst we feel is thrown our way. I’m not going to pay someone to hear my happy stories and explain why things are going so well. It is the same with journaling in many ways. Now although this blog is sometimes a bit whiny and is entirely opinionated and biased, my true rough edges are missing. Plus I swear much less in writing than in real life. Because I know that there are people who know me and I am close to that will read this. If it was just for total strangers, I might spew forth just a little more venom if something ticks me off. While it is still a journal it is written knowing that it will be read.

The private little boos I used to write in are different. They contain the wounds that were made by the actions and words of other people. The scars that are on my heart that you can’t see. They carry the thousand of tears I cried while I wrote and put my whole heart and soul onto the pages. All so I could release some of the pain. The anger or sadness or even the loneliness that I needed to let out. And sometimes there are things we just aren’t able to share. Pride. Arrogance. Fear of judgment or rejection. These things hold us back and we are unable to truly let another person in to the inner sanctum of our mind. I am a very independent person and I don’t trust well. I don’t let too any people in and even then I hold back. Once I trust, if that trust is broken it is either years to repair or I just turn away. I am pretty good at trying to defend my heart. But there are also those that I love so much that I can’t share the truth or I risk hurting them. I am really good at that. Hurting people. Not on purpose usually, more as a defense mechanism. I believe they call it projection. Young me would lash out if I was wronged. Middle age me would try and defend myself. Old me realizes both ways are completely unproductive. Really when someone hurt you it truly says more about them than you and unfortunately it takes lifetime to figure that out.

And so I keep the gratitude journal locked away in the nightstand with the others. I will never throw it but I will never add to it. I will continue to grow in my own way as I try and live each day with joy. I am blessed to be here at this time and in this place. The chances of me living this life are infinitesimal. So there is my gratitude. The lessons I have learned on the way have helped to form the me of today. I am not the same person I was years ago. Or even last year or last week. Or even yesterday. I am an evolving soul in this earthly vessel riding around on a giant marble. The fact that I don’t go flying off is amazing. So, I won’t be starting another Gratitude journal. I will thank the universe for allowing me the space I am given. I will recognize my blessings and be thankful for the lessons I wrote about. Because when I reread my sorrowful passages they seem like a lifetime ago. Because I am not that person anymore. And those pains I felt and the tears I cried, they helped to heal me so I could come to this place. I have learned that I am grateful for each moment I have been given in this beautiful lifetime. That gratitude is written on my heart now. It heals the wounds from the past and the scars are fading. It is a beautiful thing this thing we call life. While I love to write and put thoughts to paper, so to speak, I know the time will come when I will reread something and smile because it won’t be me anymore. I was written by someone I once knew and she has moved on from that place. Physically and mentally. She has grown and matured and she has learned to cast off the negative. She has learned to carry gratitude in her heart, where it can grow and multiply. And there will never be room for the sadness that once loved there. Only peace.