Crafting a personal essay is much like keeping a journal, an assignment I was given three years ago. I am often deeply moved by the concept in poetry of the preciousness of time, the value of appreciating the moment, of Andrew Marvel’s yearning for “world enough and time.” This notion especially touched me in my 10th grade English class when our teacher gave us a project to keep a daily journal. Burdensome and obtrusive at first, this assignment ultimately reaped great rewards.
When I first started writing in the journal, I saw it as a nosey invader, a critic of my life. Each time I tried to write an entry it seemed to be talking back to me and asking questions. I wasn’t able to figure out to whom or for what reason I was writing. Sometimes I would write to impress my teacher, other times I would write for posterity. But no matter who I was writing for I always tried to impress the journal itself.
As I meditated on journaling I decided to dig through my father’s old family papers and came across my grandfather’s journals. His writing was literate, formal, and so copious. It was also written in such a fine hand. The entries and composition alone must have taken him an entire day. I wondered how he had time to pursue other activities.
In this light I re-examined my own journals and was very disappointed by my laziness. I decided to shape up, to amaze my journal, to put its pages to worthy use. And over time it started to direct my life. Regardless of what I did that day I tried to do it in such a way that I could document it in my journal. For example, if I was eating an apple I would chew it slowly to savor and reflect on the taste. I would examine the fruit’s color and details. I also made an effort to fill my day with plenty of activities in order to impress the journal. But the project soon became absurd. One day as I was reading through my entries it hit me – one entry going on and on about an apple, another entry was a list of activities. The entire project seemed pointless and silly.
After this new insight I went back to documenting my routine daily thoughts and normal activities. But something has changed inside of me. The experience of writing in the journal had truly touched my life. Now a day in which I hadn’t acted or thought was an empty day for me and the journal. The journal had taught me the preciousness of time, a new understanding of the potential of a day. This understanding continues to enrich my journals and my life.
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