In 4th grade, with my parents separated (or to be more clear, with my mother single again) and a great sense of shyness and depression settling on me, my mother panicked. Not too great with people, and far too raw to take on anyone else's problems, but still she needed to help me out. So she did what anyone would do: she gave me a 49 cent journal and instructed me to self-medicate.
The one thing that stands out now, though, is that she wrote the first entry. Let me write that again: she wrote the first entry. Allow me to highlight this: SHE WROTE THE FIRST ENTRY. Surely it takes some sort of incredible hubris to create the first entry to someone else's journal, even if the journal is coming from you. But she wrote it in her own voice, from herself, and it detailed how she came to the decision to give the gift. She set some expectations, and she also told me how frequently to make entries. She expected a daily entry. And being a 4th grader, I remained true to form: I never wrote in it again. Oh off and on I'd try, I really would. But you see the tyranny the white sheet of paper staring at me, coupled with her requirement to post daily, however well-intentioned, got the better of me.
So in the interest of a clean slate I've deleted these faux-logs. And I've forgiven myself for the failures, and I am congratulating myself on what I'm learning each and every time I post.
So welcome to #7.
