the diary ages like wine
Dear reader,
The ceiling light in the leaking entryway died the other day or week, so I had to unscrew the oval fixture to replace the bulb. I was lucky the fixture didn’t fall on my head, as it was full of water and looked like a dog bowl when I placed it on the floor. The reason I’m telling you this, dear reader, is because I want to let you know that the best season has finally arrived and it has, as always, brought excessive rain.
Unlike summer’s hot days, which make me irritable to be indoors because the weather is so inviting, yet punish any attempts at venturing outdoors with unbearable swelter, this rain always makes being indoors more pleasant, which is why most of my ever-diminishing free time has been spent reading essays, novels, and, after quite a while, the diary.
You see, the diary ages like wine, which is why I regret not having anything better than a 2018 vintage. Writing in a diary is sometimes looked down upon, since writing about the everyday might seem like a frivolous activity, but I disagree with that line of thought. It is not frivolous because it makes you pay attention and look at the world differently. In that way it’s similar to photography, which changes how you see things, as you’re always on the lookout for a good photograph. They are similar in another respect: both the diary and photography aid the memory, but somehow the diary makes the memory more vivid.
Like these essays, the diary captures my current state of mind, which is why any form of lying or pretending doesn’t make any sense — it ruins its future potential. Finding a reason to lie is, as with all vices, never difficult, but the common one from my diary is the fear of it getting a larger readership, which is why I’ve toyed with the idea of handwriting the diary — an idea that was quickly abandoned when the said handwriting was seen in all of its indecipherable glory.
These snapshots of my current state of mind are later useful as evidence. Although I would like to say they show how insightful I can be, they most often reveal all the various flaws of my character, which is to say that reading the old diary is not for the thin-skinned. It’s often a humbling experience like no other. For example, just looking at my 2018 diary writing makes me cringe a little because of the obvious lack of writing skill. But I’m still thrilled it exists because it documents what my life looked like at that point in time. It’s a much better snapshot of my life than any photograph from that time, if that makes any sense.
Capturing the mundane and describing it in the highest resolution possible is fulfilling. We think the specific flavor of the mundane is going to last forever, but it perishes quickly. And capturing it has taught me just how quickly that is. Learning this made me more grateful in a way that the naive attempts of my younger self to list the same five things I’m grateful for every day never came close to.
As always, thank you for reading,
SH
As you touched on I’ve always found that when I look back over my old journal entires, all the things I was worrying about it stressing about or even the things that held my attention — just don’t seem to matter anymore, which helps remind me that todays worries will soon be that way as well. :)