Another Suggestion

All my books, decorations, furniture, everything material that people define their homes in, is in boxes piled in the basement of my parents house. Taller than I am. I often forget what I have stored down there, you know, outta sight outta mind.. But that's not really true because I think daily about something I'd love to have around me that would take me an hour long to find. Its easy enough to say, "Well just bring it up ya dummie!" but my space is crowded enough with just necessities.

I am going camping soon and in prep, I went searching for my camping things that I cannot live without.. tent.. sleeping bags.. electric lantern.. There were several open and scattered boxes of books left by my bored sister hell bent on finding something new to occupy her lazy summer vacation. I happened to knock one over while attempting to extract my tent from the deepest, darkest corner.

I found my diaries and journals from my teenage years. I KNOW. Of all things to spill all over it had to be the box of silly musings and OH EM GEE that boy looked at me today! It is the one box I would be embarrassed for people to find.. I can't believe my priorities were so shallow and how naïve I was. I would be truly embarrassed if people read those diaries. Yet I keep them to look back on, and I read and relive them every so often.

After storing those safely in a box hidden beneath several layers of belongings, I took a blank journal upstairs and didn't look back. Until I opened that journal and realize what a reflection of my WHOLE LIFE that was. Uh, holy crap.

My whole life has revolved around my past, my guilt for my past and my fears that I will repeat my past. I truly am embarrassed for the life I lived, the decisions I made, and for losing me in a sea of people. I would NEVER want someone to read the written proof that I was the kind of person who was obsessed, almost stalkerish, of a boy constantly. That I hated my sisters and wanted no relationship with them. That I would spout off every dirty word I'd ever heard at the top of my lungs when I thought no one could hear me. That I put my naked Barbie and Kens under a blanket and let them lay there for a while because I had no clue what grown ups really did at night. That I was too scared to even explore my own nether regions because only bad, unloved girls did that.

And now I have physical proof of me hanging onto my past, hiding it away and storing it, while trying to forget it and prevent any one else from seeing it.

You may have read a little bit before about my past and my struggles to move on and forgive and release myself from it. Its honestly the biggest hindrance to my spiritual journey. I've worked thru and understand that by not forgiving myself I live in fear, see everything thru a foggy glass and create avoidance behaviors that ultimately proof my fears correct and leave me on a death spiral, doomed to repeat my mistakes and focused around pain. I also know that when I hold onto my mistakes, they can't turn into lessons and I am essentially telling my creator that the grace and divinity he has given me isn't enough. Basically, holding on to my past equals bad stuff which leads to nuclear war. In the name of Jesus Christ, Amen.

But I do know my past is a great teacher. My past mistakes are where all my lessons come from and teach me to be a better person. To be the woman of light I was created to be. And that is pretty great stuff! So to hide my diaries, tear out each page and burn them, may not be the most beneficial and definitely is not celebrating or honoring the space I was in that lead me to better space I'm in now. That diary is perfect in its imperfections, perfection in the moment it was written.

So with a new pair of eyes I read a few more entries and laughed my ever loving ass off. How could I ever had been so sure I was going to marry the kid who sat next to me at lunch? And the girls I played Winnie The Pooh with at recess didn't end up as bridesmaids at our wedding. I'm not at Harvard and honestly have no desire to ever go anymore. But the handwriting I adopted and practiced for hours so I could be as cool as the rich girls? CLASSIC.

I can read thru those diaries now and gain perspective on my life and habits. A historical view, if you will, on why I can't stand choker necklaces or purple press-on nails. I am grateful for the record I kept of all the times I wished I had different parents and straight teeth. And when my daughter baffles me with complaints about The Killers being old lady music, I can look back thru and have compassion for what she is experiencing.

So keep your old diaries, journals. Read them and laugh like they are a comic novel whose main character is creepily similar to you. Share stories of your rose bush secret club house near the willow tree. And learn from your fears that formed when your mom forgot to pick you up from school. Celebrate the life you have lived, and leave it where it belongs: in the past.

Just another suggestion that I deserve to follow myself!