My journal
My journal reminds me who I am when I forget. When I’m pensive, I either write or read, and regardless of which path I choose, I am eventually comforted.
Tonight I found myself reading entries from last year and finding comfort in some thoughts from my past:
“But today, in some sort of context, he said that he wanted to protect me and would hurt anyone that tried to hurt me … it just made me miss that feeling of caring and protection so strongly that it hurts to think about.”
“I am loving the journey, but I worry that I need to know my destination a little better.”
“Is it better to be confused because that means you have options? It’s not like I’d rather be on some straight track somewhere without any new experiences”
“How do you balance those two things: confidence and the ability to listen to those around you?”
“I followed my heart. I followed journalism knowing four years ago that one day I might not be able to find a job and regret it. Did I realize how quickly the industry would change and how much the economy would screw over my profession? No, but I had at least an idea.”
“Where does that leave this long and pensive entry? With the conclusion that I might be terrified by the unknown of the coming year, but during those rare moments when I’m thinking clearly, I hope and have faith that I will make myself happy somehow.”
