A Writer's Dilemma

It never occured to me to keep a diary growing up, but when I went to Israel for a ten-month adventure, I decided to record my experiences. Later, I noticed that I was filling my book with drawings, rather than written entries. I didn't use a journal again until 1998 when I began therapy. My therapist suggested that at the end of each day I make note of ten things I felt grateful for. And thus began my long-winded self-improvement project of journaling.

I discovered that processing my emotions and thoughts through writing provided me with self-understanding, an outlet for intensity, and some solace. Today, I have about 70 filled journals, non of which I have ever gone back to read. This was a conscious decision based on the fact that my decade-plus relationship with journals was mostly filled by fearfulness, depression, anxiousness, and sadness. I lived for about a decade dealing with severe clinical depression and anxiety, poverty, and lonliness. Since I am always in the process of recovering from depression, I have never felt so far beyond it that I could revisit these painful words without being, well, depressed. I decided that my health was more important than my curiousity of reading the journals and risking more pain.

I have always thought that I would write a memoir someday and that I would use these journals to remember endless details and interpretations of events to do so. However, I am making a big move soon and have been streamlining my belongings. I am only taking what I can fit in the car. And those journals would take up a lot of prime real estate in the back seat. This move has already entailed throwing objects and papers away that I feel are no longer necessary for me to carry around. And getting rid of these has lightened my load mentally, as well.

The question is: Will I regret throwing away my journals in another five years when I am ready to read them and use them in my writings? I don't know what the answer is, but I'm taking a leap of faith. I am trusting my mind and heart that the parts of my life that I need to remember later will be right inside of me. I'm letting the journals go. It's time.

Hatefulness Lacks Skillfulness

Today I sat in my favorite lesbian coffeeshop, sipping Tazo Calm tea, and talking with one of my favorite Baristas when the woman sitting next to me began to rant and rave. She barked about how the foreigners are taking over our country and using all of our resources. She identified everyone in the country who doesn't agree with her as being a jackass, and put forth that she had all the answers to everything (while she complained endlessly and offered no constructive solutions). Needless to say, I spoke up. I try to always confront racism. But, putting aside the content of her beliefs, it was the delivery that I found so toxic.

Her tone, mannerisms, expressions, and words were hateful. I'm not going to pretend I'm so much better than her, because I too have used hatred as a way to communicate my ideas. At 21, I was a walking ball of rage. At 36, my ideas are still similar in that I abhor oppression and speak out about it. However, my delivery is entirely different. And my certainty that I am always right has been replaced by a more humble belief that another person may have valuable information about the topic at hand and I could benefit from listening.

A big part of the shift is from psychological growth. Maturity leads to less black and white and more complex thinking (although this doesn't always coincide with chronilogical age). But a whole lot of it is Buddhist. One of my favorite lessons is: "Hate doesn't lead to love" "Hate leads to hate" and "Love leads to love" Quite literally, if you try to solve problems through hatred, hatred will prevail. If you try to solve problems with love and compassion, those will prevail. Heeding these ideas is not always easy. It takes a lot of skill and practice.

As I write this I am actually thankful that my experience today reminds me of where I came from regarding my relationship of hatred toward others, as well as where I am and where I want to be.