Write This Down

Yesterday I turned in a pretty interesting project for one of my classes. It was a cultural genogram, in which we looked back at our parents and grandparents to see how our cultural definitions had come to be established. The project had several different parts we had to complete, but the coolest part by far was the self portrait. We could use any medium or mode of expression to comvey an accurate picture of who we are.
It should come as no surprise to any of you that this assignment was right up my alley.
Of course, my original idea was my go-to for pretty much any and all assignments dealin in self-expression--writing. I thought about writing a poem or some unique play on words; I just wanted to do something different, though.
Then it hit me.
If you know me well, you either already know or would probably guess that I am an avid journal-keeper. These days, my blog is my primary journal (although there are a few stories, details, names and emotions that I don't broadcast here...), but I've been putting my "innermost thoughts" down on paper since the fifth grade. And, as if that's not crazy enough, I still have every one of those journals. (It's okay if words like "packrat," "hoarder," and "absurd" just popped into your head.) Therefore, what could be more obvious than looking back through those journals and seeing what emerged as my story. I decided I would take several direct excerpts from my journals throughout the years to make up the puzzle pieces of my self portrait.
So, Saturday I hunkered down on my couch with a blanket and my journals. I quickly remembered that I used to make myself write everyday, whether or not I had anything to say. Granted, that proved a little monotonous, but it was surreal to read a play-by-play of a typical day in the eighth grade. The things I found in those journals blew me away. I was engrossed in my former self, and many, many of the people I've come into contact with since the time I was eleven made appearances in those pages.
In one day, I sat down and looked at the cycles of the last thirteen years of my life. I laughed at how sillly I was, cringed at how naive and unrealistic I was, and marveled at how much I have changed. So many things became so clear, and I never expected that to happen. My junior high insecurities and self-loathing jumped off the page; my repetition of college mistakes played like a cd on repeat; the divide between who I was and who I am became as wide as the proverbial Grand Canyon.
I realized how hard I was on myself; I realized how the times I was having the most "fun" were the times I liked myself the least and respected myself even less; I realized how much I have grown and changed without even knowing it. I realized I have the strength to be myself, and I am proud of the person I am. I know I'm not perfect and I struggle with insecurities, but now I am honest about who I am and how I feel. Beyond all of that, however, I realized the things that are the most important now are the things that have always been the most important: my faith, my family, and my friendships. I hope I continue to grow and evolve, but I know these things will remain true, remain important, forever.