Hello friends!

As far back as I can remember, I had a journal.

I wish I could say I kept up with it and wrote in it every day, but that wasn’t the case. I usually would buy a fancy-looking notebook, record my deep thoughts for a few nights before misplacing said fancy notebook or just plain forgetting to write in it. Days, weeks, sometimes months would go by before I would find another fancy-looking notebook, buy it and re-start the never-ending cycle. 

When my journaling passion was in high-gear, I spent a lot of time thinking about what I was writing in case someone found the notebook after I was dead.  What would they think of me? Would my words inspire millions? Would something I wrote ever be used as a pretty Instagram quote someday? Yes, I know that I was clearly very advanced because Instagram wasn’t around for 10+ more years.


I don’t know where any of those journals are now, probably thrown away by my uncaring mom (love ya mom!). I guess the world will never know how truly philosophical I was as a child.

I also spent a lot of my childhood trying to write a novel.

Okay, calling it a novel may be stretching it a little bit but I had a lot of great starter paragraphs happening. I developed characters, invented a plot line, but then I’d get bored and forget about it.

When you are 12, you tend to start a lot of things and not see them all the way through. Unless you are Taylor Swift. She stuck to her writing when she was 12 and now she’s a big star.

Could I have been a successful novelist? The world will never know.

I still have an obsession with buying notebooks but most of them sit unused because who still handwrites things nowadays?


I love the idea of writing in a stylish journal with my fancy pen, probably drinking a latte or something as I sit on the beach at my vacation home in Hawaii.

None of this will ever happen.

I hate hand-writing things because I write like a 4th-grade boy.

I can’t drink latte’s because I’m lactose intolerant.

Sitting on a beach as a pale ginger is never recommended and frankly just not that much fun.

And if I had a vacation home, it wouldn’t be in a Hawaii because this blog ain’t ever gonna make me money like that.

I’m all for pursuing your dreams and such, but I’m an even bigger believer in being realistic.

I’d settle for a nice vacation home in the mountains. Question. Is it still considered a vacation home if you rent an apartment for your “real” home? 

I guess this blog is now my online journal. Sure, I’m not writing about a random crush or how I am mad at my friend because she said my hair looked funny*.

My writing has changed and thankfully so has my hair.

What about you? Do you prefer to send a handwritten note or a typed-out email? What were your childhood dreams that never came to fruition?


*I was a ginger who had a bowl cut in 2nd grade because my mom decided to cut my hair when she was drunk. I’m just kidding, my mom has never had a sip of alcohol in her life. She was completely sober. Being drunk would have been a much better excuse.

One thought on “Dear Diary: What Is Life?

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