…is half of wisdom” said Francis Bacon.
And my question was: The journals? To keep or not to keep?
My mother-in-law shares this anecdote: “ When my grandmother died, [her son] threw away her journals. My mother and I lamented this, for she lived a tortured life, had many nervous breakdowns and poured herself freely into her writing, apparently her soul’s one outlet, other than her prayers. We felt it was a great loss, since she was a person who was frustrated, suppressed and misunderstood.”
In the same note, she added: “I have many boxes of journals and diaries I have kept since I was a teenager. I want to get rid of them, but my daughter doesn’t. She believes they may have some value for her. So I say, not so fast. I understand both sides of this dilemma. They may be a legacy for someone else. Your biographer would / will have a field day with them!”
My brother and one of my friends also recommended I keep them, while another friend shared that she’d gotten rid of hers with no ill effects.
All of which BEGS the question: why?
There was a time when, like my mother-in-law’s grandmother, I lived a “tortured” life, believing I was “frustrated, suppressed and misunderstood” and had no outlet but the privacy of my own pages: when I thought perhaps, one day, someone would find my journals and discover how brilliant and sensitive I really was. But, having remained neither tortured, frustrated, suppressed or misunderstood, I no longer have THAT reason.
There was also a time when I believed so fervently in my own greatness that I looked forward to leaving a comprehensive record for my earnest biographer(s). But I no longer have THAT reason either.
A legacy for my daughter? Perhaps. But it might as likely be a legacy of more crap for HER to deal with. I promised one of my very best friends I would absolutely ditch them, but I think I will ultimately leave it to the cards and do a reading. Then I will report back.
Journals… I would like to throw my own away too… but then I think about how much my mother gained from reading her mother’s journals (really learned who her mother was and helped her understand her own identity); same with other family members and friends… same with me for my Dad and my grandfather.
So, perhaps, we are the least equipped to make the decision about our own journals because our own ego’s sense of importance or lack thereof will likely get in the way of seeing the true value other’s may gain from reading about our thoughts, hopes, lessons, and struggles. For now… I’m keeping my journals (in spite of my ego’s ardent protest).
I think you hit the nail on the head, Chris, saying that we are the least able to make this kind of decision. Thanks for the wisdom.
Ah, yes. I remember burning my journals one year on the beach as a ritual declaring the victimhood gone and a new beginning. It was very liberating. But then, I don’t have children.