I was writing in my diary this morning in a little spare space I had in the middle of the morning because I'm on holiday for the schools being off.
I've been writing that diary for myself and for no one else to ever see since late 2007.
It's electronic and so I can tell how many words and characters and spaces and pages and all of that and it's nearly 75,000 words, 240 pages long.
At times like these, you look at things like the blog or the diary, or any other number of things you've had running for years when you get to my age and you question the point, or at least wonder what the point is.
The first thing about a diary is it lets you just relive the bit that you're writing about (I don't write it every day, and usually only when I feel sad but not always).
The second thing is, though, that it lets you go back and see how things were, and when you thought things were going to be bad or were getting bad, they never got quite as bad as you thought.
There is a premise here, an Oliver Burkeman thing where you catastrophise in the worst possible way, which makes things seem a lot better, that they will never get that bad.
When you get into a rut, or at least when I do, it’s now possible to go back 5 or 10 or even 15 years and see that the worst prophesied things never happened.
And so, that is a discipline.
What I wrote in my diary today, might be for me five years from now.
That must be worth it then.
It must be worth taking a little bit of time today to reflect and to put down some thoughts that will help me and give me comfort years beyond now.
Blog Post Number - 3361
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