Musings from my college diary
Rereading my old diaries always invokes feelings of: embarrassment, sadness, shock, pride… and of course periodic fits of giggles. Let’s just say they’ll all live with me until I die and then they’ll have to be buried with me. Or better yet, where no one can ever find them.
I noticed that in the diary I used sporadically from 2010-2011, I still sound a lot like a teenager (slightly fair) - or at least like a young woman stepping out into a void she thinks she can somehow tame. She also has a lot of disproportionate concerns.
These young Caitlins, even the ones that were “technically an adult,” but who were shortsighted enough to feel “old at 23,” are easier to forgive - and like most women might think scrambling through a decade, I almost want to shout “thank God I never had a kid with that guy!”
Things like this can be a woman’s proof of dignity, luck, or that God spared you once. Knowing that we were spared or protected makes our lives easier to swallow… but of course it will never end (we should be very grateful, but now I’m veering off topic).
While my entire self documentation is important, at least for my own reference, I always remember the lines like the one below the most. A bit of vanity…
I like that line, and I know those were my own words. It was so irreverent to the entire page and my Christmas list. Every meaningful line in that diary totally off topic. Or at least I didn’t record what was behind it.
Sweet irrelevant lines. Hah! What is any life but a bunch of nonsense followed by sweet irrelevant lines you notice looking back?
It makes me feel more peaceful and grounded to see what was always in me. Substance and love. I would have ended up forgiving every Caitlin. I’ll feel this at 40 I assume. But it all makes for a better read.