Do you remember the song “Tubthumping”? If the title doesn’t ring a bell, I’m sure this line will:
“I GET KNOCKED DOWN! BUT I GET UP AGAIN!
YOU’RE NEVER GOING TO KEEP ME DOWN!”
All caps is a necessary evil here since there is no way to sing this part at anything less than full volume. It probably dates me to tell you that I vividly remember dancing to this song at middle school dances in the late ‘90s. Okay, calling it dancing is a stretch…more like jumping up and down in the middle of a sweaty mass of other pre-pubescent kids.
Besides the part everyone knows, there’s a line about “songs that remind [me] of the good times…that remind [me] of the better times”. For whatever reason, this came to mind as I thought about one of the biggest things five year journaling does for me: it helps me remember the good times in my life.
With a three month old baby in tow, freshly earned diplomas in hand, my husband and I left college behind and landed in a suburb of Seattle. My husband started a job at a big tech company, and I was looking forward to staying home with our little boy. Our two bedroom apartment came complete with lots of freeway noise and killer sunset views. I took lots of pictures, which bring back fun memories: our toddler enthusiastically watching the landscaping crew mow the lawn of our apartment complex every week; his messy face after licking out the bowl when we made brownies; and his surprised and mildly guilty expression when I caught him climbing inside the freshly emptied dishwasher.
Beyond what is captured in photos, my memories have largely faded. What did we do every day? No idea. How did I fill the sometimes long hours and days at home with a tiny human? No idea. What were the small victories, little successes, and funny moments that made up my life? I have absolutely no idea.
Contrast this with my life just a few years later, after I’d begun my daily practice of writing just a few lines every day in a five year journal. We’d purchased our first home, a 1967 rambler that needed lots of work. I’d had another baby and now had two tiny humans in my charge. My husband still went to work every day, and I still stayed home with our boys. I took a lot of pictures, which, again, helped me remember some very funny moments.
But beyond the pictures, even with my own fickle memory that can hardly remember what I made for dinner last night, I know what my life was like.
I can tell you what we did every day, milestones in my kids’ development, and hilarious things my preschooler said and did. I can tell you when my second baby first pulled up to a stand, the first time he slept through the night, and when he got his first tooth. I can tell you about rare sunshiny days when we walked to the park. I can tell you about days when my tulips sprouted, reminding me that spring was on the way. I can tell you about glorious summer days when the boys splashed in the kiddie pool in the backyard while I read a book. I can tell you about days my husband put all the kids to bed alone and I went grocery shopping alone.
Because I wrote them down, my journal is chock full of “good times”, times my brain would absolutely have forgotten otherwise.
Five year journaling helps me remember the good times in my life. Things that would otherwise be long gone from my very forgetful brain are now preserved in writing. Nearly ten years into my journey with journaling (wow, that's a mouthful!), I can look back and see just how many good things fill my life.
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