No, I’m not using a cliché here in preparation to tell you about some negative thing that always happens to me. The title of that post would be something like “A Day Late And A Dollar Short.” But seriously, I really am writing the story of my life. Over the past few weeks, when I’ve had the chance, I’ve written a few pages at a time in reflection of my life thus far. I started at age 3, which is as far back as I can go with any sort of tangible memories, although obviously they’re vague. 50 pages later, I’m at 5th grade.
Why am I doing this? Well, several reasons. First off, I just really like to write. Secondly, I’m a very nostalgic person. I like writing and thinking (but no, not living) in the past. It’s kind of theraputic personally. Of course I realize no one would want to read it. That’s not at all the point. In fact, even though I’m pretty darn honest and open here on my blog, I held absolutely nothing back when it comes to filing through my memories, so there are very few people, if any, who I’d probably ever let read this anyway.
I know another common cliché goes something like, “If your life was a movie, would anyone want to watch it?” Honestly, probably not. And I’m okay with that. I’m doing this for me. I’m sorting out memories, dealing with past regret and conflict, and just want to remember every little detail of my life. Maybe my kids or grandkids will enjoy reading it someday. It’ll also be interesting personally to see my perspectives of things and the way I think today, decades down the road.