Dear Diary…I admit, I suck at this

So many thoughts, experiences, and memories - and here I sit not recording a single one. What is wrong with me? Do I really believe that my brain will store them all? Every touch, every laugh, every moment, every glance, every sigh? There is no way! I look back at the blank pages of my youthful diary and think…why didn’t you take the time to write it down? A line or two just so that you can recall these precious days. Because I thought I would never forget. . .the feelings were so joyful, mischievous, intense and heart wrenching. So why do we forget to record and in my case, the good times.

There was always the risk that someone would stumble across my diary. I wasn’t concerned my sister would read it, she didn’t read anything. I feared my brother would find my diary and run across the impure thoughts I was having about one of his buds. That he would find out what happened in the back of his station wagon on our way to the drive-in, that he would find out I was taking birth control, and that I thought at times he was a total loser.

I worried that my parents would think less of me if they truly knew what was going on in my adolescent brain, and would send me to boarding school if they found out I was sexually active. As I was thumbing through the pages of an old diary, (honestly I don’t know why I keep this crap.) I noticed, just as now, I write when I am hurting, when things were rough, when the road I was on took unexpected twists. I wrote of girlfriend betrayals and other injustices I thought I would never live through, I wrote of ‘true’ love lost, and petty jealousies. But as I think of it now, my life was not just about deceit, disaster, and disappointment. There were many beautiful memories made too.

Just as now, there are hardships, disappointments, and betrayals. I continue to do stupid things. I still fall in love with the wrong men, I trust too freely, I drink too much, I work too hard, and let things go until they are in disrepair, but my life is wonderful. So. . .

Dear Diary,
It has been a while, hasn’t it? I had the piano tuned last week and had two strings replaced, it has been needed for awhile. Last night I was brilliant. I had been practicing for months, on my out of tune piano, this medley of special songs. I played and sang for him. I am not a performer at heart, so when I play, I feel this crippling vulnerability and exposure. Those feelings of insecurity and fright wash over me as I laid my hands on the keys, I closed my eyes and reminded myself, “This is your gift to him.” and with the first note played-the realization there is no turning back. I opened that part of myself to him. The secret I have kept hidden from everyone for years. Playing only in private and stopping when others enter the room. Never wanting to expose myself to the scrutiny of others, or being guilted into playing, or feeling ‘forced’ to perform.
It was suppose to be a gift for him, one I gave freely because there was no fear, no insecurity, no secret motive. His love gave me the strength and that is his gift to me.