I am burning my journals. I’m lying. I’m actually going to shred them because I don’t have a backyard to burn them in.
I thought I’d never do it. Shred the 12 years worth of notebooks and journals I’ve been lugging. They’re full of poems, pages with tear marks, to-do lists, magazine cut outs, goals, etc.
I had been very indecisive about whether or not I should burn the journals. So I asked the universe what I should do.
Since I hope to one day publish a book or more, with my writer ego comes the idea that I will publish diaries or write a memoir, even if they are published after I die.
However, since I’m moving next summer, I keep asking myself if I really want to take a heavy box of journals with me. When I think of the move, I don’t like the idea of carrying heavy things. I want to feel light.
I found Danielle LaPorte’s post “Burn Your Journals. Maybe.” about letting go and burning her journals. Even though I love reading journals & memoirs, this set of journals as a whole doesn’t bring me joy.
In the post, I found the following sentences: “History is malleable because memory is subjective.” Maybe I’ll write about the same things again, but maybe with new details or from another perspective.
I will keep writing whether or not those journals exist. And if I accumulate more journals, I just might burn them again.
What’s your process for letting go?