When I saw this book on my shelf, my initial reaction was, "What a beautiful and powerful looking journal. It's lovely to look at, and it felt substantial in my hands. Like any words put on these pages should be preserved and saved for future generations."
I also thought, "I don't think this is mine." As I sat with it in my hands, thinking of where it might have come from and who the rightful owner might be, I had a memory flash before my eyes.
My youngest son is a natural storyteller. He can craft a tale that has you leaning in to hear more and then later rolling with laughter at the ridiculous puns that he spouts out with a chuckle. This is a journal I bought for his stories years ago.
So, why is this journal in my hands and not his?
Story Time
A couple of years ago, when the pandemic was causing havoc across the globe, I thought I wanted to write some things down for future generations to read about this time in our global history. I wasn't doom and gloom in this idea. It was more wanting to capture some of the day-to-day. It's easy to forget what daily life was like during that first year. The uncertainty. The randomness of having the lives of everyone on Planet Earth turned upside down seemed like something folks should make a note of based on their personal experience.
However, in looking at the journals I already had, none of them seemed to have the capacity to carry what I thought would carry the weight of what would be written down. I wanted a journal that had some substance to it that would be equal to the task. I thought I had a black journal somewhere that would work. So, I went searching and searching through old boxes of books and found this journal. It was the one I had given my son all those years ago.
When I handed it to him, he asked where I found it. I told him it was in a box of books I had been looking through in the garage searching for my black journal. Which I hadn't found. He then said, "Why don't you use this? I'm not going to use it and you may as well." So, I took it and then allowed it to sit on my shelf with nary a word written on it.
At the time I originally gave the journal to my son he did not write in journals.
When I gave it to him again he still did not write in journals.
What about today as I pulled this journal off the shelf? He is an avid journaler.
Back Where It Belongs
Once I took the photos you see in this post, I handed it to him and reminded him that this was his. He looked at me puzzled and said,
"You must have given it to me a long time ago for me not to remember it."
Yes, son, it was quite a long time ago indeed.