I have two ways of keeping track of myself: this public blog and a growing set of private notebooks/scrapbooks that are deliberately chaotic. Since I retired from my job at the end of 2003, I’ve been writing a little something, somewhere nearly every day. Aside from a handful of diehard fans, nobody pays any attention, so I guess I’d have to say it’s all for my own benefit. Or should I say for my own “growth,” to make it sound therapeutic?
I’m fighting this compulsion now to combine five years of blabbing to myself into one document that I can edit, make comments on and print out — maybe with a title of What Was I Thinking???
It sounds like an incredibly self-absorbed project — and just doing all the Copy/Paste actions for all the files is bound to wear me out before I hit the end of 2004.
On the other hand, every time I flip to entries from a random time past, I am surprised at what I was pondering or what I was talking myself into or what irritation I was working out or what book was challenging me.
Would it amount to my own book of ideas and inspiration? Or just an exercise in narcissism? Is it the right time for such a reflection? Or just procrastination disguised as meditation?
Maybe I’ll do a little Copying/Pasting and see if the idea dies a natural death or takes on a life of its own.