Ms. Wilson would make us "journal" every day. I do mean every day. Usually for only 10-15 minutes, but we had to write. She didn't care what we wrote, but it had to be grammatically correct, with proper sentence structure, and a cohesive theme. Now, understand that Ms. Wilson would not assign a topic, unlike Ms. White, who would assign those esoteric and ambiguous ideas of "love" or "happiness" or "fear." I suppose being part of the human race should have automatically qualified me for speaking to those topics, but I wanted something more real, more practical, more tangible ... something along the lines US policy on the Middle East, or perhaps the legalization of marijuana. Those were topics that I could analyze and present some facts to support. But "love?" Geeeesssshhhhhh.
So everyday I had to come up with something to write about. Every day. Did you hear that, EVERY DAY. After about 2 weeks I had exhausted my arsenal of hot button political topics. What was left? What do I write about when the Arab Oil Embargo is only 5 years removed, the reinstatement of the draft is being discussed, and I've already talked about all those things?
This day she gave the standard 15 minute assignment. I look at my paper. I look at my pen. Nothing. It wasn't happening. So here I am two weeks into the semester, and I had nothing. Nothing. It was crunch time. Ten minutes left. Now, only 5 minutes left. A blank paper before me. Sweaty palms and a lot of fear as to what a grade of zero would do to my GPA. I had to do something ... anything ... but it had to be NOW.
So I wrote exactly what I was feeling, warts and all. I don't remember everything I wrote, but I do remember my first line specifically:
That's it. That was my first line.
Second line was a bit more dramatic:
I have no idea what I need to be writing about.
Third line was a bit more personal:
I have a date Friday night with a girl that I really, really like.
Those lines I remember. I didn't number them but I treated each line as its own paragraph. And I kept writing those lines. While I don't remember all of them, I remember some others were along the lines of: "I wonder what this world will be like in 25 years?" "I have a test in math I need to study for." "History is my favorite subject."
Honestly, I believed I would get an "F" on the paper. It was simple. It had no depth. There was no analysis or development of thought or argument. It was just words on a paper that told what I was thinking and feeling in the most succinct manner possible.
The next day we have to do it all over again. So here I am --- again --- trying to come up with something to write about. And, again, nothing.
Then Ms. Wilson says something while she is sitting at her desk, out loud so everyone can hear. She is reading the journal entries from the day before and she calmly says, "Ryan, that was a very good journal entry you wrote yesterday."
That's all she said. She never looked up. She never made eye contact with me. She did not do anything but say that. THAT.
And it clicked.
In my mind, I got it. It all made sense. The point of daily journaling is to write, not to always develop a term paper with footnotes and arguments that looked like a legal brief. No, the point is to be simple and cathartic. Somehow, just putting down the words of exactly how I felt, what I feared, what I anticipated, and what I was thinking ... THAT is the whole point ... and it does ME good. It is not for anyone else, though that is a great thing when others can involve themselves in the expression, but the point is to write an express my own Whatever in a way that organizes my own thoughts and for my own benefit.
I can't help but think that blogging on the internet is nothing more than the culmination of Ms. Wilson's 10th grade lit class.
Thanks, Ms. Wilson. You done good ... er, uh, well.