DEAR DIARY

I'm usually a little smug about my technological successes.  I'm an Apple devotee and say what you will, those machines work well.  I rarely have an issue with my desktop, my laptop, my I-Pad or I-Phone.  No freezing.  Rare spamming.  No viruses or crashes or worms or any of those other bad things.

I take no credit for this.  I have no idea of the inner workings of Apple products that seem to ward off such disasters.  I just notice these things don't happen to me (much) and I credit the Apple geniuses, since previous computer brands I owned were always creating havoc for me.

But left to my own ignorant devices, I can screw up big-time.  I recently had a thumb drive go "bad" on me -- as in I plugged it into my laptop one day and it was fine, the next day it was dead.  No computer in my home even recognizes it, let alone opens it.  I've lost about 2 years of personal journal entries, a few poems, some other this's and that's -- I don't really recall everything that is on there.   Since that debacle I've been told  that thumb drives are notoriously prone to failure and to NEVER consider them a safe back-up.  Well, I didn't even use it as a back-up.  I used it as a primary storage unit for certain items.  Oh dear.

I'm pretty heartsick, mostly about the journal entries.  I read something once by another journal writer who said, "If I don't record my life by writing it out, it's as if it didn't happen."  I agree.  My journals are full of facts, reflections, brilliant breakthroughs, rants, cathartic moaning, groaning and screaming, sadness, joy, vacation notes, and dither.  I go back and re-read entries to remind myself of events, times, transitions, and thoughts I had then to see if I've made any progress on my personal growth quest or my "to do" lists, or just to steal particularly well written ideas and sentences for other writing I'm doing.

This has been a humbling experience and one that has caused me some grief and regret.  I really miss those two year's worth of entries.  Some important things happened and I want to remember exactly what my state of mind and emotion was then.  My memory is as notoriously unreliable as a thumb drive.

On the other hand, this is perhaps good practice in letting go.   What choice do I have?  Those years are in the past; I'm still here.  I grew and changed, things happened and I responded to them in ways brilliant and ridiculous.   I often say that should anyone read my journals at some future time, they might conclude I was the most depressed, angry, resentful, screwed up woman alive.  I have used journal writing to work through some very negative and dark emotional states.  But there is pride, contentment and unbridled joy there too.

Maybe I'll go back to journaling regularly and maybe I won't; either way, my life will continue to play out on the stage of everyday existence, and maybe that is enough.

At least, that's the view from here....©