I decided when I started blogging again that I would make things a little more manageable. Three days of posting rather than my initially overenthusiastic five days. A set schedule of content so I never had to sit down listlessly at the computer and stare hopelessly into the void of the internet waiting for The Best! Post! Ever! I even had a backlog list of post ideas waiting for me from my initial foray into blogging. That list is (ahem) eighteen months old. And it is weird.
I am not someone who can keep a journal. The thought of reading old posts makes me cringe. When I found my junior high/high school journal I burned it. That isn't as melodramatic as it sounds- I threw it in the woodburning stove with some other paper trash when I was cleaning out my closet in my parent's house. I don't like looking back and seeing who I was. Rather, I don't like looking back and seeing who I really was. I like reminiscing and comparing my current accomplishments to my prior self. I don't like reminders of what a different person I was. I don't like reading a journal and feeling contempt at the navel gazing combined with the discomfort of realizing that the stranger's diary I am reading is mine.
The list is a diary of sorts. A collection of articles and pictures and quotes without any context. It makes it easier to deal with than a journal, but that is because it contains none of my own thoughts. I've stumbled across this artifact of my own recent history, and it means nothing. Half of the content is on topics I no longer care about, and the other half makes me wonder what I cared about when I saved them. I don't know who the person was that saved those scraps. And yet- I've also written three posts inspired by that list on topics that still move me.
Should this unease motivate me to journal, or dissuade me? Is it better to forget your past foibles, or should you continually remind yourself of your mental history?