“I never travel without my diary. One should always have something sensational to read in the train.” ~ Oscar Wilde
As I pondered how to being this blog, I felt motivated to read the first entry from each of my diaries. (I’ve written in a journal since I first learned how to write. Thus far I’ve filled 26, and kept track of all but one.) Memories refreshed themselves and I found myself alternately smiling and cringing. When I’d finished reading, my thought was, how would I feel if someone else were to peruse these pages?
My journal writing was how I learned to speak my mind and be comfortable with honesty and vulnerability. In its early volumes, my journal was the one place in which I revealed all the secrets I carefully guarded from my parents and friends. Secrets like angry or selfish thoughts, crushes, jealousies, silly personal triumphs, fears, and goals. As a teenager I would have been mortified if someone had read my diary. Nowadays, my journal is a place for thinking aloud privately (occasionally I do think aloud publicly, usually with humorous or embarrassing results). I would not be mortified if someone were to pick up my current volume, but I would be uneasy and I can’t pinpoint why. Perhaps because I’ve never been inclined to read a diary that was not my own?
What about you? Would you read someone else’s diary–with or without permission? Would you let someone to read yours?