A couple of months ago, I came across a creative writing notebook that had survived a purge. It was from 2023 and while it was mostly filled with drafts of blog posts and podcast scripts that have already been published, there were bits and pieces of stories, poems, and outlines, along with a st of reflections that were part of a writing project I’d taken part in.

I don’t remember the purpose of the project or how she got any data she needed (if she needed data), but Teri Hartman–a fellow teacher from Canada and whom I met via Twitter a long time ago–sent out a weekly prompt for ten weeks. Every prompt was about who we are and what makes us who we are, from waht energizes and depletes us to all about our habits and routines to things that happened in the past and remain formative.

I tore these out of the notebook, thinking there might be something of a story or another piece worth writing. I found a couple. One was from week 5. The prompt that week was:

Write about an experience in your past that has shaped who you are today, for better or for worse. if it is for the better, express the gratitude you have for that experience and its contributions to your identity. If it’s for the worse, what would it be like if it released the power it has over you? Imagine that your life would be like if you didn’t have either past experience.

The experience happened in a diner when I was a sophomore in high school. My parents were talking about someone in the place and while nothing happened, I’m pretty sure people heard. Anyone with Boomer parents can relate–they talk way too loud about everything and don’t have a filter or sense of the other people in the room. This was particularly bad and embarrassing and it’s always stuck with me. I apologize for purposely being vague here because it’s still a tough memory to think of, but it made me think a lot about appearances, the ways my parents were flawed, and my own self-consciousness.

Another prompt that gave me some inspiration was:

Wander around your environment and pick a random object, color, activity, etc., and create a simile or metaphor to describe elements about yourself. Extend this description, aligning as many abstract elements with as many literal elements of the two items as you can. What new insights have you gained by comparing yourself with such random circumstances? Did this level of playfulness and insight delight you, frustrate you, or scare you?

What came out of my response was a draft of a poem that’s pretty bad, although I liked the metaphor: afternoon coffee and how it reflects my creative process. It’s random, with bad timing, not the utilitarian “face the grind” morning mug. But I’m not much of a poet, so I couldn’t make it work. I did hold onto it in case I want to tackle it again.

The rest of the prompts were more reflective and felt more personal journal than creative writing. And I’ve been doing a lot of journaling these past few years.

Tucked into my nightstand drawers are several journals covering the past six or seven years. I took up journaling again back around 2018. My therapist had recommended it, and while it took some time for me to make it a daily habit, it’s now part of my morning routine.

There’s no special method to my journaling. I simply sit down and write whatever is on my mind for five or ten minutes in the morning, sometimes longer on the weekends. I also bring it to my therapy appointments to reference it and use it for taking notes. It is a nice journal, though, so there’s that.

The topics are nothing new and they’re probably what anyone else would write about. Unlike my teenage journals, there ar eno stories about girls or friends at school; it’s the ordinary stuff that comes with adulting and middle age. What strikes me about them, though, is how in those journals and the responses I gave to many of the prompts in Teri’s project, is how down I am on myself. Even in the reflections I did on Teri’s prompts (which I wrote in red next to the blue ink in the notebook), I’m judgmental toward the person writing it.

Last year, I went through a major depressive episode. I’m pretty good at masking these things, so I don’t know how many people noticed, but I did see a psychiatrist and get put on a better medication (in fact, I’m seeing him again this week for a checkup). I’m not a believer in “magic pills” by any means, but after a few weeks on the meds, I felt more like myself again. The writing helps, too, especially when I feel like I’m slipping back into that depression (or the anxiety or the binging or the … I really should start a list).

I don’t know how long I’m going to hold onto these journals. Maybe I’ll do that tax records thing of recycling one every seven years. Or maybe it’s something for future me to decide. After all, when asked: If you had to write a “term paper about who you are right now in your life, what would the title be?”, I responded …

Sooner or later, I’ll figure this out.