So today I found myself wishing that I could somehow track down my fourth-grade teacher and tell her thank you. I’m sure she did a lot of good work with me that year. However, she did something else that I will never forget: she gave me my first ever journal. I got it as a last day of school present. It was red with a teddy bear holding balloons on the cover. A gesture that to her I’m sure seemed insignificant. But those little gestures matter so much more than we know.
I had been reading a ton of those “Dear America” history journals that are tailored to that age group and I was just tickled by the thought of having my own. And even though that journal didn’t have very many entries in it, I have not stopped journaling since. That’s right, while I am by no means a nightly journaler and have taken some breaks from it, it is a practice I have never given up (and have no plans to give up anytime soon!)
It’s just so cool to me because she had no idea what a significant part of my life writing would become. If you go back in the journals you can see how my writing style evolved, the different techniques that developed and the influences of whoever I happened to be reading at the time. It helped me find my voice and taught me to express myself in a way that many other adults struggle to do.
And I am so grateful for her gift of the journal that I wish I could thank her, the same way I thank God for the gift of being able to write in the first place.
And the way I thank you, for taking the time to read what I have written.