Why I can’t keep a diary

Joan Didion said it best in her collection of essays, Slouching Towards Bethlehem:

At no point have I ever been able successfully to keep a diary; my approach to daily life ranges from the grossly negligent to the merely absent, and on those few occasions when I have tried dutifully to record a day’s events, boredom has so overcome me that the results are mysterious at best …

I’ve tried numerous times over the years to keep a journal or diary and each time failed miserably.

In fact, I admire greatly those who can. The ability to write something that is factually representative without drowning in self-absorption is true art.

Possibly I lack the necessary stamina or regimen to continue on a daily basis.

Equally likely is that I don’t consider my life in any way interesting enough to record.

Granted, it makes accurately remembering specific dates and events tricky, but that’s the way I like it.

Hats off to the diarists/journalers out there – I fear I will never truly join your ranks.

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