I slept fitfully last night. Dream after dream dug up old regrets. In the course of seven hours, I managed to uncover too many insecurities: Classes I never attended, or worse, attended but dozed my way through. My undergraduate thesis, which prevented me from graduating with honors because I half-assed my way through it. Laziness everywhere. Mean words I’ve unknowingly spoken because I was too obtuse to notice. Promises made and promptly forgot. Thank you’s thought but never said, and notes never sent. Loved ones who have died without ever hearing the things I had wanted to tell them.
I popped out of bed and resolved to write more in this blog, if only because I won’t remember my life unless I write it down. I’ll wake up in thirty more years regretting everything, wondering why I did what I did, wishing I could throw a glass of ice water in my younger face and force myself to try a little harder. I need to be more aware. I don’t mean to be so flaky, I just forget things.
Somehow, I suspect that deliberately writing in this blog may help. Because when you capture your thoughts—as trivial as they may be—days don’t roll into one another and life becomes less of a blur. You remember things good and bad, and you know why you did what you did. You float less.
And maybe, with any luck, I’ll hold myself more accountable. I’ll show up on time. I’ll try my hardest, always. And I’ll thank the people I love.