I’ve been spending a bit of time lately with the me I used to be.
Freshman year of high school, my English teacher, Mr. Montgomery, assigned us a class project to begin keeping journals.
I was so into it that when the official assignment was over, I kept on writing for myself.
I checked in almost daily, beginning each entry with “Hey Mont,” which was what I always said when I walked into class or saw him in the hall.
I wrote in my journal all through high school (and over the summers), and when I left for college in the fall of 1992, I left behind eight notebooks that pretty much documented my life over those four years. As you might imagine, it’s something I’m really proud of.
The collection (plus a couple of failed restarts) is one of my most significant possessions. Continue reading
