A deep dive into the journals I wrote when I was seventeen.
Here she is, in all her glory: the cheap notebook I acquired at Marshall’s on a Tuesday afternoon in 2014. Little did I know it had a greater purpose in life: to serve as the encyclopedia of my teenage years. And to top it off, in the typical angsty teenager-style, I added stickers.
While cleaning my desk out last week, this time capsule reappeared. I struggled to read the journal in its entirety, as some parts were unbearably awkward that I needed to skip through.
Each new entry is titled "Dear future Jayne" for the specific goal of documenting important thoughts, feelings, and moments I had while they were still fresh in my mind–as if I were going to go blank one day and completely forget everything by the time I turned 30 (irrational fear inspired by The Notebook).
This following snippet from my journal takes us back to 2017. And yes, this is the least cringe-evoking entry I could find, which is saying a lot.
Being seventeen is an experience.
Adults will ask you “what do you think you’re going to choose for your major in college? What do you want to do with that?” while simultaneously saying, “you’re too young to understand certain things.”
I mean, we can’t even vote, but you want me to have a solid blueprint for the rest of my life?
