so, friends – this marks post number #1,000.

back when i was 10 and in fifth grade, i tried keeping my first diary. it was bound in red leather and came with a genuine lock and key. at first i was really good about keeping it up. i wrote about my gymnastics meets, sleepovers at my friend natasha’s house where we did freestyle “fame” inspired dance routines to pat benatar songs, my crush on a boy named marc raila, and heather the school bully. i wrote down what the weather was like, and gave each day an overall letter grade. i managed to keep this up for a whole 2 weeks. and then, i suppose it just started to seem like homework. in fact, i would often go back to the diary after not having picked it up for weeks, and feel guilty enough about the empty pages to start randomly filling in grades for each day, or maybe a one-liner about what had happened, if i could remember. sometimes, i just made it up. the empty pages were an indictment of my neglect, my failure to follow through.

sometimes, however, i was forced to keep a journal against my will. growing up, my father was firmly committed to building in extra-curricular learning experiences for his children wherever possible. so everywhere we went, whether on a week long trip to visit our grandparents in florida, or a summer long camping experience across the country, or a drive up to canada, we were forced to keep a journal of our days. about the museums we went to, or the animals we saw, or the friends we met. every day we had to write *something*, because everything was considered part of our education. i still have those journals, and today they form the foundation for most of my memories of those times, and i’m particularly thankful for that. but god, i hated doing them at the time. other kids got summer vacations full of endless hours of television cartoons – we got homework.

and i’ve said here before that some days, blogging seems like homework as well. that there is pressure to fill the blank page on a regular basis. when i first started this, i wrote only for my own amusement. i then began writing as a way to keep my family and friends informed – to answer the never-ending emails about what “life in london” was like. at a certain point, i began to realise there were a small handful of outsiders who seemed interested in reading my drivel, and i suddenly felt like i had to keep them entertained as well.

but since then, the pendulum has swung back again. nowadays it’s still sometimes like homework – but homework i set for myself. homework i am glad to have done when i finally finish, because it seems i learn something new about myself every time i sit down and start stringing words together. i learn a lot about my thought processes and how my brain works. i learn about why certain things move and inspire me, and others do not. i learn about the persistence of memory and the influence of time. i learn about the importance of familial bonds and the evolution of friendships. i learn about the ripple effect that can turn the most mundane of events into a tidal wave of change. i learn that even those things that frustrate me have something to teach me. i learn to take better note of the good that pervades my life, and the lessons i’ve picked up along the way. i learn to appreciate art and music. i learn to appreciate the beauty in the details.

i learn so very much.

so it’s still homework sometimes, but homework of the best kind. i may not assign each post a letter grade, or even write about what i saw or did that day. but i am learning and i am following through.

my dad would be proud.

leona naess – on my mind

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