October 26, 2012

  • these lights and numbers are a bright sign.

    Eight years ago to this day, I started writing here.

    I don't have anything particularly profound to say beyond that, except to reflect on what eight years can mean. 

    I have this bizarre memory in my head from when I was six or seven. I went into the bathroom in our house in Bowie, and turned around to lock the door. For some strange reason, my younger self decided that I was going to remember that precise moment of locking the door for the rest of my life. Ever since then, I haven't gone a single day without at least once remembering that I locked the bathroom door on a random day when I was young. I've tried to do the same with other meaningless events and it just isn't possible. For reasons I cannot begin to explain, that one second has permanently attached itself to my daily routine. 

    Eight years ago, I was a sophomore in high school. Today I am a senior in college, preparing to go to law school and waiting on pins and needles every day, anticipating the moment my LSAT scores appear in my email inbox. Life changes, but some things remain constant. For example, here's a quote from October 26th, 2004:

    "I cannot believe it. For those of you who know me, you know I find online journals somewhat pointless and misleading. Feel free to call me the world's biggest double-guesser after this, but hey, it's my life. Sorry."

    Recognize the beginnings of the rambling, strange adult you know today? It's all there. Also, I spelled guarantees as "guarontees," so that certainly hasn't changed either. I also ended most of my first entries with "~Ben~" - just so we're clear, if I ever get the classic scenario of one trip back in time to fix a past wrong, Hitler's making it out unscathed while my tilde-inspired endings get deleted before they ever occur.

    I've rarely edited, never held back, and made as many private entries public as possible while still respecting other people's privacy. I have no clue if people read write I post anyone, but I occasionally throw the link on Twitter just because I like to believe, in the words of eight-years-ago Ben, "I can be interesting occasionally." That's not really true, but it's the least of my concerns. Sometimes a place just feels like home. 

    I don't know where I'll be next year, and I don't even know if I'll wake up in the morning. But as long as I do, I'll be here to occasionally make snide remarks about some event that occurred in my mind. I'd like to think you wouldn't have it any other way.