I have shoeboxes full of notepads in my closet. The notepads date back to the early 90s and contain excerpts from my past. Some people journal to work through stuff; I do it because I want to be reminded of detail that’s otherwise lost.
I took in a container-load of belongings from my mom this past summer, and amid all the possessions I found stray journal pages of hers. They were dated around 9/11, and I read them for historical value.
But reading someone else’s journal – particularly my mom’s – makes me feel like a peeping Tom. Do you really want to waste your time in the bushes, watching the slow, day-to-day movement unfold through a gap in the curtains?