Dim, dimly

[From Tuesday, a choppy day on the water.] Today's plans were waylaid, but in a good way, since I got more time to rest and work. Writing is still chugging along, a surprise but also a comfort. I thought about what both Terry Tempest Williams and Susan Tweit wrote, about the importance of journals. It made me bolt up in bed at 1am, turn on the light, and dig through a corner of storage devoted to all of my old journals and sketchbooks. I nearly pulled a muscle trying to dig out the ones I needed: from Korea.

[Last night.] While digging, I browsed through selections of other journals from way back, and was amazed: history repeats itself. I'd read myself writing the same thing over and over again, these doubts I had about myself, the observations that other people would make about me (whether or not their opinions were welcome or invited), and then the inevitable run I'd make to my sister, who would always reassure me that I was just fine. This morning, I read more work by Glenn Omatsu, which confirmed the fact that history repeats itself, where he talks about the corporate war on the poor in the late 1970s and how it affected civil rights movements.

It's all very disheartening, especially on a rainy day, but all the more impetus for me to continue mining my recent past, making choices about how to spin it, how I am writing and rewriting my own history in hopes that it serves a greater good. It's not just about the papermaking, but I'm grateful that papermaking woke me up and that I get to write about working in water on rainy days.