I think we forget--well, maybe it's just me--that we didn't always know what we know now.
I say it because I am often surprised as I transcribe Wayne's journal. He didn't know this or understand that, and they are things, whatever they might be, I think he should have known or understood. I see him figuring things out, in particular, relationships, and I think he should already know about that. But he didn't. Probably I didn't either, even though I think I must have known. Like, always. Funny, huh.
And something else. He often writes that he is unworthy or ill-prepared or just not good enough. And I say back to him, although he isn't here, you know, "Don't keep telling yourself those things. Do you write it for your own benefit? And does it benefit you?" I think my own journals from 50-some years ago would be painful reading. I threw most of them out, which is what I plan to do with my current ones. Get someone to come in here and chuck them.
Oh well, there's no going back, as we know. No fixing it. No helping. There's only reading and responding, which is what I'm doing.
Monday, February 25, 2013
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