When I was only five years old, my parents bought me my very first journal, or diary as I liked to call it back then. It was pink and purple and had Minnie Mouse on the cover. It quickly became one of my most prized possessions. However, I didn’t quite understand the concept of dating my entries…so instead of writing the month, day, and year at the top of the page, I wrote the name of my kindergarten boyfriend, since he was my “date” at that point in my life.
Nevertheless, I wrote in that journal all the time. And then when I filled that one up, I bought another one, this time one with a lock and key, because my middle school secrets needed the extra protection, obviously. (Insert eye roll here.)
It didn’t take long before I filled up that journal. And then another one. And another. Everywhere I went I had at least one journal (or three) with me at all times.