I started writing on a diary when I was 5 and I can barely spell. My grammar was out of this world and not being a native English speaker, my journal entries were absurd if not horrible. I knew this because I came across my many journals from 25 years ago when I was packing my stuff and putting away things I’ve held on to in the past which I thought were important that’s now clogging my cabinet.
It piqued my interest to read further more on my journals and those Ordinary days now seem precious. I know I wrote those things but I don’t recall much about it happening. I could not believe myself that that was even possible. Even the ones from when I was a bit older, around 9 or 10 years old; I still cannot recall the things I’m reading. How odd is that?!
I had an idea. I picked a random, totally Ordinary day from my journal and read the entry to my sister. And I asked her to read her journal entry on that day. The day I picked was a day when we apparently had a big fight about who’s going to hold the clicker while we watch TV. And based on what I wrote on my journal, it was a pretty big fight. When she read me her journal for that day, it was about a totally different thing and no mention of the “big clicker fight” at all.
It’s interesting that my sister’s Ordinary day was not so Ordinary for me. Each day can be just another day – typical, average, and nothing special. But all those Ordinary days combined, makes up my uncommon, unusual, extraordinary life of today.