I’ve always been a handwriter, and one of the great joys and embarrassments is that it links you to the you of the past. Flipping through old notebooks, I can go back more than ten years and instantly be connected to the terrible and embarrassing moody poetry of my high school days– dark and cheesy like my soul –or the chirpy Lion King diary with the little golden lock where I talk about playing games with my brother at the cottage. I remember where and why I wrote most of these things, unlike when I WayBack machine my old blogs which usually feel like they were written by a foreign entity. No plausible deniability when your handwriting hasn’t changed much in 10 years.
The whole thing is wonderful. Go read it.