I started journaling in 1996 on my ninth birthday. During a recent visit home to see my parents, I ventured into my childhood bedroom closet and pulled out seven old journals. I'm grateful that even at such a young age I understood the importance of dating each entry. As I slowly read my way through all 17 years of boy crushes and big girl dreams, I've concluded so far that I was, hands-down, the worst speller in all of New England. But more importantly that life—despite the rough patches, surely is wonderful.
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