One of my favourite things to do in Perth is to look through my old journals. It always amazes me how differently I saw the world and how I carried myself in particular situations, while comparing to myself now.

While it’s fun just revisiting old memories, the best part of reading old journals is tracking how I’ve changed over time. We sometimes think of our values, personality and priorities as being unchanging, for if we fail to record events down, we usually forget them, and then there is nothing to remind us that we came from somebody different to us now. Yet it only takes a few honest, historical entries to remind you that you were once addicted to games, perhaps a little too much of a people-pleaser, and embarrassingly awkward. And when I journal nowadays, I too am aware that my “deep” thoughts and emotions will be looked back upon with a similar sort of gentleness and amusement.

This blog, too, acts as a journal of sorts. Every so often I’ll read some of my earliest posts, which I don’t edit, despite me desperately wanting to, for that would be tainting the piece, and it is always humbling seeing younger Eric write his heart out, wrestling with the topics that he found valuable, remembering how these posts shaped his thinking. And witnessing this is beautiful: it helps connect the dots backwards, to look back and see the path behind us.

It only takes a minute or two every day to write down the day’s thoughts and events, maybe more if you’re overcome by passion or emotion. But this habit provides a piece of evidence, evidence that you did things and said things and thought things and generally existed. And with enough pieces of evidence, it begins to show your transition across time, as a portfolio of sorts, but instead of displaying art, or achievements, you are showing an account of yourself – and that is a precious thing.