Trautism

I’ve barely done any journaling in my life, and most of what I’ve written down I’ve subsequently destroyed shortly thereafter. This habit started out by fearing retribution from my parents and evolved into a general skepticism over the wisdom of documenting my private behaviors and innermost thoughts and feelings in a manner that someone else could potentially see so easily. Despite that ambivalence, I was quite thrilled last year when I rediscovered a diary I’d kept for the first two weeks of being 18 years old. It was hidden within the pages of a book titled, “Meditations from Conversations with God, Book 2.” Over the years I had interpreted this spine on the shelf as a religious text, blindly skimming over the discreet subtitle “A Personal Journal,” although that oversight is probably why my words have survived to this day. 

The journal came with a page for each day of the year, and a biblical-themed prompt for the day followed by space to write. I took the extra liberty to add the year and day of the week to the date at the top, as well as to list each day’s weather next to the right of the upgraded date. On every page I’d also chronicle my day and include a personal goal, an extra prayer, and three things that I was particularly grateful to have in my life. In this way I treated it as more of a personal workbook than a diary, with my thoughts steering more towards objectivity than reflection. 

I took the effort quite seriously at first, using my best neatly printed handwriting for the first five pages: the first two that were initially blank but now contained my standard prayer, and then pages for the first three days of the year. But by January 4 and 5, I’m already getting bored with the project, as my handwriting has gone completely slanted. Loose cursive kicks in on January 6 and lingers for four days. I pull my focus back together on January 10, returning to neatly printed words. But it’s more like terminal lucidity than a genuine revival, as the following day starts with a somewhat neat print that quickly morphs into sloppy slants and finishes as loopy cursive. On the last day, January 12, the font is mixed even within sentences. And I had turned reticent. Technically I’d filled out all the sections I had required of myself but divulged little about the details of my day. I simply noted it was “bad,” and I’m “just feeling moody and depressed for some reason.” But I’m quick to point out that no, it’s not PMS. And the first item on my gratitude list? Not dying on the Titanic. (Sheesh.) Although I was rather obsessed with the tragedy of the Titanic, even before the 1997 blockbuster with Leo and Kate, so this sentiment isn’t quite as dark as it seems.

I’ve also written “thanks” next to the prompt for that day, with a little arrow pointing back to it to clarify the intended recipient. It’s the only time I respond to any of the prompts or otherwise acknowledge their existence in any way besides taking care to not write over them. So when I first saw “thanks” like this, especially in the context of a senselessly rough day, I questioned whether or not I had meant it sarcastically. I don’t think so, though, as sarcasm rarely shows up in my private dialogues. However I don’t think it’s pure gratitude either, as I’m getting whiffs of cynicism. The message reads: 

If you choose something, choose it with all your might, with all your heart. Don’t be faint-hearted. Keep going! Keep moving toward it. Be determined. 

I don’t recall what went through my head when I responded to the prompt, but I can pick up the trail here pretty easily. I knew I was losing interest in this project as evidenced by my inconsistent handwriting, and the fact I ended it so quickly. I knew I’d hit a slump and was feeling particularly disengaged on the last day. And here was the book, potentially speaking for God himself, calling my bluff. Am I fired up about this project enough to keep going? The answer was firmly no, and the prompt seems to have given me the permission I felt I needed to bow out.

If my takeaway seems paradoxical – because it’s saying to keep going, and I stopped – then the key to understanding my reaction probably lies in “if.” I had taken this lesson to heart as fundamental truth when I read it, as I tended to do with religious teachings. I also probably acknowledged to myself that having not had this lesson already in my toolbox, I had inherently failed to appreciate its relevance in making wise decisions that are worthy of follow-through. So I took a mulligan, recognized I had made a choice that didn’t deserve my wholeheartedness, and bailed with a clear conscience. I’d guess that’s also when I then hardcoded myself to make my commitments ironclad – albeit without quite consciously framing it as such, nor putting in proper systems for vetting such obligations. 

In many ways, I wish I had gotten the lesson but kept going with this pursuit. I cherish the memories I’ve documented on these dozen or so pages, and I’m grateful to see my standard prayer, or some form of it. Below is what I wrote down when I was 18 years old. It’s broken into paragraphs for easier reading.

General Prayer

Dear Lord,

Let me first thank you for everything you have given me today and every day. Also, let me thank you for everything you have given Brandon*, my parents, my sister, Brandon’s parents, Brandon’s sister, the rest of our family and friends, and everyone and everything.

Please forgive my sins, and forgive the sins of Brandon, my parents, my sister, Brandon’s parents, Brandon’s sister, the rest of our family and friends, and the rest of the world, everyone and everything.

Please help us to lead lives free of sin. Please take everyone and everything to heaven eventually, including all plants, animals, objects (because they look like they have feelings, too) and everyone who has died, will die, or is dying.

You made everyone and everything, so everyone and everything must have some bit of good in them. Please help everyone and everything to use this good and lead religious, happy, honest, loving, generous, friendly, and caring lives.

Please establish loving and eternal relationships with everyone and everything you don’t already have one with and please strengthen those that you already have.

Please help and lead all people or things who are confused, hurt, angry, sad, sick, or anything else that isn’t positive.

Thank you again, Dear Lord, for everything you do and say. Thank you again and I love you. Amen.

My thoroughness at such a young age makes me wonder yet again if I missed a career as a lawyer — alas. Also amusing is my thoughtful hierarchy, carefully listing people based on their priority in my life: first me and my high school sweetheart and childishly betrothed, Brandon; then back to my nuclear family; next came his nuclear family; then the rest of our social circle, and finally, of course, the rest of existence. I’m sure when I originally composed the prayer as a kid that my mom was first, followed by my dad, my sister, and our delightful assortment of pets we had over the years. Back then I would identify many more specific people as well, listing everyone from relatives I had never met to nice neighbors and troubled classmates. 

I often fell asleep as I prayed through all these blessings. It built off a tender habit my mom developed in me when I was anxious and had difficulty sleeping. She encouraged me to think of everyone who ever loved me. We’d delight in making endless lists of loved ones and possible loved ones and future loved ones and even past loved ones, looking down on us from heaven.

Additionally my prayer nods to the specific tenets of Catholicism, by including the word “eventually.” It reflects a rather uniquely Catholic belief that those not destined for eternal damnation of hellfire would need to be purified (read: punished) after death based on the extent of their sins during life, and before they could proceed to the sanctity of heaven – kind of like taking a shower after doing yard work and before going to a party. Saints and others who were already in perfect harmony with God were exempt from such a “cleansing process,” but weekly confession reminded the rest of us just how imperfect we all were. 

Sometimes I could get pretty upset over my sins, but I’d get even more emotional for people who didn’t believe in God or know how to seek forgiveness. I didn’t see it as their fault though. How does someone know something if they aren’t taught it? What if they’re taught something else first, and those beliefs naturally take hold and fill them up so they can’t accept anything else? What if they just don’t understand? It really didn’t seem right that people like that would suffer endlessly in hell or extensively in purgatory. So I prayed earnestly for everyone as best as I could. My religion and methods have changed since these days, but the sentiment remains: love and peace for us all. 

*Names and other details have been changed for privacy.

EDIT 4/18/2025: Updated the featured image to be a sketch I drew when I was 15 years old. The original, AI-generated image is shown below.