I’ve been journaling a lot this summer. Not every day, and not with the intention of writing anything particularly poetic or put-together, but a lot. It’s mostly scattered thoughts — half-finished sentences, lists of things I’m trying to process, weirdly specific moments I don’t want to forget. It’s like the feeling of driving with the windows down after a long day, or hearing something someone said that hit a little too close. I journal in the times of the day when things slow down: late at night before bed, sitting in my parked car after a long drive or in the 20 minutes between class and Collis lunch when I need to get out of my head.
Some entries are barely legible, rushed and messy; others are more carefully written, like I know I’ll want to reread them later. I’ve written about feeling really proud of myself after initiating a hard conversation. I’ve written about missing home. About a walk that unexpectedly made me cry. About a random lunch that reminded me how much I genuinely like the people I’ve chosen to surround myself with. Even if I don’t go into journaling thinking that it’s something I’ll want to remember later, I always do.
When I flip back through those pages, I’ve started to notice a pattern. So many of them are, in one way or another, about growing up. I’m noticing the shift in how I move through the world. How I reach out to people. How I recover after a bad day. How I’ve started making decisions not based on what I should be doing, but what actually feels right.
The slower pace and space to actually sit with my thoughts this summer has made me more aware of those shifts — the ways I’ve changed, even if I didn’t realize it in real time. Journaling has become a way to track that slow-motion transformation. It helps me take inventory of who I’m becoming, without needing to have it all figured out.
Honestly, that’s been one of the most valuable parts of this term. Beyond the river swims and dinners out and about, there’s been this subtle sense of settling into myself, into the communities I’m a part of, into this weird and wonderful place we get to call home for four years.
This week in Mirror, we’re thinking about what it means to change — sometimes slowly, sometimes all at once. One writer explores what it means to live in an off-campus house or Greek space. And in a weekly column, a writer addresses what happens when a situationship comes to an end.
Happy Week 7, Mirror. Whether you’re writing it down or just living it, I hope you’re noticing the small ways this summer is shaping you and giving yourself credit for all the quiet growth.
