Unsolicited Advice

"For whom, it suddenly occurred to him to wonder, was he writing this diary? . . . How could you communicate with the future? It was of its nature impossible. Either the future would resemble the present in which case it would not listen to him, or it would be different from it, and his predicament would be meaningless." (George Orwell, 1984, 1949)

My brothers and I received hardcover journals for Christmas one year as kids, so my first-ever entry probably didn't amount to more than a list of the other presents I got that day. I kept a pretty good journal through junior high, then in high school I switched to calendar pages. I would write just a few words describing the most interesting thing I did for each day inside the little box on the calendar page. In college, I switched from big, wall-hanging calendars to day planner calendars. I keep those calendar pages in my three-ring photo album binders. While looking at photos for my recent review of the 2000s, I noticed that my calendar entries stopped the year I moved to San Diego. Before I stopped doing them though, I apparently added a new feature in the notes column at the end of each week on the planner calendar. I included a few words on a superficial lesson I had learned that week, like unsolicited advice for future generations flipping through my photo albums. Here is my advice to myself from the first full month I lived in San Diego:

August 1-7, 2004 "Send postcards to old friends to inform them of the move."

August 8-14, 2004 "Don't buy anything you can check out at the library."

August 15-21, 2004 "The point of living near the beach is to hang out at the beach."

August 22-28, 2004 "Going #2 every morning counts on Sundays too."

August 29-September 4, 2004 "Remember people's names."

My advice for this week? Don't wear pants with holes in the crotch because if you pass out or have a heart attack, everyone will see.