At my mom's house there's a box in my bedroom closet that is filled with journals. They are brimming with adolescent wonder, worries, antics, drama, dreams and everything in between. Probably a lot of boy-talk too, let's be honest. At some point, I stopped writing, packed up the box and put it away for safekeeping - and no, I have never re-read them. I might need a full bottle of wine to face my teenage self, I was a tad feisty. 

Why do we stop taking the time to write out our days adventures?

Who says our future selves won't be interested in what wild journeys we're on (aka life), what food we can't stop shoving down our mouths (nachos, marshmallows, kale, I could go on...), what latest fashion trend we're into (hello jumpsuit season!), and our mission to find a plausible solution for clammy hands other than Botox injections. Ok, maybe I'm in the minority on that one, but trust me, clammy hands are the worst. Or maybe we won't care in the future. But I care right now. And I'm going to spill my heart out via this thing called the internet and channel my inner teen who loved ending her day with a pen and a diary into my 26 year old version, The Wilde Files.