My father was a writer. He wrote all of his life, inflicting upon many of us his novels, plays, articles, essays, and self-help books. Some were marvelous; some merely well-intentioned. But of all the things he wrote, his journal is his legacy: by turns wise and bewildering, it neared 1,100 type-written pages when he died in 2010. Although perused many times, this is the first time it will be read - cover to cover, page after page.
Segments of time are as long or short as we say they are. If we work in units of single events or of years, they begin and end when we say they do, and so we need not carry into the present more than we can handle or less than we want to remember.
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