How Much Self-Exploration Is Too Much?

I'm a wannabe journalist. I'm going to make it happen some day, though I have no experience so far. One of my traits that always made me think I'd be a good journalist is that I'm always taking in information for a multitude of purposes. For fun, for learning, for sharing with others, for informing my own life goals. I figured that is how a journalist would have to be, and so I have felt in a prime position to soar in my career because of this habit.

But lately I've sensed that I can definitely take it too far. I take in little tidbits here and there on disparate subjects. I have curiosity like a player has intrigue; it goes in one direction then another, and I'm a slave to its pull. Such is my learning style, which never served me well in college. And this habit occurs in my relationship with myself too, as if I am just another subject available to study.

I have written in journals since age twelve, which started off as a source of fun for me, morphed into a friend who keeps secrets, then into a therapist, and now is almost a social outlet since my Covid-era life is so contained. Add up all that time and there is a lot of information about me to pore over. I never read it, but I do add to it almost daily, and I've begun to question the merit of the whole endeavor.

I've heard from others who keep journals of a problem one can run into wherein you "live inside your journal" and hardly live anywhere else. That's been a common occurrence in the past four months under quarantine, which does not seem too discouraging given the circumstances. But people are still out there and life is still out there; connection can still happen with them, yet I'm here connecting over and over again with myself. 

I believe those who don't write have shrunk their life's scope in other ways. Allow a hobby to consume them in lieu of sharing themselves with anyone else; cooking, gaming, creating. But in writing to myself about myself this much, I'm finding that the benefits of knowing this much about my own inner workings is wasted, because I am not giving any friends of mine the ability to come in contact with my introspective self. 

Knowing one's self is helpful for relationships, since being around someone who doesn't understand themselves and tells themselves lies is tiresome. I am no saint, but as a possessor of a handful of friendships, I'm partially responsible for them. Honing my skills of self-honesty, authenticity, etc does no good for anyone if I don't exhibit it in front of others. One might even say it's not useful to me either. If you have to trade in a social life for a monk's monastery life in order to be self-knowing, the goal of your life has escaped your grasp.