Wednesday, August 26, 2009

the lost art of journaling

Before I was married I had a nightly ritual.

No matter what time it was, I would read in bed, then write in my journal, then call Curtis to tell him goodnight before setting my alarm, turning off my light and going to sleep.

But once I got married the journaling lessened, except for spurts now and then.

I have traded paper and pen for pillow talk, and journals for whispers and kisses.

That is not to say I do not write. I spend a good ten hours a day writing. Although this is not writing for pleasure, I typically leave work at night with a brain full of jelly and a tired mind. Since marriage, I have also started this blog. A different medium for sure, but it fulfills part of my incessant need to document my days and thoughts.

But lately, I have been feeling the itch. Two itches really, but for the sake of this post, the other will have to wait…I have been feeling the itch of my hand holding pen to paper.

I caught a glimpse of my journal last night, sitting stuffed between books on my nightstand…lonely. I have not opened it in weeks, although it comes with me every once in a while, when I start to feel that old longing bubbling up.

I miss the uncensored way I would write – not even sentences sometimes, just words. And when all else failed, the scribbling of doodles from a mind, clogged like a bathroom sink.

So, I woke up today, with a reinvigorated sense of my need {not even so much my desire} to begin to journal again.

There is so much more going on inside of me than what I post in this space, so much more I am afraid I might lose if not documented, cemented between pages, that there really is no other choice.

I debated whether to end the journals altogether and simply keep a file open on my computer…It took about 2 minutes for me to decide against this.

The art of the handwritten word is nearly obsolete, so for me, it is an art form I do not want to lose.

So I will write.

Whether I will start where I left off in my old journal or start a new one – I am not yet sure.

There is something to be said for new beginnings. A fresh journal, like so many other things to me, signifies a fresh start. The blank page more than just paper – but opportunity to begin again.

Autumn is like that for me too. There’s something about the close of summer that speaks of fresh starts.

I have not been a student for some years now, but there’s something in me that delights in the aisles and aisles of school supplies, new routines, early mornings and the chance to start anew, all over again.

It is nearly September and tonight my mind has made the transition from summer to fall. From August and that lazy way about the heat that calls for limp limbs and mellow nights, to September with its rumblings of commitment and the hankering down that comes with the long preparation for the winter hibernation.

I am ready for more than boots and sweaters this year, I am ready for the discipline and determination that must come with setting goals too big and planning for big changes.

So, don’t mind me, Summer, if I push my flip flops and tank tops to the back of the closet to make way for boots and socks and blazers, and if I pack up my Saturday morning fashion magazines in lieu of my journal and a ball point pen.


Marisa said...

the sight of a fresh, unblemished journal makes me tingle! :D glad you decided to keep the pen + paper around.

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