I was journaling this morning and in finding myself coming towards the end of a page I began to tidy up my thoughts to end my writing by the bottom. It came to my attention that this was not necessary. For what reason do I attach the bottom of a page with the end of my thoughts? These thoughts continue on even if I do not write them and what happens if I do write them flowing on to the next page? – Nothing.
It drew me to consider for whom do I write my journals. While the romantic inside of me conjures up the idea that somewhere in the future someone will fall upon the many volumes of my life, read them with interest and wonder about the person who penned those words – think I have read too many books or seen too many movies? π
However, the realist in me fully acknowledges that these journals may burn with me in my grave never to see the light of day again once I am gone. In fact, I rarely go back to read what I have written and these are from MY life. π Still, it is a habit that I formed when I was 8-years-old as a way to cope.
Journaling became a way of life. It became my outlet for frustrations, for working out thoughts that I had but did not think anyone else would understand, for dreaming and planning how my life should be and for reflecting – even if I do not go back to read. Even if they never draw interest to anyone else, I now write for me. The pen goes to paper and some days it flows. Others it is a mere recounting of my days.
If I truly want to share these stories, then it requires me to properly write for a public audience. This blog is a bit of a bridge from the journal meanderings to more organized ponderings (sometimes). When I do eventually find myself with the luxury of time and space to write more, then we shall see where all these dreams will take me.
~T π
