journals

I seem to collect journals. Sometimes I pick up a notebook or pretty journal for myself. Occasionally I come by a new journal as part of a conference. But usually they are gifts from people who either know I like to write or think I should like to write (being a minister/songwriter/poet etc.). And I do like to write. But I honestly get more journals than I could ever fill.

And a problem used to be that I would start a journal and write for a while and then stop for one reason or another. And then when I would feel the desire to write again, I would feel "guilty" for neglecting writing for so long (and I worried that future readers - not sure who these readers would be - would realize that I hadn't been writing for weeks or months), so I would start a new journal (Perhaps as a way to confuse the hypothetical readers of the future? Letting them wonder if May 1995 through September 1997 are in another journal that they cannot find? I little neurotic, I know.) So I ended up with all of these journals only half-used (or a third used).

Well, this didn't sit well with my wannabe eco-friendly self. So I decided that I needed to write in the old journals. And to stop the judgement of these "future readers" or to confuse them, I decided that I would choose a journal at random, write in it for a while, for as long as I felt "led" to write in it (using the idea of Spirit or calling to cover my neuroses, no doubt), and then pick up another. And if these readers were trying to piece together my ramblings, they could still assume that May 1995 through September 1997 were in that journal (or journals) they could not find.

So this system worked for a while. Though I found that certain journals evoked certain emotions in me. Some inspired me in creative and courageous ways. And others paralyzed me. In one, I had recorded painful confessions, and everytime I opened it, even ten or fifteen years later, even 50 pages on, the hurt in those confessions came back to me. In others, I just encountered writer's block. Maybe it was the cover design. Perhaps it was the line-spacing. It could be that that particular journal was given to me by the mom of an ex. For whatever reasons, I just couldn't bring myself to write there.

In a way, that's how I feel about this blog. I intentionally set it up with no dates so that my readers (real, in this case, not imaginary) would not necessarily know if days or weeks passed between posts (though the few of you who "subscribe" or "follow" know). But I have never gotten into this blog. Maybe it was the layout. Perhaps it was how insanely busy I was when I started this blog. Whatever the reason, I find it hard to write here.

Now, I am wanting to return to blogging, and I am thinking of starting a new blog. A part of me really wants to continue this blog; I kind of feel sorry for it. But in this space I do not feel inspired, creative, nor courageous. So I may be making a move. If that is the case, I will let you know as soon as a new blog is available.