I have kept a journal almost all my life and yes, being a packrat, I still have them all. I cannot begin to tell you how humbling it is to go back and read them. It definitely lends perspective to where I am today when I see where I’ve been. It’s also really embarrassing at times. Cousin O’Love said it best one time – she commented that whatever I get into, I am into it with my whole heart and then some. And looking back over my journals, I see that is true much more than I’d like to admit.
One thing that has always jumped out at me, though, is what I DON’T write about. Sometimes, things are so deep that I can’t find the words. It’s just a feeling and that often doesn’t lend itself to words. Driving home from class the other night, I had an epiphany of sorts. All I can wrap my head around is the concept – that which I desire most is also what scares me the most. I’ve tried writing about it in my trusty journal but the words will. not. come. I don’t know why. They’re just not there yet. I know I will figure it out, sooner or later. Talking to my PPOL helps enormously (namaste, sweetie) but for right now, I feel all alone trying to puzzle this out. Just me and my journal which lies open to a blank page.
