Looking at this blank page reminds me of all of the journals I bought when I was younger. Notice, I didn't say all of the journals I *kept*. I loved the thought of journaling. I would spend hours picking out a just perfect notebook and tote it home with a head full of pithy comments and philosophical rants. I couldn't wait to sit down and start writing. But then, after an entry or two, I'd get discouraged and quit. I moved recently and found a stash of these barely-started journals and thought for a bit about why they all withered on the vine. (Maybe it was my over-fondness for using metaphors?;)
I think the problem was that I found it difficult to strike a balance between an hourly diary of what I did during the day (how I was "taught" to journal when I was young...write it all down so you'll never forget!) and trying to come up with something profound enough to write down. I skimmed some of those first entries recently and they're all so similar. A quick personal intro followed with a statement of purpose and a promise not to let this journal fall by the wayside like all the others had done.
Another pitfall was my perfectionist nature and the need to say something absolutely perfect. I had fantasies (yes, fantasies. I was a weird kid) about someone stumbling upon my journal and being blown away by my wisdom and the sheer genius of my writing. Looking back on it, some of it's decent, but I'm not sure that even I would use the words "wisdom" or "genius." But I would feel all this pressure to come up with something magnificent, and that pressure would ultimately keep me from writing anything. There are things that I kind of wish I had journalled through now. Maybe it's the historian in me, but I'd like to have something tangible to go over as a representation of major life events. I wish I had journalled through my pregnancy and the first few months of my son's life so that I could share some of those thoughts and hopes with him when he gets older. I wish I had journalled through the early stages of my relationship with my husband, so that when times get bumpy -- as they always do -- I could go back and reread some of those butterflies-in-the-stomach moments of early infatuation. I even wish I had journalled in the days and weeks immediately following the death of my sister and my father...just because those were the days when I was living immersed in memories of these beautiful people and as time marches forward I worry sometimes about forgetting.
So this time I'm starting out with no promises of profound thoughts, no plans for comic genius, not even a promise to write every day. Just a promise to try to remember to jot thoughts down now and again, and maybe even figure out some of this juggling act called life along the way. (Too profound? Sorry, that's not a good start, is it?:)
