Journal Journey


I just finished my journal today. My last journal of 2014 with one entry in 2015. Ending a journal has always been a bit of a thing for me. It’s always a thing for me when I finish anything. And I finished some big things in 2014. I finished my undergraduate degree. I got married.

I started looking for a new journal a week ago and I noticed right away that I wasn’t drawn to any of the heavily decorated or inspirational journals I used to love. This last journal was a dark brown and leather bound CUNY journal that was given to me and and two other co-workers for a job well done. It had lined pages and a place for a matching pen to slide in on the right. It was functional, practical and elegant, understated. Not like the kind of journals I’ve liked in the past at all. But I loved it! It fit right into my shoulder bag and would lay open on easily on my lap when I wanted to write outside, on the train or at a lecture.

So now I want my next journal to be equally as plain and functional and elegant like a Moleskin, except not a Moleskin. My last journal also had places  inside the cover where I could slip in notes and swatches. Just because I’m a crazy person doesn’t mean I have to have a crazy looking journal. LOL!

That’s the lesson I have taken away here.

I still remember the deeply offensive reaction I stifled when my mom gave me my first diary as a girl. It was of the variety that had a key and a lock, gold edged pages, lines and dated sections. It was orange. I did not like it. It felt so restrictive to me and girly in a way I could not locate myself in. Believe it or not, I also had nothing I wanted to write about. So I wrote entries for my Barbies instead. LOL! And then I wrote about myself later.

The first Journal I ever liked was one I got from a girls book club that I joined as a preteen. It had an “about me” page in the front with questions about your favorite clothes, colors, boys you liked, etc. It looked like a book and not a tiny tome. I was also just really impressed that I got it from a book club that I joined on my own. It made me feel special.

I have had so many different kinds journals since then that they fill at least two large boxes. Page color, texture, shape all affected my ability to write. The page is still very important to me. I take my journal searches very seriously because the page is like a home to me. I have to be able to lay bare on it even if I don’t like what I’m writing, maybe especially then. Journaling was a way for me to as a way to record and reflect, remember and sometimes relive moments of my life. Now, I do it mostly as a way to get things out of my head, to take notes and to just jot down ideas, dreams and poetry the minute they come to me. Of course I occasionally do this on my iphone as well. But it’s hard to replace the fun that comes from reading and decoding your own distinctively psychotic handwriting right?



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