I am excited. I am excited to start this journal. These pages are pure, crisp, fresh. The cover is blue, which is just enough change from my last black one, that I can handle it without being overwhelmed by the change, I can maybe even enjoy it (baby steps, right?). I think I will like this journal. I think I will like writing in here. I am excited today to fill these pages up; I am excited because I know that I will feel that same excitement tomorrow.
Help me to find rhythm in my days and in my writing. Help me to find purpose and direction and help me to do all of these things for a good reason."
Oh dear. I was not joking at all when I wrote that. And it was only a few months ago. It's a little bit embarrassing that I get excited about things like starting a new journal, but it is very true. And truth trumps embarrassment as part of my pre new years resolutions.
Lately I have been going back and reading through things that I have written. Journals, papers, this blog. That's not something that I typically do a lot of, rereading things that I have written. When I write a paper, I rarely even go through and proof read before handing it in. I occasionally will look through an old journal, but only when I'm cleaning or procrastinating. I've had some time on my hands the past few weeks and somewhere along the way I decided that I was going to read through some of my old papers and letters and journal entries.
The little excerpt I opened with was from my latest journal, the one that I am still writing in. I've been reading back over the blog lately, too. Secret Space. Penelopenosegirl. That's also a little embarrassing. Maybe embarrassing is the wrong word. It doesn't really have to do with anyone except for me. I'm not embarrassed that other people can read my ridiculousness. It's more like my current self wants to point and laugh a little bit at my old self, the self that wrote whatever entry I am making fun of. My old self is embarrassed. I guess that's the most accurate way to describe what I am feeling. And since I am, in fact both my old self and my current self, I am embarrassed.
I am the most embarrassed when I read things I have written that come from a place of passion. When I read something I wrote that has to do with something that I care about a good deal. When I read things that I have written that I actually care about I cringe. I think that's why the blog has been so funny to reread (not in the haha way, but in the strange/familiar/warm/cold way), because there haven't been many entries on this sucker that didn't come from a place of sincerity. Some of it is just nostalgia. Some of it is fun and neat to read back over, but some of it is something like embarrassment. That's still not the best word but I will keep using it.
Did I really ever say those things? Was I ever really that cheesy or over the top or immature or flighty? How could anyone take me seriously? I hate to read over things that come across trite or insensitive or naive. I hate to reread things that seem insignificant or just flat out wrong. I think I hate it so much because I know that all of these things I have written about meant a lot to me when I wrote them. They still mean a lot to me. My feelings may not be exactly as they were when I wrote the entry, but I've had this blog for a while, and it is both incredible and underwhelming, both inspiring and heartbreaking, both encouraging and embarrassing to read through these glimpses into pages of my life from the past few years.
I am thankful for this blog. I am thankful for this secret space that is slightly less secret than it was two years ago. I am also thankful that it is slightly less secret. I love alliteration and so I will keep the name forever, but reading through these entries fills me with hope and joy and possibility. One big old metaphor this blog is. Fitting. When I first started I don't even think anyone could look at my page, but me. Now, not only is it public, but I have a few followers. I wouldn't go too far, but I will say that I have a few more life followers these days than a few years back. Maybe it's not that I have a whole lot more followers than when I started, but I am infinitely more honest and vulnerable with the followers that I do have, the friends and family that I do have.
I am thankful for these followers, for these friends, for these life lines that keep me sane, that nudge me towards good things, towards life. I am thankful for outlets like this blog, that help keep me honest, or at least give me opportunities to be honest. My prayer is that I would keep writing and that I would keep reading and that I would keep coming to some place of embarrassment when I do reread, because I think that means growth, I think that means honesty and I think that means something close to healing, something close to letting someone, even if it's just myself, see and love and appreciate.
All of that said, I want to make a will. And I want to have it in there that my journal and all journals I have ever filled up are to be burned when I die.
Help me to find rhythm in my days and in my writing. Help me to find purpose and direction and help me to do all of these things for a good reason."
Oh dear. I was not joking at all when I wrote that. And it was only a few months ago. It's a little bit embarrassing that I get excited about things like starting a new journal, but it is very true. And truth trumps embarrassment as part of my pre new years resolutions.
Lately I have been going back and reading through things that I have written. Journals, papers, this blog. That's not something that I typically do a lot of, rereading things that I have written. When I write a paper, I rarely even go through and proof read before handing it in. I occasionally will look through an old journal, but only when I'm cleaning or procrastinating. I've had some time on my hands the past few weeks and somewhere along the way I decided that I was going to read through some of my old papers and letters and journal entries.
The little excerpt I opened with was from my latest journal, the one that I am still writing in. I've been reading back over the blog lately, too. Secret Space. Penelopenosegirl. That's also a little embarrassing. Maybe embarrassing is the wrong word. It doesn't really have to do with anyone except for me. I'm not embarrassed that other people can read my ridiculousness. It's more like my current self wants to point and laugh a little bit at my old self, the self that wrote whatever entry I am making fun of. My old self is embarrassed. I guess that's the most accurate way to describe what I am feeling. And since I am, in fact both my old self and my current self, I am embarrassed.
I am the most embarrassed when I read things I have written that come from a place of passion. When I read something I wrote that has to do with something that I care about a good deal. When I read things that I have written that I actually care about I cringe. I think that's why the blog has been so funny to reread (not in the haha way, but in the strange/familiar/warm/cold way), because there haven't been many entries on this sucker that didn't come from a place of sincerity. Some of it is just nostalgia. Some of it is fun and neat to read back over, but some of it is something like embarrassment. That's still not the best word but I will keep using it.
Did I really ever say those things? Was I ever really that cheesy or over the top or immature or flighty? How could anyone take me seriously? I hate to read over things that come across trite or insensitive or naive. I hate to reread things that seem insignificant or just flat out wrong. I think I hate it so much because I know that all of these things I have written about meant a lot to me when I wrote them. They still mean a lot to me. My feelings may not be exactly as they were when I wrote the entry, but I've had this blog for a while, and it is both incredible and underwhelming, both inspiring and heartbreaking, both encouraging and embarrassing to read through these glimpses into pages of my life from the past few years.
I am thankful for this blog. I am thankful for this secret space that is slightly less secret than it was two years ago. I am also thankful that it is slightly less secret. I love alliteration and so I will keep the name forever, but reading through these entries fills me with hope and joy and possibility. One big old metaphor this blog is. Fitting. When I first started I don't even think anyone could look at my page, but me. Now, not only is it public, but I have a few followers. I wouldn't go too far, but I will say that I have a few more life followers these days than a few years back. Maybe it's not that I have a whole lot more followers than when I started, but I am infinitely more honest and vulnerable with the followers that I do have, the friends and family that I do have.
I am thankful for these followers, for these friends, for these life lines that keep me sane, that nudge me towards good things, towards life. I am thankful for outlets like this blog, that help keep me honest, or at least give me opportunities to be honest. My prayer is that I would keep writing and that I would keep reading and that I would keep coming to some place of embarrassment when I do reread, because I think that means growth, I think that means honesty and I think that means something close to healing, something close to letting someone, even if it's just myself, see and love and appreciate.
All of that said, I want to make a will. And I want to have it in there that my journal and all journals I have ever filled up are to be burned when I die.
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