I have tried keeping a journal more times than I can count- each with minimal success. The only time I had moderate success was when it was part of therapy and it was a physical need to get what was in me out onto paper. I couldn't have stopped if I tried.
But as the difficult time passed… so did the journal.
I think part of it is that by the time I go to bed at night I am tired of thinking and talking and my journal was an extension of both of those activities.
Even more than that- I found I didn't have anything interesting to say, which was frightening.
Does that mean I am a boring person?
Does it mean I lead a boring life?
Will anyone ever care what I say or think about….well … anything?
And what does THAT mean?
So like any mature adult, I did the brave thing and closed up the journal never to be opened again. Or until a few months when by where interesting things happened that I thought I should capture. Then a new realization hit…interesting events, meaningful events were reduced to a boring catalogue when I wrote them down.
Oh crap- what did THAT mean?
I still don't know the answer to that. Not sure I am brave enough to try to figure it out. I joke frequently that I am boring, ordinary, and not very interesting… but maybe that is a defense mechanism…because what if it's true?
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