I write in my journal to remember my voice, to discover my thoughts, to unearth what lies beneath the noise and layers of daily life. I write in my journal to feel my way along the passages of life, until somewhere along the way, a faint light at the end of the tunnel appears. I write in a journal to follow my dreams, to whisper the unvoiced, to shout the unheard.
I write in my journals to hear myself think, to open the gates to go beyond thinking to feeling, to go beyond feeling to knowing, to go beyond knowing to peace. Even when pain surrounds that peace. I write in my journals, because without them I live an outward life, lose focus on the inner, the real.
I write in my journals to feel the soft breath of a sleeping baby upon my skin. I write in my journals to create treasure and trash from the daily.
The journey of my journals winnows the real from the artiface, the deep from the shallow. I rip pages from magazines and tape them from the front, symbols that reflect that moment in time. I number and date the journals, a chronicle of a life.
I write in my journal to remember—and to forget. I write quotes, memories, conversations, dreams, scenes, scents, visions otherwise forgotten.
Love, anger, boredom, fear, and happiness splay across the pages. As, does hope.
I write in my journal of the tenderest moments of life that split open my heart. I write in my journal to scream and rant and exhaust myself upon the pages, instead of upon those in my life. Tenderness pours onto the pages, living there. Babies crawl among the pages, rise to walk, then run. The pages of my journals birth books.
I write in my journals, because it is often the only way I figure things out.
Tears smudge the ink and laughter floats among the words. Love and anger intermingle. I write in my journal to get beyond my own smallness, my own limited thoughts, and dip my pen into something greater, wiser.
I write the legendary lists of life, what needs to be done for work, for writing, for family, because without written lists, these float away, untethered and unattended.
I write in my journal to breathe. I write to remember that I am something more than daily circumstances and lists. That life always holds promise.
I write to discover and remember what I have to give, the legacy I want to leave on this Earth. I write in my journals to live.
I write in my journals, because when I don’t there is something missing, something I search for and only find when I bring pen to paper.
I write in my journals in hopes of writing myself a happy ending.
Write yourself a happy ending.