Writing is my preferred form of communication. Don’t try and get me on the phone. Not interested. And heaven forbid trying to get me in front of a podium. Hate it.
Yet, when it comes to keeping a journal I’m just as timid. Okay, timid isn’t the right word. Reluctant is. And I’m not sure why. (Yes, I know, I should journal about it, to find my answer. :sigh:) (Come to think of it, that’s what I’m doing now, isn’t it?)
I’ve done Julia Cameron’s Morning Pages, and after the initial balking, loved them. But stopped.
I’ve had umpteen notebooks, diaries, and journals with only several pages written in them.
I’ve had the best intensions and the deepest desire.
Every time the result is the same—I back away slowly and let it go.
This morning I found myself trolling Moleskine’s site. I didn’t drool. I didn’t order anything, either. And I think that’s a good sign. In the past, I’ve always used the excuse of having to have just the right notebook. And just the right pen. That’s no different from the excuse of finding just the right time to write. I’m tired of the excuses. And I think that’s a good sign, too.
When you hit bottom and run out of excuses, it’s time to act. And for some reason, today, need has become stronger than fear. So I will find a notebook and a pen and begin.