I love journals. I can’t pass the spinning kiosk in the bookstore without stopping to fondle the ones that are swathed in brocade or are meant to look like spell books. In my weaker moments, I’ve bought a few, planning to fill them and follow in the footsteps of the Hemingway’s and the Walker’s of the world. Usually my plan derails after a few weeks and twenty or thirty pages, but yesterday I hit an unprecedented milestone – I managed to exhaust the last pages not only of a pink-ribboned notebook but of a sketchbook that was a similar impulse purchase.
Neither tome will ever be on display at the Smithsonian, but for me, it’s significant. Each of them is a symbol of my first steps on a new path and their covered pages are proof – if only to myself – that you can discover your drive in the middle of your life.
Music Credit: Garage Band Demo Loop