Tonight I start a new pen and ink journal. The first entry of the current journal was on Dec. 18, 2003, 8:35 p.m., in my bedroom.
By the way, I recommend to everyone who keeps a journal to use day, date, time, and place because, if you are aware of your biorhythms and power of place, when you reread entries, it jogs your memory. Feedback, or reading back, is also crucial for serious journal keepers. After rereading, a brief sentence synopsizes and puts the entry to rest.
I tend to use sketchbooks from Borders Books as daily journals and the current one was a beautiful marbleized purple one. The new one is a blue one and I will collage its covers ultimately.
The first sentences on Dec. 18 were: “All week I resisted starting the new journal because I wanted a “grand opening,” not just another place I jotted laundry lists of my life. But, perfectionism caused procrastination and ultimately paralysis. But—now I plunge in.”
And plunge in I did. My last sentence tonight reads, “Well, Dec. 18 to August 31 is about nine months—gestation of a newborn. Was I born again? Not literally, but perhaps figuratively. It’s been a time of transition—my last months of full-time work—the year my grandchildren moved in—the year I stopped struggling with my Catholicism—the month I finally accepted the end of my marriage 20 1/2 years ago. The fight has gone out of me but not my zest for life. Today I feel peaceful about where I am in my life.”
I will begin the new journal tonight with this quote by the first intuitive I was introduced to as a child—Edgar Cayce. “When there is a start to be made, don’t step over! Start where you are.”