Once again, I find myself appalled at the time that has elapsed since my last real blog-post. You'd think that, by now, I've come to terms with the fact that I'm horrible about maintaining any sort of regular posting schedule when it comes to my own personal blog, but I still tend to send myself packing on a guilt trip when I log on and realize just how very loooong it's been since the last entry. This is why I tried multiple times to keep a journal and never actually maintained one with any degree of success. No one's beating down my door to hear my thoughts on things, so why would it matter if I let things fall by the wayside?
Really, though, what sort of self-expression and self-exploration do we rob ourselves of when we shrug off the thought of writing those words? What chapters in our lives are we letting slip by, without record? While I wouldn't want everyone to know every thought or feeling that goes through my mind, I do sometimes look back over the trajectory of my life and wish I could recall things more clearly...and had I kept that journal, I might actually have that bit of insight. For some reason, though, we seem to think of "journaling" as a time-suck or a frivolity, rather than a beneficial way to connect with ourselves. We're too busy with other things, and so the pages stay empty––clean and white and going to waste. The journals collect dust, just one more prettily bound book whose spine was never cracked. i'm too guilty of that. But really, isn't that empty journal just a metaphor? We don't take the time to get to know ourselves. We're too busy with other things. I'm not suggesting navel gazing and becoming me-focused. I'm talking about getting to know yourself and what drives you, to finding out what makes you unique and worth getting to know. To becoming whole and healthy and happy as an individual so that you can have a full relationship with yourself, but also with everyone around you. The journal pages might just be a start, but they're a good one.
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