I used to have a journal
I still pretend that I have it and that I will eventually return to it, and so I lie to myself that I don’t write in it just because it’s pretty and it only has some 5 pages left. Why waste them when I am not sure that I have something worthwhile to confess? Such a useless paper-guilt-trip that would be. Or?…
The truth behind this drifting apart comes more from the fact that journals, if you wanna keep them the right way, cut too deep. Paper cuts are easier to handle than the words you read after your hand has scribbled them semi-automatically across the pages.
This is it. You wrote it, therefore it must be who you are, your true self. And you’ll be reading it again and again. Your present running into past fears, your trivia, your unanswered questions that look exactly like the ones you had written several pages ago.
Evolution? Well…I guess my handwriting looks better every now and then, but that ain’t showing a stady increase, either.
Sometimes I like looking back, reading what a Mara wrote some time ago. It gives me some comfort to discover that I like some of the thoughts I put down on paper. But sometimes I get sad that I didn’t live by the conclusions that I had wisely drawn earlier, or that I never really keep most of the promises I make to myself.
Our most ruthless and hardest to please judge is our self (yes yes, nothing new there!) I would like to change that and give myself more pats on the back than kicks in the nuts. Where is that goofy gold fish when you need it? Probably floating around in that space-bubble where all lost jokes go.
Take it easy on yourself.
I wonder where that comes from. Take what easy? Is it a load we are talking about? Should we carry less than we are trying to? Lower the expectations?
Take it where? Is there a destination we have in mind?
On yourself. On yourself…
I see Atlas with his globe, our globe, the globe of our children to come. Whatever.