writing pages
With mid-year approaching, those of us who tie resolve to new habit are on high alert for roadsigns for self-improvement.
I spotted a popular brand of faux-leather notebook selling their 18-month daily journal-slash-planners whose imprinted dating scheme conveniently begins in a little over three weeks on July 1.
I stayed my hand with effort as I reached for my wallet.
I love paper. I love bound notebooks. I love the art of scribbling my thoughts onto pages. I love to journal and sketch and bullet and itemize my life.
What kept my credit card at bay was the recall of the dozens of partially filled notebooks already sitting on my shelf waiting for those past resolutions to write daily or sketch towards themes or etch my reality with ink upon paper.
Journaling is deeply meditative. It’s like mental yoga. Words spill upon the paper and in writing pages and pages and pages thoughts are churned through our mental gears and manifest as echoes of any variety of ideas, trauma, genius or fictional fabrication.
I do need to write more. I need to write more pages on the paper I already own and in the digital spaces I already manage.
I probably do not need another journal.