My cousin gave me this gorgeous leather bound journal when we were in college. I love how it looks like an ancient, sacred book. There are hundreds of velvet soft pages watermarked with an vintage looking doorway covered in vines. The possibilities are endless. Such a big commitment to start writing is such a beautiful book. What day to start? What color pen to use? Which handwriting? Does anyone else have different handwriting for each mood?
I finally cracked it open the day after Christmas in 2003, I was in a really bad place. Struggling with my first bout of depression and anxiety. (The second in my life came after Everleigh). I wanted to start fresh for the new year, and write down some resolutions.
There are less than 20 entries. In 11 years. Even though it's beautiful, it stays hidden, because I write such personal things. Depression, my many broken hearts, struggling to figure out who I was, poetry (and very bad poetry), the death of one of my best friends, many moves, and meeting the love of my life. I really only crack it open when I come across it, which is during a move, or while we are cleaning. I read the past entries, and feel inspired to write how my life has changed.
Since I recently moved to Dreamtown, and came across this book again, this is what I found as my last entry:
The entry before that was 7 years earlier, a silly 26 year old who just met and fell in love with her future husband.
And wouldn't you know it...I had a new entry to pen. I am pregnant, with my second baby. 9 weeks yesterday. Naturally, again.
I don't know what this blog is to me now. Sometimes, it's an overwhelming commitment or loose end. But I do know that I love to read my past, how I've changed, and I like how it captures the big stuff. And although my posts are few and far between, maybe just a handful recently. There's enough here to weave it all together, and it's all meaningful to me.