Journals
JOURNALS
The journals languish on several designated shelves behind closed doors. Some sport bright covers and creamy paper, mementos of famous museums, a favourite from the Teatro Colón in Buenos Aires. Others are simply coil bound notebooks, cheap, ink-blotted paper, words transposed upon each other from both thin, papery sides.
No matter—I keep them all, evidence of a personal journey. Sometimes on a dull day, I read a few lines, transported to my younger self. Words for me, memories, one small life. If I’ve helped one person, touched one person, it’s significant enough.
I am acquainted with other women who have tossed out their journals —downsizing, no space, catapulted into other phases of themselves, clearing the cobwebs or simply “done with all that”.
I’ve let go many wonderful books, packed them up for the annual book sale or passed them on with no expectation of return. But my journals: no releasing. Some with writing crammed on every page, some still pristine, some half-written with date gaps so large, I wonder what happened during those frequent times when life itself was too crammed for a few simple lines to self.
Dear Readers, do you find joy in keeping a journal, even if sporadic (like me)? What do you like to write about? Do you safeguard a life’s collection and where do you keep it? I appreciate you and enjoy hearing from you.
Please share my website. And stay tuned—I plan to post several older, published pieces soon. Hoping summer is a peaceful time for all of you!
Shelley
shelleyhalpernevanswriter.com