Journals and Journaling

Journals. There’s something wholly enchanting about journals. They catch my eye in bookstores and discount marts alike. Particularly the spiral bound, with swirling designs. Is there a pen attached? Maybe an elastic strap to keep the ideas snug within? An inspirational verse embossed on the cover? Does it have a sale tag on it? Yes, yes! Maybe I should go ahead and get two!

Writing this, I reached over to my bookcase and ran a finger along the spines of fourteen blank journals. (And that doesn’t count the one I’m using now, with just one page written upon, taking notes from the three books I’m studying.)

I don’t journal my days. Instead, I use these to note information I gather, to plan, to outline. These thoughts are more my life than the observation of how I spend my days. “Fantastic conversation and coffee with Jane”-type sentiments are reserved for my FaceBook statuses. Stati?

No, I live much of my life in my head. So the ideas and plans in my journals are my life. And writing them is what makes them real.

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