The answer: zero.
A brand new journal sat before me. I longed to pour my heart out on the pages so that some day I could see where I had been and how deeply I felt. I wanted nothing more than to fill my journals with beautiful words that would read like a novel. I created images in my mind of sipping tea and peacefully writing by candlelight, no less.
I was delusional.
Journal-ing became huge when my children were in grade school. They started at the third grade level and I thought it looked like a good idea. So I attempted it. I think my longest consecutive journal-ing lasted four days, tops.
When I was a kid, I was given a diary and told, “Never put anything in writing that will come back to bite you.” Well that wasn’t any fun, so I wrote in code. A code that means absolutely nothing to me now, pure gibberish.
What I carried forward into my adult life from that was fear. The fear of putting things in writing. My fear extended into me sharing very little, being secretive and guarding my thoughts. I admit, I am a very private person. But maybe it stems from the intense code of secrecy I was taught to live by.
( in all honesty I never even considered that before writing this – that’s the light bulb here)
The really funny thing is no one really cares what someone else thinks or writes, especially when it’s in their journal hidden in a drawer under lock and key. So write to your hearts content, tell stories, write about your dreams, swear, use slang, forget grammer – it doesn’t matter at all.
I have collected all my partially filled journals. I am not even going to read them. I am letting go, yet again. Letting go of one more belief that held me back. It feels good.
Tip: Question authority.
Inspiration: “Truth is like the sun. You can shut it out for a time, but it ain’t goin’ away.” ~Elvis Presley
One-day one thing: Sort old documents, letters and cards. Paper clutter is among the worse, because it lingers and grows when you are not looking.