I think that journalling can be such a wonderful and insightful cathartic release at times. At one stage in my life, I kept a journal everyday when I was travelling. I actually miss those days, where the hand flows freely and there is no fear in unravelling that which is contained within. A private viewing of sorts into the unknown and the often scattered.
This blog has been wonderful in a sense, allowing me to explore my inner depths, but there is only so much that I am willing to share with my loyal fans (bless you all!). The road of self-discovery and learning will continue to my grave. And with a journal, I can fully give of myself, without fear of criticism. It’s my safety net, my divulgence sanctuary, my refuge from the bitter and cold places within. A space to escape from the fear-mongering, regretful, critical, perfection-seeking, busy cavity a.k.a. my brain … I can scream, be silly, vent, cre8tively explore feelings and beliefs that I am unable to or uncomfortable with sharing, even if I appear as ‘anonymous’. It truly can be magical.
So why have I stopped and / or avoided the process and physicality of journalling? A very good question indeed. Laziness, I believe, has a lot to do with my decision, my choice. That and accountability, to myself, of actually ‘locking in’ the most private depths of my being. A scary place to be if discovered by another. And oddly enough, I’ve had thoughts of what would happen when I die to my captured secret world within? Of course, and would it really matter at that point?
Each morning, ask myself, “What do I really really want?” List the 5 things that are most pressing for me right in that moment.
In the evening, recording my gratitude – 5 things I was grateful for that day.