Maybe the excitement I felt at the prospect of being that regular about my writing was really excitement about maybe discovering a new part of myself, a part of myself that was about structure and order and predictability. I felt hope that she was in there somewhere.
And then... a few months later, I'd uncover that journal, about fifteen pages written in, the rest of those blank, unfulfilled pages stuffed in a drawer somewhere. I'd feel sad, wondering what had happened on all those days I didn't record. I'd wish I could revisit them now... now that they were over and forgotten. After I had babies and realized I still did this with blank journals, the sadness felt deeper and the deed of abandoning plans to record it all felt somehow much, much worse.
Here I am now, age 38, mother of two boys, 8 and nearly 5, and I've forgotten too many stories, too many firsts, too many acts of love and tenderness. I've also forgotten the fusses, the stress, the politics of solving problems with other people. I've forgotten the runny noses, the diarrhea, the disliked dinners.
I guess at the end of the day I am who I am: a person who loves new things... a person who likes to live it all more than record it all... a person who will wind up old with a smile on her face, but not too many stories to tell.
But... once again, at the end of THIS day, I'm trying it again... trying to find the self-discipline to write down my ideas and thoughts... my daily entries of what it means to live the life of Day Anna Pritchett Leary. I feel confident that the Spirit will always visit me with ideas... now I pray for her to visit me with a daily nudge to sit down and write it up.
Oh, I hope you do keep this blog going! It's unique and alive and honest--and I savored every word. Will you show me how to make a blog someday? Can I share it with my friends for inspiration????
ReplyDeleteGreat combination of words and pictures.