Basically, this is my semi-regular reminder that keeping a journal can change your life. Now more than ever I rely on a handwritten diary to give my life context. It’s partly the virus and the way we live now. Partly my fears and confusion about aging and what I mean to do with what’s left of my life. Partly trying to figure out the best way to use my creative ability to make the world a better place. Identity. Infinity. Vocation. Vision. Regret. To be honest, I don’t see how anybody figures this stuff out – or even makes a stab at it – without a written journal.
These are painful days, and writing out your pain and fear and rage is powerful. It can also be terrifying – some of us are just managing to Hold It All Together by squinching our psychic eyes shut and I understand: admitting this pain (and anger and feelings of helplessness) could be taking a hammer to the dam in our spirits – the one that is holding back despair. Or. It can be a tool. As the earth seems to crumble under you, your writing can be a rope that [read more]
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