This post brought to you by the letter J.
Growing up I kept a diary. Well, let me be honest, I kept many diaries. At times I wrote in it everyday, whether I had something to say or not. My diary was a secret friend. A place where I felt free to pour out my heart and put my every feeling on the pages between the locked cover. I can still remember laying between my covers listening to Pillow Talk on the radio while I layed out my latest crush, squabble, dream or hope in my trusty diary.
I gave up my diary writing as I became an adult. Somehow it seemed childish to still need to confide in my silent friend. Until recently. I began to see that grown women can and do write in diaries, they just call them journals. I searched high and low for a journal that could welcome me back into the folds of paper, into the quiet of pen scratching paper and didn’t see anything that really worked. I asked my beautifully sweet, incredibly talented friend Jeanne to make one for me and then waited with baited breath to see what she would come up with. When I recieved my journal in the mail I could hardly wait to rip it open. Once I had it in my hands I was speechless. Not only is my journal absolutely beautiful but it is perfect for me and what I need it for. It means even more knowing that Jeanne made it for me and chose the words with me in mind. I have been happily writing in it ever since. Everyone needs a place to be honest with themselves. To be brave enough to tell the truths in their lives. To be open enough to share their dreams. I really think that getting it out in the open, in words and in writings is so powerful. A bridge from thought to action. It was a strange and wonderful feeling to connect with my younger self as I brushed my pencil over the page for the first time. I hope that one day my great, great grandchildren will cherish my journals/diaries and feel a little closer to me.