writing

For some years I would have this annual ritual.

I would start a new journal at the beginning of the year, and then re-evaluate my belief systems. It was a good exercise.

The point was not to change my beliefs, but to revaluate my positions and to strengthen my resolve on these issues, and to occasionally discard ideas and beliefs that no longer were of use.

I’ve written before about the advantages of journaling. I think it applies more now than ever. I have a lot of fuzzy thoughts streaming through my head. To write them down you must think them through and organize them, or the verbiage makes no sense.

Not that my journals are filled with brilliance. That is not the point and it does not happen! There are teachers who say a child should only read noble fine literature, others who think that getting the kids to read ANYTHING they enjoy is a first step.

Journaling is like that, I think. I’d rather write less than inspiring than not write at all. It is a daily ritual, often times a many times a day ritual.

I began serious journaling in 1978. At first I had a bound book that I used for sermon notes. Then I began writing about live around me. Now I have shelves full of journals. I have used cheap spiral notebooks, bound art books, expensive spiral notebooks and Moleskines.

When I discovered Moleskines it was a Eureka moment. I was in the College Store in the town where Daughter One lives. There was this rack of perfect sized, very pocketable books. I was mesmerized by the whole idea. I bought two, and began to write. I still like those wonderful little books.

But I would fill a Moleskines about every 3 months, sometimes less. At $12 a copy that added up, and besides, I had always thought I might want to make books, so a hobby was born.

Nowadays I hardly ever get to the last blank page. A newer version seems to more tempting than I can handle, so the last 20 or 30 pages are often left blank. And that is OK too.

And, if I thought I had a variety of books for journals, now there is even more variety than before. I never make two books alike, and the size varies as well. It needs to be small enough to fit into my back pocket, but large enough that a page holds a fair number of words.

It is an artists fate to be eternally looking for perfection. That does not mean Kodak quality color or detail, by any means, but rather the perfection of the artists own vision.

One of the Impressionists, so the story goes, on his deathbed said in sadness: “I’ve almost got it.” He had been painting the same local mountain for much of his career and he finally had just the vision he wished for.

Almost. The story of my life.