What a wonderful thing it is to start a new journal. It’s an empty book, blank, and full of possibilities. There’s no autocorrect, no expectations, and especially in a new journal, no distractions.
The paper is smooth and blank and white and pure. The best journals have no lines to write between and no perceived rules or implied norms to follow. Lines are for amateurs.
I have many journals. A few anyway. Some are for ideas, some research, and others for writing fiction. I think or should I say I feel that I’m finally at a point in my life where I’m ready for a traditional journal — a book for me to write to me. I have two blogs and many journals, but it (they) are not enough.
Getting Older
My eyesight is finally starting to go. It has been on the fence, but I think it has made up its mind at last. I’m wearing reading glasses right now to see clearly what I’m doing. Unfortunately, it’s working, and I can see my horrendous handwriting.
I’m 46 years old. My birthday wasn’t too long ago, and I’m starting to feel old. I’m starting to feel a lot of things. I’m noticing traits in myself and others that I don’t like. People are selfish. They don’t care about others. They don’t care for themselves. I’m one of them, unfortunately.
Everyone Has Problems
I have a working theory that everyone is flawed. To some degree and at some level, every person is fucked up, some more than others. The problems of some may not be as visible (as easy to spot) as others, but they exist. We all have issues.
Something is missing in many of us, including me, and it shows itself as a desire to be heard and to connect with others, a desire to be understood and ultimately loved. I see this every day, and I feel this more times than not while speaking with others. The need is so compelling that we can’t shut up, often at the expense of another who is trying to speak.
Are You Listening
I find that I get interrupted (cut off) a lot. I find that when I speak, I feel rushed and that if I show the slightest hint of an opening, another will rush in and take over the conversation. Control? Whatever it is, I don’t like it.
I stop myself or try to, from interrupting others, and I force myself to ask questions and listen instead of trying to make my point known. They don’t care about what I have to say. I understand that now. I want them to care. I want those around me to be interested in me, but I won’t force it. My life (the information about my life) isn’t free. It comes at a cost — a question.
So, I will give others what I so desperately desire. I will ask questions and listen, for it feels so good to be heard. As time goes by, maybe the situation will change. Perhaps I’ll cultivate friendships with people who give as much as they receive.
Until then and probably beyond, I’ll write, I’ll write in my journals and my blogs. I’ll write in all these places because I know I’ll be heard by the most important listener, me.
