Keepsakes

I have a journal. A beautiful journal. I have been writing in this beautiful journal for the last five months, and now its pages are filled. I am saddened by this ending.

I received my journal as a gift from my fabulous Manhattan cousin. She understands my love for the written word and dutifully bought me a gift to channel this passion. Unveiling the teal cover beneath holly printed wrapping, my heart skipped a beat as I ran my fingers over the scaly textured surface, riffled through the silver lined pages repeatedly, and pondered how I would keep this journal.

When I first started writing, I was very much a perfectionist. I wanted to preserve my stories immaculately and neatly. I took my time crafting each letter and mulled over each word choice. I wanted my journal to be a private diary, a place for reflection. I wanted to keep my recordings pristine. Eventually, this treasure became a random collection of writing. In addition to my private notes and essays, my journal became a place to record grocery lists, appointments, and rough sketches for stories and poems. I drafted thank you letters, ranted about life dramas, recorded writing exercises, book lists, call numbers and titles from the library, directions to Chelsea's house, and notes about a bar tending gig. I was ashamed of the hodgepodge mess that became of my sacred pages. My perfect collection was ruined in a sense. But now, with the help of a wise writing friend, I realize that a successful journal is not one that is kept. Rather, a journal keeps you.

 I have a new journal now. Another beautiful journal. I have another beautiful journal that was given to me by a beloved friend. I adore this new journal, its suede cover and intricate bead work, and though it is not the teal reptilian journal I began this journey with, I have no doubt it will keep me. It will keep me going.