Wednesday, June 18, 2008

Through the process of unpacking my boxes, i ran across all of my old journals, plus a lot of papers that didn't make it into one of the main "volumes," but were small pieces of the puzzle. I flipped through, looking for all the January 1 entries... looked for the 3 am entries... for the pre- and post- transatlantic journey entries. Even some that didn't mark milestones contained those twisting reminders of oneself. 
What would i say then about myself now? Would this have been enough to satisfy the young's thirst for substance? 
I found the latest journal I wrote in... and wrote some more. I think my writing has been so disorganized lately. I'm not really blogging it, not really writing fiction (just re-writing), not even putting it in the private collection where it all used to go. Is this growing up? "Fragmented" was a word I used to Paul to describe how I feel. Perhaps the internet or the old journals... concentration dispersed, future questioned. Well, not really, I know I want to do journalism school, but I want to know How I am going to do it. Not questioning the possibility, but the whole thing in itself : How are you going to be, how are you going to continue to be? 
Passion is still so important to me. To write clearly, like in a journal, without fear of judgement or without even feeling like you have to make sense... because it is just for you, at this moment in time. It is easy to be passionate when there is no pressure to make sense. I read the old writings and I want more, now. I want integrity. I want concordance. I want it to mean something.
(maybe that is why I am more careful about what I write)

1 comment:

Mom said...

I found another of your journals the other day. Will bring it with me to add to the collection. You do have some of your mom in you: I hardly ever finish a journal. Just starts...and many blank pages!