My sketchbook journal holds so much more than just sketches. It's where I land most mornings after getting out of bed. For me, the most effective means of clearing overnight cobwebs is with the written word, so it is with pen to paper that I begin.
I tried something new in the journal that I just finished ... or think I've finished .. maybe not. Before I delve into my "morning page," which is simply a what's-what of where I am and where I'll go from there, I write a full "I love ..." page. This isn't so much a list of things that I love, although that would surely be swell too. It is more an act of affirming and conjuring. For example:
I love that I know what to do and when to do it.
I love that it's really easy for me to relax and trust.
I love that I am welcome wherever I go.
Cheesy? Perhaps. But I can assure you that if you were to take the time to fill one page with these proclamations, without forethought, just completely stream-of-consciousness, and do it everyday, well, your world will be rocked. Because even though these things I love may not necessarily or completely be true right now, what soon presents itself is evidence that what I lovingly affirm is coming, taking root, and growing.
My journals are available for public consumption. I don't exactly hand them out to everyone for browsing, but I do try to carry the one in progress with me everywhere and I will share it if asked. But I found myself feeling very vulnerable about these pages. Things get pretty personal as these lists are like a magnifying glass on what is important to me. So I started covering them up with collages or card stock glued over them with other art or writing, until I fell behind and started scribbling over them, best as I could, just to catch up. Looking back now, I wish I hadn't reacted so impulsively and protectively. The act of covering up is obvious and it looks a lot like shame. It feels like it voids the very magic that these pages were designed to muster.
In my new journal, I intend to leave them uncovered. They are raw, real and passionate, like me, and like everything else in my journals, merely a snapshot of me in time. But what we say to ourselves and each other, everyday ... the wishes that we make ... the prayers that we extend ... the thanks that we give ... the desires that we affirm ... they matter. Those that we are bold and brave enough to commit to paper can have the greatest power of all. For recognizing and embracing this truth and all that I love, I am so grateful.
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