Who Said I Had To Let Go?

There are some things of which I can never have too many - handbags, pjs and journals to name a few.  However, (deep breath) I finally resolved to thin out my handbags this past weekend.  Very traumatic! With each bag I could see exactly why I bought it, which does not set well with my resolve.


I asked Ilyasin to help me decide which bags to keep and which bags I had to say "goodbye" to forever.  She was of some help, but then I thought of a brilliant alternative!  I'll say I'm "giving" the bags to her, that way they would remain "in the family" and  I could still carry them when the urge hit me.  Genius!!!  Well, I managed to fill a small box with bags I will part with reluctantly, but they are still sitting in the hallway.  They are still sitting there so I am faced with rethinking my decision to let them go.  They still call out to me - "But I go so well with your brown boots" and "You can never have too many black handbags."  Pray for me...

Now to my journals.  When my daughters were babies and preschoolers, I suffered from severe insomnia.  I filled those nights with reading, practicing calligraphy, rearranging rooms in the house, drawing, and keeping journals.  I found pleasure in my singular activities, even though I would be exhausted by daybreak.  I loved the quite hours.  Sometimes, I could read a books from cover to cover in one night and write detailed thoughts and observation in my journals.  Writing helped me figure things out and release thoughts I did not, could not, or would not share with anyone else.  

So, how could I possibly part with the journals already full of a life lived before today? Mostly spiral notebooks I picked up here and there, my journals were nothing special until the first mark was made on the first page.  The words, the emotions, the expressions of my life at the time that my pen whisked across each page might one day find themselves in the someone's hands and that things I did not, could not, and would not share then will now be known.  Although years have passed, I still don't know if I'm ready for them to be exposed.


As time passed, I began to write brief entries in my journals and reading shorter and fewer books.  It seemed the nights had gotten shorter and days filled with much more to do. When my girls were in high school, I re-entered the public workforce.  My quiet nights of reading and journal-ling haven't been the same since.


Instinctively, I began collecting beautifully bound journals, a lot of them.  I justified it by telling myself I will now have books worthy of my thoughts and future sharing.  Well, this weekend I looked at each one and decided, one day things will slow down and I will write again. To my daughters. To my grandchildren. To my husband. And what I have to say to each them will fill volumes.


I couldn't possibly consider putting my hands on these journals that sat untouched and ready for the ink to fill the lines of their pages.  I had yet to experience the joy of filling each one with my thoughts.  So, I think I will keep my beautiful blank journals for today.


Lois