"The times they are a-changin'"

Journaling is one of the few hobbies that has remained constant throughout my life. From the moment my thoughts spilled out onto the pages of my first journal, I was hooked.

Today, my bookshelf is filled with an eclectic bunch of old, mismatching notebooks that are weathered and dog-eared from their travels in and out of my purses, hand bags and backpacks. The content of these journals are equally as different as their bindings. Each book tells a story and reveals something new about me. When I was a fourth-grader who wore colorful scrunchies and jellies, I used to write passionately (exclusively in pink ink) about my slobbering Labrador puppy and my secret crush on a cute sixth grader. Over the years, I’ve written about everything from family and relationships to world issues and fictional tales.

For me, writing has, in a way, been a form of therapy. A way to vent. A way to reminisce about happy times. A way to understand myself better.

I love the whole cycle of filling up a journal, adding it to my shelf and searching for a new one. Once the ink reaches the bottom of the very last page, I can’t resist the urge to bend the pages back and let them go like a flip book. As I look at the hundreds of pages that were once blank, now filled with my thoughts, I feel a sense of accomplishment. I also look forward to picking out the perfect new book to document the next chapter in my life. Do I want lined pages or blank pages? Hard cover or soft cover? Solid colored or patterned?

But, since my bookshelf is now completely full, I’ve decided to change with the times and become a contributing member of cyberspace. It will take time to adjust to this open forum. After all, my entries are far from perfect – they are filled with angry scribbles, careless misspellings and a fair share of tear-stained pages. But I am happy to say that I’m now an official blogger with my very own url address. So, for now, I’m trading in my pen and paper for Arial font, spell check and hyperlinks.