To be honest, I miss having a drama-diary.
You know, the kind you keep when you’re young or upset, usually both? The kind that chronicles the super-important events of angst and feeling.
I’ve never been very good at that kind of diary (I am the sort of person who writes to reason with myself, and left most of the interesting bits out of any given diary entry even during those days) but Morning Pages aren’t at all like that.
Sometimes when I travel I do wax poetic, or musing. Travel gives an excuse for a sort of self-indulgent writing. I wish I did more of that on a daily basis, too. But no–my journal is now a weapon.
Again, I am not a dramatic diarist. Most days my journal is a bit of catalogue of what I did the day before, and a scheme of what to do with this one. Some days, though, when I’m fighting to keep my attention on even that mundane, easy writing–I know it’s resistance.
And when I’m remembering the weapon in, I start questioning. “What am I feeling? Why? What underlies this?” Often it’s not really a big thing–maybe realizing that I’ve been deterred from doing the proper footwork on starting my business.
Other times, it’s about writing. Problem solving, or just enjoying a little meta.
And yet–it hones my day. It gives me clarity. Helps me shed doubts and push myself forward.
The actual entries aren’t dramatic, but the results are.
And on the rare days that I can’t actually get to the page, I miss it. I also find my mind doing the work it’s been trained to, pushing at the resistance.
The past few days I’ve been on the move–between cities. Two out of four days I missed my window to journal. As I mused on my failure to stay in shape, I asked myself some questions, just as though I was writing it out to myself.
I realized that I was ready to make a big change, one I’ve been resisting because it gives me an excuse. (Sugar. AAAAAAUGH.)
I don’t know, maybe that’s a bit dramatic. I think it’s pretty fierce, anyway.