So right now, I’m just going to go easy on myself, and let myself write.
I often write this sort of thing in my journal. It’s just such a good feeling. It’s as if the taskmaster in my brain is saying “hey…you’ve done yeoman’s work. Give yourself a rest.”
I’ve written before about how writing in my journal is a sort of comfort food to me. When I’m writing for others, there’s always a little tickle of self consciousness, a shard of thought about the fact that I want this to be something that someone wants to read.
I don’t get that with my journal entries. In my journal entries, I can write long, meandering passages about whatever happens to be on my mind.
Every piece of writing has a particular set of pluses and minuses. The minuses of journal entries are numerous, and all of them involve falling down the rabbit hole of self absorbsion.
Yet there are positives. When I write in my journal, I get to spend time with myself, and I get to spend time thinking about what makes me tick. If something’s bothering me in which going on (and on) about it would wear someone down, I have a place where I can go on (and on) about it, and discuss it with someone (that would be me) who has no problem with listening.
I notice that since I started ramping up my writing—and since I started adding this new wrinkle of setting a quota of posting one essay or story every day—I don’t spend as much time in my head as I used to. It’s as if I can lay it out on the table with the journal writing, and then craft it into tangible, clear thought with the essay and story writing.
Yet interestingly enough, I now also notice that I spend less time rambling when I speak to other people. I’m the first to admit that I can talk someone’a ear off, and I don’t like that about myself. I thought about why I do this, and it came to me that I just need a place to ramble. With a journal, though, I can edit the stuff for those times I want to share it.
So these two kinds of writing just seem to work together. There’a a human need to spew, to get out all of the things that are locked up inside us, be it extra, raw physical energy, or the energy that leads to a racing mind. Finding a way to get this out energy out—and then finding a way to shape it into something productive—is one of the most noble of pursuits.
We need to be social, and we need to put our lives out there. At the same time, we need time to ourselves. And often, when we find the right mix, we find that the times that spend with each of these things becomes far more rewarding.
And look at that…I started writing this as a journal entry, and it morphed into an essay. That happens. It was nice to be all alone, but I wanted to be out there, with you.
Thanks for reading. Got a little cerebral and academic today, and I hope I didn’t bore you. I’m going to get back into my own head now.
I often write this sort of thing in my journal. It’s just such a good feeling. It’s as if the taskmaster in my brain is saying “hey…you’ve done yeoman’s work. Give yourself a rest.”
I’ve written before about how writing in my journal is a sort of comfort food to me. When I’m writing for others, there’s always a little tickle of self consciousness, a shard of thought about the fact that I want this to be something that someone wants to read.
I don’t get that with my journal entries. In my journal entries, I can write long, meandering passages about whatever happens to be on my mind.
Every piece of writing has a particular set of pluses and minuses. The minuses of journal entries are numerous, and all of them involve falling down the rabbit hole of self absorbsion.
Yet there are positives. When I write in my journal, I get to spend time with myself, and I get to spend time thinking about what makes me tick. If something’s bothering me in which going on (and on) about it would wear someone down, I have a place where I can go on (and on) about it, and discuss it with someone (that would be me) who has no problem with listening.
I notice that since I started ramping up my writing—and since I started adding this new wrinkle of setting a quota of posting one essay or story every day—I don’t spend as much time in my head as I used to. It’s as if I can lay it out on the table with the journal writing, and then craft it into tangible, clear thought with the essay and story writing.
Yet interestingly enough, I now also notice that I spend less time rambling when I speak to other people. I’m the first to admit that I can talk someone’a ear off, and I don’t like that about myself. I thought about why I do this, and it came to me that I just need a place to ramble. With a journal, though, I can edit the stuff for those times I want to share it.
So these two kinds of writing just seem to work together. There’a a human need to spew, to get out all of the things that are locked up inside us, be it extra, raw physical energy, or the energy that leads to a racing mind. Finding a way to get this out energy out—and then finding a way to shape it into something productive—is one of the most noble of pursuits.
We need to be social, and we need to put our lives out there. At the same time, we need time to ourselves. And often, when we find the right mix, we find that the times that spend with each of these things becomes far more rewarding.
And look at that…I started writing this as a journal entry, and it morphed into an essay. That happens. It was nice to be all alone, but I wanted to be out there, with you.
Thanks for reading. Got a little cerebral and academic today, and I hope I didn’t bore you. I’m going to get back into my own head now.
