I was a journalist.

I wish I could say that I wrote for a prestigious publication like the New York Times, the Atlantic, or even Time magazine. Heck, I didn’t even write for Us weekly or back in the day, the Enquirer. I wasn’t a journalist in the traditional sense. I was a journalist read by one person, me. For several years now I have kept a daily or almost daily journal with entries in the morning and the night.

Recently, I haven’t been journaling. I am just not that into it right now. And this begs the question, “why?” If I am the only one to read it, then what I say shouldn’t matter, especially about the people who annoy me, act stupid, or just don’t listen to reason. These people will never know what I have written. So it isn’t fear of insulting someone. In the mornings I write what I am feeling, three tasks to accomplish that day, one ting I want to let go of and my vision for the day in terms of my emotions. At night I write three things I am grateful for and the feeling I want to manifest while I sleep and sometimes I also write a poem. So, Am I afraid to to know what I am truly feeling each morning or afraid to see that I didn’t even accomplish all three of the tasks for the day? Maybe. Am I afraid that I will run out of things to be grateful for each night or I give up trying to manifest calm/serenity while I sleep? Again, maybe.

With it being school break next week, we have decided to take some time off from the city and take Sylvie’s BFF with us. I have promised myself that while on break, I will explore why I am not journaling in the hopes of getting back to it on a more regular less sporadic basis (heck, it helps me sleep better and focus during the day). Quiet reflection does any sole good, especially on a daily basis.