Why do I find consistency so difficult? In my eighteen years on this planet, I estimate that I’ve acquired 200 some-odd journals and sketchbooks—all half full. Or half empty…whichever way you feel inclined to look at it. I’ve concluded that the problem is that I love the look and feeling of blank pages, clean covers, and brand new pens. While the usage of these items is satisfying, the crisp look of a spiral-bound notebook (or even better, one of those gorgeous Italian leather journals stamped with the lavish crest of some distant family in a far away land, just because it looks nice) holds more worth. It must be the promise the blank pages hold, as they are uncharted waters, unexplored lands.
My favorite moment? Right before the hand brushes the paper and hovers, a fountain pen at the ready. The mind brims with possibilities. Ideas explode, swirling like watercolors, making beautiful chaos of a neat square canvas. Handwriting is anticipated to be as intricate as medieval calligraphy. The feeling of future satisfaction of carefully completed pages seems within reach. Illustrations in rich pastels dance invisibly across the open page. This is the moment which appeases my heart, motivates my mind, and inspires my entire being.
The one downside to this meticulously and delicately created book is that it yearns for an audience that it will never receive. Therefore, my goal is to transfer the pages of my mental sketchbook and journal onto the screen of my Mac in the same honest way so that maybe my thoughts will gain the audience they crave. Maybe someone will listen. In my life, four blogs have been born, enjoying short-lived attention, then quickly dying and dissolving as suddenly as they began. But, you know what they say… The fifth time is the charm?