“So often is the virgin sheet of paper more real than what one has to say, and so often one regrets having marred it.” ~Harold Acton
I expected that this little journal would last about four days. I was pretty much right. For the past couple of days I was excited to write, to reflect and create something. I waited to sit down and type. Tonight I thought I might pass on it. I thought I might just go to bed. I could justify it and no one but me is reading this, so it wouldn’t have made a difference. I was very close to making it only four entries in.
But I decided to sit and think of something to say. I perhaps should have spared myself from ever having to read this in a moment of retrospection, but here it is. Part of this is my stubborn side. I’m not so much motivated or inspired, but I’m determined to stick to something, no matter how mundane. Perhaps if I give this time, real insight or creativity will come.
I also have the embarrassing idea that someday this will turn into something interesting. Someday, this will be worth reading or sharing, or at least revisiting. I want to believe that this will be important… at least a little bit. I’m reading about a man who decided to commit to reading the entire Encyclopedia Britannica. That ended in a book. A friend of mine decided to take at least one picture each day. That ended in an actual published book. Julie and Julia is the hit of the summer in theaters. I want to make something that matters. This, to be sure, is not it. But perhaps if I keep trying, something will come up that will lead to my contribution, my defining work, my opus. Perhaps it will lead to utter garbage that will make me blush when I reread it. I remember my creative writing teacher in high school saying that if you write every day, a lot of junk will come out, but some really good stuff will surface too. It’s just bound to happen. So I’m marring this blank space with some ramblings, I’m not living up to the potential of what this could be. But at least, for today, I’m trying.