It’s been a while since I’ve written. Anything really. Other than scribbled to-do and grocery lists, I’ve barely even updated my Facebook status, much less written a blog post. I’m not sure if it’s the first breeze of fall air that is quietly blowing in to our bedroom window at night or the leaves on that one tree behind our house that are insisting on changing colour before all the others, but I feel change coming on. And what a lovely, wonderful and exciting feeling that is.
With so many thoughts swirling through my head, I thought it might be good to go fish out a notebook. A real notebook, and not the kind stuck to my fridge with a magnet. I opened the special little cubby in my closet where I keep them (doesn’t everyone have a notebook cubby? I mean really?) and found two of them. But to my dismay, they weren’t brand new. Like many of my notebooks, there were scribbles in the first few pages and the rest were blank. I’m bad that way. I like for a notebook to be fresh and untouched when I start writing about something new.
But there is something else about finding a notebook with my old scribbles in it. Had it been a notebook from my childhood, I think I would have been excited to read what had been written there so many years ago. But the idea of reading recent notes (although I use the term “recent” loosely – most of my notes are from at least two years ago) just makes me cringe. Do I feel foolish about what I used to write? What used to preoccupy my thoughts? Was I just a silly, silly girl having some silly, silly crisis?
I sucked it up and started reading. A few journal entries, visualization lists and notes from an angel reading I had received. I was amazed. None of it was silly at all. In fact, it made perfect sense. She made sense. I make sense. And I’m where I am today thanks to her.
So I now have a notebook (although being anal as I am, cut out the first few pages for safekeeping with the “other” notebooks), a pen that will do, and the reassurance that the person I am today is the perfect candidate to keep building on all that work that another
me put in a few years ago.
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