journal

We learn to appreciate what we achieve, no matter how small the achievement, because we do it ourselves. - Midge Rylander in Eighteen Months To Live

And so I just kept writing to myself.

It seems as if I can only thing if I write my journal, it just connects the part of my head that is busy doing things with the part that is busy thinking about everything else. I know all these pepole are so busy because they love each other and me. We are a noisy crowd of love

Journal writing is a voyage to the interior.

These empty pages are your future, soon to become your past. They will read the most personal tale you shall ever find in a book.

we must bringour own lightto thedarkness.

We ask ourselves: have we made progress? We are almost never aware of it. Only with effort and discipline do we become fully conscious. If we keep a journal, now and then we are startled when we peruse past entries. Worries, fears, preoccupations of the previous year seem to have evanesced. The greatest terrors and strongest urgencies of five years ago now surprise, embarrass, or encourage us. Was this me? Why was it that I could not gauge it as it was lived?

Dear Matt, In less than a day, I_ ll be standing on the same sand you stood on so many times before. Well, not the same sand, with the tides and winds and erosion and all of that, but the same symbolic sand. I__ so excited and scared that I can_ t sleep _ even though I have to wake up in five hours! You know, I saved every one of your postcards. They__e here in a box under my bed _ all the little stories you sent, like little pieces of California. Like the beach glass you guys always brought me. Sometimes I dump it out on my desk and press my ear to the pieces, trying to hear the ocean. Trying to hear you. But you don_ t say anything. Remember how you_ d come back from your vacation on the beach and tell me what it really felt like? What the ocean sounded like at dawn when the beach was deserted? What your hair and skin tasted like after swimming in saltwater all day? How the sand could burn your feet as you walked on it, but if you stuck your toes in, it was cold and wet underneath? How you spent three hours sitting on Ocean Beach just to watch the sun sink into the water a million miles away? If I closed my eyes as you were talking, it was like I was there, like your stories were my stories. In many ways, I feel as if I have memories of you there, too. Do you think that__ crazy? Matt, please don_ t think badly about Frankie__ contest. It__ just a silly game. It__ so Frankie, you know? No, I guess you wouldn_ t. You_ d kill her if you did! She just misses you. We all do. I_ ll look out for her, though. I promise. Please watch over us tomorrow, and for the next few weeks while we__e away. You_ ll be in my thoughts the whole time, like always. I__ going to find some red sea glass for you. I miss you more than you could ever know. Love, Anna

We will read books together inside the blanket and stay warm. And keep writing poetry in our respective journals. Time will fly but we will still remain inside the blanket forever.

I am running and singing and when it__ raining I__ the only one left on the open street, smiling with my eyes fixed on the sky because it__ cleaning me. I__ the one on the other side of the party, hearing laughter and the emptying of bottles while I peacefully make my way to the river, a lonely road, following the smell of the ocean. I__ the one waking up at 4am to witness the sunrise, where the sky touches the sea, and I hold my elbows, grasping tight to whatever I__e made of myself.

And in this moment of pale dawn in the hours before we leave California, I finally realize what has been the hardest thing for me about Matt__ death. It isn__ that I lost a brother, like Frankie, or a son, like Aunt Jayne and Uncle Red. The hardest thing is that I__l never know exactly what I lost, how much it should hurt, how long I should keep thinking about him. He took that mystery with him when he died, and a hundred thousand one-sided letters in my journal wouldn__ have brought me any closer to the truth than I was the night I pressed my fingers to the sea glass he wore around his neck and kissed him back. For over a year, the letters were my only connection to him; the only evidence that I didn__ imagine our brief time as other. When I first saw my journal helplessly floating on the waves, I felt a loss so immediate and overwhelming it was like being back in the hospital lobby when the doctor told us they couldn__ fix him. One minute, the journal was in my hands, soft and familiar and real; the next minute, it was gone. Just like Matt. And just like Matt, I need to let it go.

Girls are always saying things like, ____ so unhappy that I__ going to overdose on aspirin,_ but they__ be awfully surprised if they succeeded. They have no intention of dying. At the first sight of blood, they panic.

How do the day__ event(s) compare with the famous quote you__e picked to write about in So This Just Happened: The Journal for USA Current Events?Journal your thoughts on current events inside, in light of the 101 famous and thought-provoking quotes about the United States of America, democracy and more.Abnormal times call for first person accounts: witness current events compared to the United States of America__ values, laws, and principles. So This Just Happened: The Journal for USA Current Events includes 101 thought-provoking and insightful quotes by Founding Fathers_, famous historical figures, past Presidents and more for you to compare and contrast with current events.With a quote on every other lined journal page; you can write in order or flip to the most relevant quote for the day__ events to write about. Each lined page for you to write on has a spot to write the date at the top.

I wrote. I wrote all the things I couldn__ say to him. I wrote about how much I believed in us. I wrote about how much I trusted God. I wrote that I was praying for him. I wrote down all the jokes I could remember, which weren__ many.

All experiences are stories to be told and must be written.

We have the power of the pen to write the next chapter, and the privilege to author the page in whatever fashion we choose. Yet, seldom do we understand the power of the pen and the privilege of the page.

No wonder I stopped keeping a journal. It was like keeping a record of my own stupidity. Why would I want to do that? Why would I want to remind myself what an asshole I was?

Issues are like tissues. You pull one out and another appears!