I’m a journaler.
Woah, I guess according to spell check, journaler isn’t actually a word. Oh well, today’s a live on the edge kind of day.
Pausing to reflect and write down my thoughts (or about my most recent crush which was an embarrassingly common occurrence during my teenage years) is something I’ve been doing on and off since high school. I recently pulled out one of my first journals and man, reading some of that stuff was a whole new level of funny, but moving on…
I tend to live the majority of my days at a much faster pace than I probably should. I guess I’ve come to realize that when I take the time to stop and really consider those little moments (or those big moments) by journaling, it helps. It helps me process. It helps me to calm down and work through tough situations. It helps me to keep things in perspective. It’s also super quaint and picturesque to sit with a cup of coffee, pen and paper and just write (You know, that thing you were taught to do back in elementary school).
My journal “entries” don’t usually have any sort of format. They’re more of a stream of consciousness, rambling about whatever comes into my head sentence conglomeration. Recently, a blog of a friend of mine posted about this self-love journal letter challenge. In essence, you write a letter each day to a particular entity. For example, dear younger me, dear first love, dear hunger, dear mornings…you know, that kind of thing.
I knew there was no way I was going to bother actually writing something to everything on the list everyday. I’m not the kinda girl that does “prompted journaling.” After all, journaling is MY place where I write what I want, when I want, and aint nobody gonna tell me I have to do differently. But this idea intrigued me, especially some of the dear so-and-so’s.
This one in particular…
Since this is a letter, I know you can’t tell I’m pausing and have been sitting here quietly for the past 5 minutes trying to figure out where to start. But I am. We’ve been together for 24 years and I really should know you pretty well, but I guess we haven’t actually been talking for the last three. Well, maybe I should clarify. I’ve tried to talk to you, both in my head and with spoken words, but you never seem to listen. Granted, I guess recently our one-sided conversations are me apologizing for slamming you into something or me less than happily asking you to get your act together and go where I want you to go. I could probably work on the tone I take with you…
You always have been a pretty big part of who I am. Standing just over 6 feet tall, you make up over 50% of my actual body which, by definition, means you’re the majority of my person (hence big part of who I am). When people used to describe who I was and what I looked like, they would say, “Oh you know, that really tall girl with the spiky hair.” Yea, that was because of you.
You and I have been places and achieved goals that I always dreamed about. And yea, we worked hard for them. I remember when I first got started with running, how sore and less than thrilled you were with me. I also remember the day after my first half marathon. You certainly had some unenjoyable ways to showcase your protests about our awesome accomplishment. Yet, I know secretly you were just as proud as I was when we finally crossed that finish line and had our own race “bling.”
I guess our relationship looks a lot different now than it did back then. Well, you look a lot different now than you did back then. Remember your wonderful bulges of lean runner muscle that I secretly loved to show off when I was courageous enough to wear high heels? Yea, I guess you could say atrophy is a huge buzz kill.
You know legs, the first 21 years of my life I kind of put you through the ringer. You were well loved and also very well used. From those long training runs, to 12 hours days on my feet running around dairy farms, to ballroom dancing on Friday nights, to walking and shearing sheep, you’ve literally been through it all. I don’t think I’ve thanked you enough for your effort and support every step of the way (again, being completely literal). Actually, I know I haven’t thanked you enough.
So legs, thank you. Thank you for your strength and your perseverance through so much. You carried me both to and through so many moments and memories. You know, I think it’s about time I’m able to take you places. To let you go for the ride and enjoy the scenery for a change. You’re always here for and with me, and I wouldn’t have it any other way.
Finally giving you the break you’ve earned,