I have to say that I harbour a bit of a secret dream.
I really, really, really wish that I could journal. By journal I mean creating an Art journal, or a sketch journal.
I have a Pinterest board called "Art Journal Envy". Oh how I love finding new and wonderful Art journal pages to pop in there.
Pages like this one:
and this one:
and this one:
and this one:
and my I could go on all day. They do make my *SIGH* with joy and also a little sadness, that I just can't seem to do this.
So, being that it's a new year, time for new things, time for some introspection I thought I would try to think about the WHY. WHY can't I get to grips with Journalling?
Alas, I suspect the conclusion to this self reflection can be summed up as simply as this:
Before we get to that though, lets go back to the beginning of this thought train.
Here's the big question then: Why don't I journal when it's something I long to do?
What if (heaven forbid) someone where to actually SEE it? I mean, I can journal just for me and that's fine but short of welding a journal shut with magical Harry Potteresque powers there no real way to guarantee that at some point in time someone won't take a peek inside. If you want to put anything in a journal then you need to take it places, which means you've got to have it hanging around with you. There's always a chance someone might look. Eek!
I don't think I can draw for toffee. Yes, I'm creative and crafty and good at making okay looking stuff with pretty paper and card and buttons and string, but actual, REAL drawing? I can just about draw things that my kids can identify as what they're intended to be - my doodled response to "Mummy, draw a cat" usually looks like a cat. Anything other than that though, yikes no. Things that require perspective and good artistic penmanship..... no good at that at all.
It's embarrassing. What if I've chosen to journal something completely stupid and inane (which lets face it, with me is highly likely) and someone looks at it and thinks "why the hell did she write about that, its completely stupid/inane?" Do I really need people to think I'm any more of a freak than they already do? (seriously, people already think I'm uberweird, scrapbooking and crafting and karate..... it's rare I don't get an odd look when I talk about my hobbies).
I don't have time. I barely have time to do what I do now. My house is a perpetual crap hole. I dash around like a mad lunatic 4 days a week to incorpate extracurricular activities (for myself and the kids) and the other 3 days I'm supposed to fit in some other sort of exercise in an attempt to reign in my ever expanding midsection.
I don't know where to start. What to journal about. What makes me think that anything that happens in my daily life these days warrants a permenant record? I don't really "do" anything. I don't really "go" anywhere. I just plod through an endless round of work/karate/gym/housework/rinse and repeat. What have I possibly got to journal about?
Back to the last photo anyway. Basically, on reflecting on this question the answer boils down to this. I am just too chicken to journal. I worry WAY too much about what other people might potentially think. I'm too scared I'll have nothing noteworthy to include. I'm too shy that someone might see what I've done.
I. Am. Just. Plain. Chicken.
In the past I've read this book:
and this book:
In an attempt to get past my scaredycatness (or scaredychickness) but to no evail (that is to say, I've never gotten past a page or two before I give up for the reasons mentioned about).
What will it take then to get past this block? I really think I would enjoy doing this, if I could just be a little less wary of the process. In terms of time, I haven't had any time for crafting at all in a long time and this is potentially something involving very little time which I could do anywhere so in a way it's the ideal creative outlet.
Maybe I just need to bite the bullet, be a big girl and get over myself?
Once upon a time I was too scared to venture into a Martial Arts Dojo and now I spend 11 hours per week of my life there. What is the saying? "A life lived in fear, is a life half lived"?
Something to think on anyway.