The Beginning: Beaches, Books and Biscuits.
It began, as all good stories do, with a book. A really really pretty book. A pale pink, leather-bound notebook with gold trims that was, quite frankly, to die for. It was far too pretty to use as a day-to-day note book in uni lectures, and equally too pretty to go to waste sat on my desk, and so I decided I had to write something in it that would make it worth keeping.
I began with lists of films and books I wanted to watch and read that year, goals I had set for 2019 and what I'd learned in 2018 (it was of course the beginning of a new year, hence the sudden ridiculous need to do something new), and then carefully, albeit poorly, wrote 'January' in a swirly, fancy font, predictably copied from Pintrest. Then I wrote out my favourite poem for this time of year, Ring Out Wild Bells by Tennyson, in an attempt to inspire myself to expel my old, lazy and uncreative ways. Then naturally I got stuck. I had nothing to write. I trawled Pintrest and other people's blogs on journalling, desperate for some sort of inspiration. I came up with nothing, because unfortunately reading one Tennyson poem doesn't make you a literary genius and the words won't just flow and flow and flow onto the page like waves on to the beach (this was of course what I was imagining because I spend 95% of my life on or thinking about a beach).
After desperation, came anger. What was I thinking? I'd just wasted the prettiest book I'd ever seen on five pages of a new years resolution I was never going to stick to. Then, rather like a pathetic epiphany, I realised that my angry questions had given me a rather good idea. I was just going to write whatever I was thinking.
As someone who tends to bottle up their feelings, it was therapeutic and cathartic to just write them all down and get them out. Any event, big or small, went in the book. I wrote about what shows, films, music and books I was loving that month, what made me angry or sad. To look back and see how upset I was over exams or friends refusing to go to the pub quiz made me reflect and realise that everything does pass. Now looking forward I'm more aware that I don't really need to worry so much because to be quite honest in a months time I won't give a shit. It's also really lovely to look back and read about my favourite things that month and I can feel happy reading about all the times I was happy. It takes the pressure off for the month ahead, because if I was so happy finding a new TV show I loved or sitting in Waterstones with a hot chocolate playing scrabble with a friend then I'm going to find the good in next month too. I'm not fully sure what I'm going to do with some of the information I've learned, like the startling number of times a week I sit and think about biscuits, but I'm sure I'll figure it out.
In the meantime, I'll be here, chronicling summaries of what I've been thinking so that when I inevitably run out of pages and find an equally stunning notebook to write in next, my thoughts will still all be in one place, even if they're a bit all over the place.
B x
I began with lists of films and books I wanted to watch and read that year, goals I had set for 2019 and what I'd learned in 2018 (it was of course the beginning of a new year, hence the sudden ridiculous need to do something new), and then carefully, albeit poorly, wrote 'January' in a swirly, fancy font, predictably copied from Pintrest. Then I wrote out my favourite poem for this time of year, Ring Out Wild Bells by Tennyson, in an attempt to inspire myself to expel my old, lazy and uncreative ways. Then naturally I got stuck. I had nothing to write. I trawled Pintrest and other people's blogs on journalling, desperate for some sort of inspiration. I came up with nothing, because unfortunately reading one Tennyson poem doesn't make you a literary genius and the words won't just flow and flow and flow onto the page like waves on to the beach (this was of course what I was imagining because I spend 95% of my life on or thinking about a beach).
After desperation, came anger. What was I thinking? I'd just wasted the prettiest book I'd ever seen on five pages of a new years resolution I was never going to stick to. Then, rather like a pathetic epiphany, I realised that my angry questions had given me a rather good idea. I was just going to write whatever I was thinking.
As someone who tends to bottle up their feelings, it was therapeutic and cathartic to just write them all down and get them out. Any event, big or small, went in the book. I wrote about what shows, films, music and books I was loving that month, what made me angry or sad. To look back and see how upset I was over exams or friends refusing to go to the pub quiz made me reflect and realise that everything does pass. Now looking forward I'm more aware that I don't really need to worry so much because to be quite honest in a months time I won't give a shit. It's also really lovely to look back and read about my favourite things that month and I can feel happy reading about all the times I was happy. It takes the pressure off for the month ahead, because if I was so happy finding a new TV show I loved or sitting in Waterstones with a hot chocolate playing scrabble with a friend then I'm going to find the good in next month too. I'm not fully sure what I'm going to do with some of the information I've learned, like the startling number of times a week I sit and think about biscuits, but I'm sure I'll figure it out.
In the meantime, I'll be here, chronicling summaries of what I've been thinking so that when I inevitably run out of pages and find an equally stunning notebook to write in next, my thoughts will still all be in one place, even if they're a bit all over the place.
B x
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