Every time I write in the first page of a new journal I get caught up thinking about where I'll be by the last page.
When I started my last journal, about exactly a year ago, I had just been on a blind date with a boy I was about to fall pretty hard for. And then, briefly, I was going to think I wanted to marry him. And then, ultimately, I wouldn't. And gosh, something about love or almost-love or something-in-between-love. And it would take me a really long time to let go of it, whatever it was.
When I started that journal, I had a full-time job that I loved, with people I loved, and about zero intentions of leaving Arizona. The coastal Californian region wasn't even on my radar, except for the occasional beachy trip to Oceanside or Huntington. I had few questions about my future because it all seemed predictable and laid out for me. I was happy, with exhilaration and anticipation in all the little corners of me.
By the last page of that journal, which was last night, just about.....everything....in my life has changed.
As of the first page of this new journal, I (you know this already) live in northern California. I (obviously) no longer have that full-time job. I'm far away from pretty much everyone that my life circled around at this time last year. My future is nothing but one big question mark. You could say my life got a little turned on its head during the pages of the old journal. But I can say, I am still happy and exhilarated and full of anticipation in all the little corners of me.
My journals mean the world to me. I get some of the best insight into my present life when I go back and read my old stories. (Even these amazingly embarrassing ones from my childhood, bahahah.) I wonder what stories this new journal is going to tell?
Dear brand new first page....let's make some stories.