Pages

I love my journals. If my house was burning down, they are the first thing I would grab. I've gone through enough of them over the years (I started in 8th grade!) to recognize that the ending of one journal and the transition to the next nearly always marks a significant milestone in my life. My journals and my life seem to transition together, and the closing of one book often represents the closing of a chapter of my life. Beginning the first page of a new journal is a strange and unnatural experience for me. The feel of it in my hands, the sound that the pages make when I turn them, and way my pen meets the paper and the (sometimes) lines seem foreign to me - just like the unfamiliar path that I am walking into in my life at the time. But it's always full of promise and hope. What story will these blank pages soon tell? How will I change? Only time will tell.

I just filled the last page of my journal. It took me 11 months to finish - it began on an adventurous journey somewhere between Laos and Thailand. It ended on a hopeful, yet challenging, note. I have a feeling that this ending is just the beginning of something new.