The Journal Of Me: What I Say In My Words

Everyone’s heard of the famous phrase, a picture is worth a thousand words. Although I am not a visual artist this is something I have played around with. I recently joined Pinterest and have been having a grand old time uploading and searching for images that capture my fancy and my delightful eye. Looking at my boards and the images I displayed it amazes me how much of myself is represented in them. The pictures aren’t a reflection of my life—they are a reflection of my ideal life; and in that sense are more me, than anything else.

So if a picture can say all that then what can a word say? What is the worth of letters arranged in harmony, set up to convey a human thought? One of the things I’ve come to realize is that you really can never hide yourself. Whether you are an open book or fancy yourself to be a walking enigma you always leave residues of yourself, like your fingers leave prints of itself on objects that it touches. Everything that you are and in everything that you do, you bare a glimpse of your naked soul.

As a professional wordsmith, words are something that I pay a lot of attention to. For the longest time I saw myself as being somewhat mysterious—not in an obvious sort of way, but I was not, and still am not, the type of person that would let just anyone check out the book of my life. This was one of the reasons why I have never been much of a fan of journals. Aside from the fact that it felt strange to me to write things that I already knew, I was always paranoid that someone—especially my mother (hey I was a teenager after all) would find it—and  gasp—read it; then they would know, the truth about me.

What’s funny about that is that I didn’t exactly have something to hide—I was, and actually still am, a perpetual goody two-shoes—scots honor. I just didn’t want anyone to have access to my head. I look back on this with a smile as it’s so obvious to me now, how naïve I was. The thing that I once feared the most is the thing that has given me my greatest liberty. To free my mind—to in essence—let myself take shape in my words—is what has allowed me to embrace my own humanity. My stories, my poetry, this blog—is all a journal of my mind; and now, at this particular point in my womanhood, I no longer run away from that but embrace what sharing my true self has to offer. For after all, a picture may be worth a thousand words, but the actual word—is priceless.

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