Start keeping diary again

In the beginning of the year I decided that I would start writing in my diary once a week. It took me two weeks to make the first entry and another two weeks to make the second. Now it’s been three weeks and I haven’t written anything. It’s slightly depressing, as if the year is slipping through my fingers before it has even started. A good thing is, that I have at least begun to pay attention to this. That is already a huge change. The rest will follow, I’m sure.

And luckily today I finally have a bit of time for myself!

I was eight when I got my first diary. For 22 years I wrote it more or less frequently, less frequent periods coinciding with intense romances, when life was so all consuming that there was no time to reflect upon it.

Now I have been married for almost two years and I hardly ever write any more. It is a constant nagging feeling inside me, a reminder, almost like an amputated limb aching, a lack of some sort of a space to hear the more quiet, almost silent voices inside me that are lost in the roar of the company of other people.

I almost feel that without writing life is slipping through my fingers, I’m wasting valuable time. Because when I write I cast light on aspects and moments and feelings I may not otherwise take notice of. I live more fully in my self. And I leave behind me a kind of map I can follow back if I want to, to remind myself where I have come from.

The only question is where I am going to find the space I need to do this in the midst of my busy life. Writing takes time, thinking is slow. I need to change my whole attitude towards doing things that are not “usefull”. I need to take time to do something that just feels good and doesn’t serve any direct purpose. I have a feeling this is a goal I’m going to have to keep working on. But at least I am taking the first steps. Right now.