When I look back over the diaries I kept as a child and turn to those blank freestyle pages at the back of the notebooks I learn more about my then self than from the daily entries that make up most of the journals. I’ve found wills and last testimonies bequeathing favourite toys and clothes and postal savings accounts to sisters and friends or just acknowledging allies who hadn’t shopped me in. Declarations and remonstrations.
But mostly it was where I recorded the important ‘historical stuff’.
Like “ It is 11.57 on 11 Nov and I am nine”
“It is 11.59”.
And finally “It is 12.01 on 12 Nov, I am now ten”.
Without fail, on New Year’s Eve I sat with my diary on my lap, an honest observer and chronicler waiting to record the new year in the only way I knew how.
“It is 11.59 and 1980.” Then underneath,”Now it’s 12.01 and 1981″.
It seemed to matter.
It still does. To acknowledge the transition – the passing out of one year and the arrival of a new one. With the full quota of hope and aspirations and best intentions.
I have high hope for 2014 and my place within it.
Lists have been written with mind, body and spirit in sight. Recorded in the back of a journal just as decades before.
Earlier to bed, earlier to rise (my clock is set for 6.26am. I hope to get that back to 6am). Journals – dream journal, morning pages, ideas. Writing. Blogging. Grapefruit. Lemons in hot water. Two litres of water. Walks and affirmations and walks while affirming. Courses and reading around personal development. Mindfulness. Therapeutic writing. More cooking less baking. De-clutter house. If I don’t use it, then I must lose it. Dates with husband and with children.
For the record, it’s 20.48 on 31 December 2013.