On my 25th birthday a friend gave me a journal. It had a lovely cover with pastel flowers and smooth, lined pages. I was thrilled! Those of you who love stationery (props to me for proper spelling?) might relate. The best part? She had written in it:
“Happy 25th birthday! Do you feel old yet? Wise? I thought I’d write in the first page of this because an untouched journal is sometimes just too perfect to write in.”
So encouraged by this sentiment (it was she who was wise), I have completely filled out this journal in the span of a couple of years. This is in stark contrast to other, no less prettily-bound journals, lying in seldom-opened drawers to this day. All packed away, they (just as I!) are waiting for that perfect day when the perfect thought and the perfect timing all swirl together in a glorious eddy made up of equal parts action and thoughtfulness. That day might never come.
My friend’s words were the real gift, that first page. It encouraged me to write. To seek motivation not in the perfect but the everyday, the noteworthy, and occasionally the awe-inspiring.
This post is that first page. The one I wrote for myself as a gift.
“Blank pages like your days ahead, to be filled as you choose. An adventure guaranteed.”