Beginning again, again
How many journals in my possession only have the first few pages filled out before a sea of blanks? How many sketch books with promising starts that pittered out before page 20? How many Men’s Health fitness plans that I swore I’d stick to? How many meditation and mindfulness practices? Duolingo streaks? All broken. How do I keep blowing the oop on my own well-intentioned alley?
I can’t answer that. But I can say that the last well-intentioned journal I started was on June 3, 2023. It was the 30th anniversary of my very first journal entry. Seemed like the perfect time to reclaim my love for writing and personal documentation. I was on a once-in-a-lifetime trip with my family to Portugal. It was my daughter’s 11th birthday. Inspiration was abundant. Two and a half years later, that journal has three entries in it.
As often happens, the disappointment of not following through on a goal I had set out for myself caused me to stop doing the thing altogether. This happens literally every January when I confidently proclaim a dedication to 5 am yoga (I did not proclaim that this year, which feels like progress).
If I dig down to the core, I think the reason I abandon ship is simply because it doesn’t go the way I expected. The way I envisioned. And so instead of continuing to do the thing that would better my health and happiness, I punish myself for not doing it perfectly? What kind of sense does that make?
2026, here we go. Beginning again … again. This time, I’m trying it with no expectations. No deadlines. No goal posts. No broad declarations. Let’s just try to be persistent, give ourselves some grace and search for something real.
I don’t know how these writings will become a part of my creative process again, but I just can’t keep a written journal any more. My penmanship has gone to hell. This will likely be a combination of My So Called Life-esque cringe journals and reflections on the work created in the next year.
It’s another attempt at proof of existence. I once existed on this planet. Here’s how things looked to me. Here’s what I thought of them. That’s all art is, really—an innate need to leave a mark. To say thank you to the creator of existence for letting us be a part of it. To let the people you love know that even when you’re gone, they can look at this image or word or paint mark that came from you and know that you’ll always be with them.
For me, it’s a pretty small group of people who would find this useful, but those people mean everything to me. Emily, Campbell, Lyla, all this is for you. Forever.
Ok ,now. Let’s begin.
