On notebooks, again

This year I was supposed to fill a notebook after a notebook. I was supposed to write everything down, make the pages thick with ink. It’s august an my journal isn’t even half full. Other notebooks have more blank pages than the ones written on too. Why is it so difficult for me to write everything down?

Is it because I’m afraid of what is in my head? Is it that I don’t trust my ideas? Or do I think that they’re small and undeserving to be written down? Sometimes I think that I can’t forget something, it’s such a great idea and then it’s lost for eternity. We’ve all been there. I get so angry with myself then. If I only bothered to pick up this damn pen.

I really want to be that person who writes everything down, who has shelves filled with notebooks full of her thoughts, ideas, notes, conversations she overheard, descriptions of people and places. I want to be that person who can open a notebook and leaf through it in search for an idea.

Sometimes I’m afraid I’ll never become that person. That I’m incapable of keeping a notebook. That I’ll never have the life I want to have, I’ll never be who I want to be.

I need to get better at it. I need to push myself to write everything down, however unimportant it may seem at the moment. There are no wasted words, there is no wasted writing. Everything can be important at some point. Everything can lead me to something I didn’t yet discovered.

So I promise myself again to get better at this. To write everything down. To keep the record of my thoughts and the world around me.

Are you a notebook keeper?