Why do we worry about other people reading our journals? Why do we worry about what happens to our precious tomes after we die? In all seriousness, what is it about "our life" that makes it so different then the crap that most other people go through and deal with. I mean, unless you're like writing in great detail about your private adventures with gerbils while you swing from chandeliers, or you're a multi millionaire taking bribes and doing stuff you shouldn't be doing, what makes our lives so different then any one else's?
Every life has it's ups and downs. Every one has good days and bad days. Days when we argue and fight with those we love...but don't the ones that we love have the same kind of days? And in the end, don't they still continue to love us? We're all human. We all screw up.
I get bummed out when I hear people say that they want their books destroyed when they die. C'mon. That's history. That's YOUR story. No one else is ever going to live it exactly the way that you did. So don't destroy your books. Pass them on. SOMEONE will want them, trust me. Look at the people who pay big bucks for old, "vintage" jourals, or those of us that shell out $25 to sneak a peek into other's "published" journals, most of which are pretty pages MADE for publication. But that's a whole nother post for another day...
I'm off to get ready for the day and get some art (work) done.
Comments