Pages

Two days ago, I handed my twenty-two year old niece an empty journal.  She opened it, fanned the pages, then looked up at me quizzically.

"The pages are empty..." she said, not understanding they were meant to be that way.

I sighed and said, "I guess that means you need The Lesson."  Then I pulled open a drawer and began stacking some of my books on the table.

You see that book at the bottom of the stack?  This is what I found written on the eleventh page:

From Hobby        
January 27, 2008

"You have this draw on people, Paula...use it.  Write your book and know the freedom that I have let go by countless times... This, I wish for you.

You touch this world wonderfully.  Your last blog, "Hearts Aren't Perfect," touched many.  Through your work, Ruthie, and your blog you have made this world better.  You have the ability to brighten a room... I even copied one of your pictures so I could see that smile anytime I needed uplifting.

I'm rambling.  Thank you, Paula - for everything.


Then, on page twenty-three...

October 10, 2007

I picked up my journal to write today even though I'd rather sleep.  Sadness drowns out any happiness I've built up.

I feel so insignificant.

(waiting for the midnight show at Alamo Drafthouse)

The old man plays solitaire on his laptop, drinking tea from a styrofoam cup.

At the table behind me, a young girl talks about God and prayers, and the boy she keeps on the side because she's still afraid of being lonely.  When I turn to adjust my chair I realize her companion tonight is an old man with a Book of Mormon.

My socks have turquoise stripes on them.



--

I write.
I record.
I live.

(and some days, I believe it goes the other way around)

I live.
I record.
I write.

Regardless, I have words that speak to me when I've forgotten where I'm supposed to go.  For that, I am thankful.  My wish for you is that you find the voice meant for you.

Love,
Me