my rehearsal call was 10am today…and we started about twenty pages before my character resurfaces, for a whole three lines. however, I was prepared with my theory textbook and my journal.
the journal won…duh.
so as I was scrawling away, one of the other cast members passed me a note, asking me when and why I started keeping a journal. which set me thinking…
I started journaling when I was nine. very sporadically. then for about a year, when I was twelve, it was almost daily. sporadic again until around my freshman year of high school. tapered off, and then kicked in again senior year. right around when I started seeing a counselor at school. and from that point, it’s been a steady fixture in my life.
yet I found it very difficult to explain, this morning, why I do it. I guess in large part, it helps just to get things out of my head. sometimes I feel like there are so many thoughts and ideas and numbers and judgments clamoring around up there, if I don’t get some of them out somehow, my head might just explode. yet I somehow felt like that was an inadequate response, that it was too weird or abstract.
(he also asked me if I’ve ever gone back and read old journals. it’s funny, because I keep meaning to dig up and read through them when I go home (I have a huge box of the first 35 or so…the last five or six are here in CT with me). but I never get around to it, it always slips my mind in the flurry of home-visit activity. I have grand plans to one day just start from book one, page one, and plow through all of them nonstop. what a bizarre experience I bet that will be…)
but anyway, I was just rather surprised to be stumped by such a simple question. but then…why do I do anything I do? why do I go to the gym at six every morning? is it because I like to? maybe, a little bit, I guess. but why do I like it? because it makes me feel good? or because it keeps the maddening exercise bulimic in my head quiet? because it has become a self-proclaimed obligation that I’ve just convinced everyone else and myself that I truly enjoy?
a good friend once asked me why I had been a cutter. and I couldn’t give her an answer. for the life of me, I couldn’t conjure up the words to describe or explain it. all I could do was look at her and say, “I don’t know…because it made sense.”
and it did. it made sense. just like journaling just…makes sense to me. yoga makes sense. I can’t articulate it any better than that. it’s just this existential feeling where everything is right with the world, in that moment, and you just feel like you could live forever right then and there and be happy. the stars and sun and moon click into alignment and your life, your world, your existence just…makes sense.