A Love Letter to My Journal
It’s so hard to say goodbye.
Dear Pink Moleskine,
We’ve been together for seven months now. I can’t lie. When I first saw you sitting on the shelf at the art supply store I thought, “Are there any other colors?” But I picked you up anyway, and checked you out a few times.
I turned you over in my hands, to see how we’d fit together. I read all about you on the sticker, to make sure your pages were open and free. I didn’t want to write on the lines, or read between them.
I needed space to be myself. I needed a journal that would accept all of me — my silliness, my imperfections, my beauty, and my brokenness.
Even though you were pink and I preferred a different color, like green or yellow, I had a good feeling things would work out between us. Because you had the good stuff on the inside, I was confident about starting a relationship with you. I felt I would grow to love you, even though you weren’t my dream journal.
My pink love, how right I was.
It all started with Notes from Therapy: Week One, remember? I was freaking out after my first session because my therapist had failed to take notes. I panicked at the thought of not being able to remember all the therapiphanies I had made, until I remembered I had you.
I opened you up, and our journey began with a black Paper Mate Flair M marker pen. You know, the kind with two hearts engraved in the metal clip of the cap? One heart for you, and one heart for me. 💖 💖
One of the first words I wrote in you was GRACE, in all capital letters. I asked, “Am I willing to accept my messy self and extend grace to myself, truly? What does that look like?”
Isn’t it great how far we’ve come?
I still don’t totally understand the mystery of grace, but I have experienced its healing power. The paradox, of course, is that I have no power to extend grace to myself. All I can do is open my heart to the Divine Light, and let the broken pieces be filled with shimmery, sparkly Love.
You and me, sweet pink, we’ve been through a lot.
You were there for me as I worked through some painful things. You helped carry me though grief, frustration, and anxiety. You made it easier for me to start understanding myself and my experiences better.
Little by little, you witnessed how the pieces came together. My mind has gone from feeling scattered to feeling more integrated, in the last seven months. We both know things are still not perfect, and that I haven’t arrived or figured it all out. But aren’t you proud of me? I wanted to heal, and I have done some healing!
Thank you for being such a good listener. The more you listened, the more colorful my communication became. I even stopped using words sometimes. Your pages are peppered with feathers and sparkles and doodles!
It’s amazing how much fun you can have when your heart is healing well. Dark, drab words turn into bursts of sunshine, flowers, and birds. Thank you, pink friend. It’s like you’ve been my best friend.
I can’t believe we only have three pages left together. And even though this is not goodbye — even though you will always be with me, literally, unless you burn in a fire — it still makes me a little sad to let you go.
I’m sure you know me better than I know myself at this point, so you probably know where I’m going with this. Letting go ain’t easy, pink babe. It doesn’t matter how many times you do it: when you love someone, it’s hard to say goodbye. Like Boyz II Men said.
I hate the word “goodbye”, so I won’t say it to you. Instead I’ll say: See you later, probably under my bed. You’ve been the best journal a girl could ask for, or spend $20 on. My word for you, pink, is: magnanimous.
I love you, pink beauty.
💖 Lindsay
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