some time was spent yesterday wandering through the archives of this blog. because this space is mostly a personal reflection, it morphs into
pseudojournal upon review. here's the trouble
i've always had with journals: i look back and cringe. i want a do-over. i rip out pages and throw away entire volumes to make them disappear from my own history. in the abstract distance of hindsight, of remembering in my mind, i say
i'm grateful for mistakes, for less-than-smooth transitions, for awkward periods that portray the opposite of who i want to be. but when the concrete words and images are right there in front of me, documenting the struggle for me and anyone else who cares to look, the familiar wave of blush builds and crashes down on me.
i sit here in mysterious chagrin and consider it a tiny victory that i leave the content intact. i resist the urge to erase, to clean the slate, one click and it's gone. i listen to the discontent and ask myself what would i have wanted it to look and sound like?
more bass and way less treble.
balance for sure.
still undecided on the volume.
