Today I write a celebration of the journals I read. Months go by, sometimes many months go by, between the times I read those other journals. After long absences, I arrive at their digital door, and I am welcome. I start with the latest entry, with a "how are you?" on the tip of my mind, just as it would be on the tip of my tongue as I sat down in their kitchen for a cup of tea.
When I read those other journals, it is a homecoming, a celebration. They are the people whom I choose to listen to and respect. I rediscover that which I admire, that which makes me sad, that which makes me humble, and that which makes me laugh. As my eyes travel back through each successive page, I am strengthened, and I am heartened. I leave in love with life and those who live it.
Those modest writers, who write their lives into living art, influence my thoughts. Their work impresses me to the same degree and quality as have the likes of: Shakespeare (William Shakespeare); Mother Teresa (Agnes Gonxha Bojaxhiu); Marie Curie (Marja Sklodowska); to name a few.
This entry is just to say thank you to those who write journals. Your work is as dear to me as the well worn story books of my childhood.
Thank you who write online journals, for assuming the importance of your life, and in so doing, affirming the importance of mine.
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Page by Page: A Woman's Journal