Journaling is a mainstay of my life. It helps me know who-I-think-I-am at any given moment, who-I’ve-been back when, and who-I-want-to-be in some distant future. Like a topographic map, my journal traces the lay of my interior landscape, the hills and dales and watering holes, the arid patches, the pleasant woodland refuges, the arduous mountains. I like what writer and Zen teacher Natalie Goldberg says. Whatever the purpose of your journal might be (a life journal, travel journal, work journal, dream journal, art journal), it’s all the same thing: “What’s important is you’re having a relationship with your mind.” My journal is just me and my mind/soul/heart, having a private conversation.
Reading is an equally important mainstay. I know I share this with most of you, because we likely met through our mutual love of books. We are bookstore devotees, library patrons, garage-sale disciples, and (in the last decade) ardent digital downloaders. Some of us read a book or two a week, others …
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