When I was 8, I kept a record of how much money I made from doing chores around the house. I also kept track of the money I loaned my sisters. By the way, they never paid me back. LOL! FYI: I'm the little one in the middle between my sisters.
Then along came Tom . . . and my first kiss on the cheek. Forget about money! My journal turned into my best friend because I could tell it everything! (I won’t give you the juicy details.) But I can tell you from that moment on, I knew journals would always be in my life. My written words became my Secret Whispers that floated out to the universe, and for me, that’s when the magic begins. What can I say, I'm a Cinderella Gal.
Fast forward many, many, years later . . . I was in the journal section of Barnes and Noble buying another journal, when I had an “Aha” moment. I didn’t see any journals with a cover that was really different. One of my passions is taking photos and that’s when it hit me! I wanted to create a journal with a unique cover. Even though I knew there were a gazillion journals out there, I still wanted to do it! Crazy, I know! But I love a challenge.
The two stories I’m about to tell you are true . . . seriously.
First Story told to me by my dad: I was two and half years old when I walked into our kitchen and said to my parents, “I wanna go home,” and then I pointed towards the sky. My dad said, “But Carol, you are home.” I replied back, “No, I wanna go home!” And again, I pointed to the sky. My mother asked me, “What are you talking about, you are home.” I said, “No. Mars! Mars! I wanna go home to Mars!” Then I turned around and walked away as they stood in a state of disbelief and puzzlement.
Second story: I had just started my own Literary Agency and was told by a New York editor the best place to meet editors in one fell swoop was at the ABA Convention [American Bookseller Association].
At the convention there was this man who was a tarot card reader. Mind you, not just any tarot card reader, but world-renowned—he’d read for royalty, actors, government leaders, his list was endless! My girlfriend signed us up to have a reading.
I arrived five minutes before my time and stood next to a wall facing this man as he finished his reading for my friend. He glanced up, stopped talking and just stared at me for what felt like an eternity. He finally put his attention back to her, leaving me in complete puzzlement.
When she left, I introduced myself. He immediately apologized for staring at me and then said, “I’m going to tell you something and I believe you will take it in the right spirit, or at least I hope so.”
I smiled and said, "Okay."
He took a deep breath, “I don’t know how else to put this, so I’ll just say it. You are not from this planet.”
I instantly laughed before saying, “That explains a lot!”
He smiled with relief and said, “I knew you’d understand. But, seriously, I’m being very honest with you, you are not from this planet.”
So, there you have it—at two & a half I wanted to go back home to Mars . . . then years later I was told I wasn’t from this planet. Voilá! Visitor From Mars just seemed to fit perfectly!
It’s a place to express your voice, your thoughts, anything, without criticism from anyone. A place to discover “Yourself ” — all aspects of your life and most important, what’s important to you. The list is endless. Just go crazy and make it yours!
The pages are unlined so you can write large or small, or in circles, or do something silly like making boxes to write in; you can also doodle and/or do any kind of drawings.
It's a wonderful blank canvas for you to start creating.
And don't worry about your age. It's never too late to start journaling. Let me tell you one last true story:
When I was 13, my grandmother (who was 85) came to my room to get me for dinner. I was writing in my journal. I quickly closed it when she entered. She asked me what was so private. I said, “my journal.” “What about?” she asked. “My thoughts, feelings, stuff that’s meant only for me, not to be disrespectful,” I said. “No, you aren’t,” she smiled, “but does it help you?” “Oh, yes!” I said immediately. Weeks later, Gram came to my room all excited, “Guess what? I’m writing in a journal and I love it! I wish I’d been doing this sooner, but better late than never, right.” She laughed her hearty laugh and then gave me a big hug. When she died at 99, I found a locked cabinet. When I opened it, stacks of journals were inside.
So, there you go, you can start journaling at any age.