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Blank Pages

I love writing.

I love to journal and doodle and scribble and scratch.

I have dozens of journals and diaries from childhood through adolescence — filled with memories, thoughts, hopes, emotions and randomness.

I have always loved writing, always loved the written word, always loved expressing myself and emptying my mind via pen and paper.

I find myself in an odd place right now.

Stuck.

Mute.

Paralyzed.

By the very thing which used to inspire and excite me…

 

 

I bought a new journal, a beautiful journal with a natural cover and smooth pages.

As I walked up to the front of the store with the journal – images flashed through my mind.

Pages covered with thoughts, hopes, dreams, ideas…

Page after page covered with me… my heart, my hopes, my essence… both a release and a source of inspiration.

So much potential in those smooth pages.

Now it taunts me.

I can’t seem to write in it.

I’m afraid of writing the wrong thing – of wasting the space – of  not living up to the image in my mind.

It’s silly, ridiculous, laughable even…

Yet my notebook remains blank, the pages virginal – untouched, unmarred…

I know that I just need to write.. for 30 seconds, 60 seconds…

I need to just WRITE.

But I’m so intimidated by those blank pages and not living up to their potential…

 

Please tell me I’m not alone.

 

 

 

Read more of Rachel Matthews’ writing about food, parenting, life and Texas at A Southern Fairytale

Follow her on Twitter, Facebook, Instagram and Pinterest

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