pen, paper, go

I have a confession: I love writing. Like physically taking a pen to paper writing. Not typing. In fact, a lot of my blogs originate from that old school pen and paper business. Their beginnings are on anything from notebook paper to the back of a bill or a scribbled grocery list. The urge to write can strike anywhere at anytime so really whatever I can get my hands on when the itch to write hits. It just feels so much more original....writing with a pen on paper. I'm not putting down straight up typers...typists? Just for me, on paper, it's more bare, more honest. Not only am I bearing my soul but it's my handwriting, my imperfect, rushed scribbles. It's all me. I laugh because a few days later I will pick up a grocery list and the back is a scramble of half finished thoughts.  I've always been a keeper of journals.  I've got boxes tucked away full of my soul since middle school. I've also collected my favorite quotes, lines, lyrics, blurbs found anywhere that struck a chord with my being, kept neatly in one perfect book. There's just something about having something in my hands, feeling the weight, turning the ink filled pages,  knowing that I took the time to record how I felt at a given moment. Or paging through and reading what quotes meant something to me at a certain point in life. It's my record of growth, of change, of heart aches and happy highs. It doesn't even matter if someone ever goes back and reads them besides me. Of course, I've imagined passing them down to my children, but now that I am actually a mother, I don't even know if I will do that. At first I thought it could possibly be a glimpse into life lessons, but do I really want to bare those flaws to children who look to me for guidance and unconditional love? I suppose there is a time where it might seem reasonable, but until then, tucked away they will stay. And I'll keep grabbing a pen, wherever I may be, and rush to capture the moment.