So I’ve been in my new apartment now for a week and a half. I love everything about it…except for the wasp infestation just outside the back door. It has so many nice perks–lots of space and privacy and less party noise. Of course, now that I’m done moving and unpacking, I can enjoy these things and settle back into a normal daily routine of some kind. The days of packing, moving, and unpacking, however, were slightly less enjoyable.
It seems that every time I move to a new place, I am forced to see myself for who I am on every level, and this time was no exception. Going through everything I have is like cleaning my room x100…really embarrassing. For one thing, I have to see every single thing I have, which includes things like letters from high school and similar items that are completely embarrassing to keep, but I don’t have the heart to throw them away. I also generally like to keep my room somewhat clean and orderly, but that really just means a lot of things get placed somewhere like under my bed or shoved deep in my closet (places where most of those ridiculous keepsakes get stashed).
So as I was gathering all the miscellaneous items from under my bed and in the catch-all basket beside my closet and from the grand collection of bags and storage spaces inside my closet, I realized that I have a strange attraction.
I also realized that I judge books by their covers (and always have)… or at least since I was three when I saw Beauty and the Beast for the first time and wanted to have a book with the EXACT shade of blue as the one Belle grabbed from the shelf. There are too many books I have sitting around waiting to be read because I got them primarily for their visual appeal. Yes, it’s shameful.
So, somehow, my blank page collection and my attractive book collection managed to get married. Yep, that’s right…hitched. I have a thing for journals—big journals, small journals, neutral-colored journals, brightly colored journals, embossed journals, and journals with girly, tropical prints. I use them, but I always feel that I should write only the things I’d like to keep in them because a page used is a page I can never get back… and I love me some pages!
So I have several journals (at least 5) that I have bought or received as a gift and plenty of blank pages. You’d think I’d be satisfied with these, but somehow, I still found myself just last night stalling in the journal aisle at Target… Actually, I may have made a trip just to look at their journals! :D
Judging by their covers of course, I don’t usually care for the very plain journals—really thin ones with solid color and no design element, or the kind that remind me of the tiny Gideon Bibles they sometimes pass out on campus. However, a thin, bright red journal about the size of a typical on-to-go planner caught my eye.
The gold print on it was starting starting to give me some Gideon Bible vibes, but the words really captured me.
Simple, sweet, and inspiring. In one word: perfect. I kept looking for one I might like better, and I even placed the journal back on the shelf. Then I admitted to myself that I would regret leaving without out because I would remember it so well. So of course…I got it.
And, I’ve already written a few things in it! Not only that, but I feel inspired to actually keep writing in it, despite my blank page hoarding issues.
I’d like to thank the marketing industry for this accomplishment. I could probably come up with a rhetorical analysis that explains my strange inclinations toward every journal in my stash, but I would rather bask in the magic of being subtly manipulated by excellent design choices. Everyone who is honest will admit that they do, too.
But this time I got a little bit more for my money: a journal and the motivation to maybe, just maybe, write on every single page. :)