Before we Instagrammed, we texted a ton.
Before that, we blogged.
And before that, we wrote in our journals.
My notebooks admittedly started as prayer—or “quiet time”—journals. It’s so interesting to see what I prayed for. What I asked for. How I talked about God and myself.
Then they quickly moved to wine-fueled scramblings about art and lovers and travels. Some of the most interesting entries are in the cross-over phase—from communion to let’s-call-this-what-it-is wine. Trying to navigate religion, love, and life. If my journals are A to Z, the A’s are mostly prayers and the Z’s are mostly tarot readings. The common denominator through them all? Gratitude lists—in many different forms—and me—also in many different forms. Though I’ve changed a ton, you can see the same Rachel in the slant of the handwriting and the movement of the words.
I recently finished another journal. Another chapter. And put it on the shelf.
It was fun—and insightful—to read through the past prayers, heartbreaks, creative dives, recaps, and adventures. At this very new moment in my life, I couldn’t help but be amazed at how much it looked like parts of 2010. Falling in love with Evan. Working on building my website. Piecing it all together. Being on the radio. An excerpt from March 22, 2010:
Heard myself on KHOL this morning… my show. I was SO excited. Texted tons of people I know around town. It made me so happy to hear… does that make me self-involved? Oh well. Evan texted me and said, “Damn, you sound good on the air.” I would have kissed him on the mouth if he were near.
It’s eerily similar to what’s happening now. In Seattle. Nine and a half years later. I’m hearing myself on KEXP and freaking the eff out. I’m piecing it all together—recently going freelance (*gulp*). I’m updating my website to reflect more of the work I wanna do: Take a look! I’m proud when I look at the radio page. I told those stories. They aired on the radio! People texted me about them when they heard them! It feels full-circle.
You’ll notice all the Moleskins—mostly black. One year, I went with a fiery red. It was what I needed and I felt like my writing—my words—found a renaissance within that journal. So I chose another colored-journal for the next round and went with the sage color. That writing and time in my life was the most stagnant it’s maybe ever been. Every time I grabbed it to write, I almost blamed the boring, muted green color for the boring writing.
Back to black for two journals. And I think I found my stride again a bit. So what now?
Yellow? We’ll see. I like it. It feels bright and light going into the dark and cloudy season of Seattle. I’ll try to write with my pen and not just use these keys. Because I love filing these days away next to the others, making the story of me all together.
[on to the next one.]
wull hay. 