“Love makes the world go around,” quote the quoters.
“Ban the bomb! Make love, not war!” chant the hippies.
“Love conquers all,” smile the grannies.
“Love is good,” preach the preachers.
Sometimes I feel like Love gets it all on a silver plate. Why is this? Why is Love always the good one? In a way, I think Love just got lucky. It was born to a very rich family of Love Lovers, was immediately loved by the whole entire world and since then has had opportunities, songs, poems and party invites showered down upon it.
If you ask me Love gets it easy.
Everyone loves Love but is Love always good?
What about when one sort of love gets in the way of another i.e. parental love over spouse love?
What about when we feel so much love for someone or something that it collides our priorities and we have to make a choice between the things we love?
What about when Love shows up and suddenly we’re looking at doing something, the aftermath of which has our children lying on the psychiatrist’s coach for the next 18 years?
What about that, hey Love? Hmm? Hmm?
People do great things in the name of love, but they also do things which mess everyone else up in the meantime.
I know this. For fact. Cause I’ve done it.
Which brings me to a confession. It’s not a good one and not one I’m proud of. If you don’t want to know you should turn off your computer and not come back for a week. And yes, I know that declaring a dark secret on a blog probably isn’t the best way to come clean, but the decision hs been made and that’s what I’m going to do. So. Ready? Okay.
I have Journal Love.
This affliction of the heart involves Journals.
And me loving them.
Normally I can keep the Journal Love under control. I own one or two (or three) and that’s fine. That’s normal. They live in the chest by my bed and I like to keep one in my bag. But then occasionally someone else gets a journal that I fall in love with and I get all overcome with this craving that won’t go until I’ve used the thing.
Example: It’s my daughter’s birthday. She has a party and ALL her friends bring her journals. Big journals, little journals, journals with lined paper, journals with thick cartridge paper. I watch her opening each journal – piling them up – and with each emergence of fresh journalistic gorgeousness, my eyes get bigger and bigger, my mouth starts to water and I feel the little hairs on my neck go all tingley.
“Look, aren’t they lovely Mummy?” beams my daughter.
“They. Are. Lovely.” – (croaking)
“Do you like this one Mummy?” (holds up a particularly beautiful one with a block printed bird cover).
“Yes. Lovely.” (sing-songy high-pitched voice). “Why not take them all upstairs to your desk?” (before I grab them, steal them and unleash my black fine liner pen on the pages. Ha. Haa. Haaaaaaaaa!!!)
A few days later I come across the journals. I reach out a finger to touch one. No! What am I doing? I have a firm word with myself and creep away. “No. Mustn’t. Mustn’t touch The Precious Journal. Mustn’t. Would upset Daughter”.
But there they are, still sitting there. Untouched. The Journal Love is growing by this point. It’s getting stronger. I don’t know if I can handle it. I practically have to drag myself away from the books, trying to resist the thought of blank white paper, all fresh and gleaming and winking seductively from between the covers.
Gripping the bannister, I go downstairs. I think I’ve overcome it. I’ve done well. I give myself a pat on the back. But then a few days later I have an inspired idea for a book. I am so bursting with inspiration that I scrabble for paper. And before I know it … what am I doing??? I’ve found one of the birthday journals and I’m writing in it!!!
Too late …
As the realisation of what I’ve done hits me, I start to panic. What do I do with the evidence now? Do I hide it? Do I stuff it in some sneaky, guilty hiding place? Or just fess up?
Daughter comes in from school. I sit at the table, face pale as vanilla ice cream. Guilty as sin.
“Mum …” she begins. She frowns in concern. Then her face grows dark. She’s seen this expression before. Oh yes. She knows what’s happened. Because here’s the sickest thing of all. I am a Serial Journal Lover. I’m a living soap oprah of Journal Love Affairs. We’ve been through this time and time again.
RESULT: A scurrying trip to town with Daughter to buy her the best, most expensive, most gorgeous journal – and I skulk home to touch and salivate over my guiltily acquired acquisition whilst knowing in the back of my mind that I am giving my daughter serious Mother/Journal/Trust Issues.
I believe that when we love something so much that we would steal off innocent children to satisfy it, then the chances are we either have a passion or a problem. Passion for Journals? Problem with Journals? Problem with Journals? Passion for Journals? You decide.
Either way, our problems/passions can be turned into something fruitful – if untangled and sewn in the right way. (See problematic, colourful and highly relevent photo to illustrate this sentence) … (below).
I have just about managed to do this. These days I channel my Journal Love into making ….. JOURNALS! … the sort of journals that I dream about. Sometimes I can be found in my home studio, gazing in a sort of Journal Inspired Bliss.
I make blank journals, gratitude journals, dream journals, travel journals. You can see a few of them on my website. All of them are bound in gorgeous fabric and then covered in hand stitched felt (I am also afflicted with Vintage/ Textile Love).
I usually work for for hours non-stop while Daughter and Son are at school, or later in the evening when all are in bed. I occasionally stop for tea and cake. (Yes … there is a large portion of Tea & Cake Love too.)
Right now I’m working on an amazing journal/diary. It goes against the normal grain of what a journal/diary is, because it is anti-time and anti-doing. If you think about it, most diaries are very organised and logical and boxy with places for to-do lists and general Efficiency. This journal/diary is going to have a place for all that, but it is going to be balanced with huge gaps for imagination, envisioning, to-be lists and general Self Expression and Creativity.
So in this instance Love that was making me do unlovely things has now resulted in loveliness, which is just lovely.
I very much love this journal/diary in the making and will show it to you as soon as I’m done. In fact, I should really be getting on with some of it now. But before I go, check out this this Art Deco Journal (all of my own) that a gorgeous girl sent for my birthday last month – and she knew nothing of my secret Journal Love!!
I would like to fill the Comments Box full of Love-Stuff, so if you have anyone or anything that you would like to share then feel free to let all of your loves flow out here. (They will be very safe).