I’m pretty sure that I started a post in my head earlier today, before my three cups of coffee wore off, but now I haven’t the faintest idea what it was about. Hopefully it wasn’t the start of a Freshly Pressed post.
Since we last talked, Graz had another beautiful day of sunny weather, which I celebrated by going for a hike with my friend up to the ruins of a castle built in the 11th century.
There’s something so fascinating about old stuff. When I was in the castle, I was mostly preoccupied with taking pictures of all of it and making sure I didn’t miss any good views, but now I’m wondering about all the people who lived there til it was struck by lightning and burned down.
What’s it like to live in a castle on top of a tall hill?
Lonely? Exhilarating? Cold? Beautiful? How do you get your food? Do people come to see you? What do you do with your life?
What am I doing with my life?
Since I’ve only had one class so far, I’ve basically just been walking, seeing, taking pictures, cooking, and eating. Primary emphasis on the cooking and eating. I’m not sure what being hungry feels like anymore – and I know I need to scale back. I think my new philosophy will be “If I don’t buy it, I can’t eat it.” And I won’t resort to theft.
I’ve also journaled every single day. This is unprecedented in my life. Are you surprised? Don’t be. I may be able to blog consistently now, but it was hard enough to me to succeed at doing that on a regular basis. Something about wondering if someone was going to find my journal someday and publish it (how many of you have wondered the same thing? Anne Frank, you’ve set a precedent…) kept me from being able to be honest in there – and thus made me not want to journal. If you can’t be honest, what’s the point?
After I started counseling last semester, I got over wondering if someone was going to find it. It became too vital to write down all the things I was feeling and working through. There was no other way for me to set these issues aside. I had to process them in writing.
Now that I’ve learned that I need to process by writing (and now that I have so much to process – so many new feelings and old feelings in new places and new experiences and old experiences in new places), I’ve clung to my journal each morning like it holds all the answers. In reality, it holds no answers, no words til I write. Really, it’s just the place where I can stop my thought cycle.
There’s something to going somewhere new to start something new. I’m in a new place, starting new habits, and beginning a new chapter.