I love a blank journal.
Especially if it comes from Paperblanks…
But really, I love almost any type of blank journal. It feels like… well, it’s hard to put into words.
It’s so fine and yet so terrible to stand in front of a blank canvas.
Writing is easy. You only need to stare at a piece of blank paper until your forehead bleeds.
A word is a bud attempting to become a twig. How can one not dream while writing? It is the pen which dreams. The blank page gives the right to dream.
Creativity is always a leap of faith. You’re faced with a blank page, blank easel, or an empty stage.
There’s something about a blank journal that makes you feel like an explorer, setting out upon the open sea; like a farmer, staring out at his fields, ready for the harvest; like a mother, holding her newborn child and imagining the life he will live; like a chef with a kitchen full of ingredients and all the time in the world; like a kid on a gigantic playground and half a day of recess.
Possibility. Openness. Freedom. Imagination. Potential.
Yes, I have enjoyed adding to a journal that I used years ago, but there’s something about a clean, new, untouched journal that doesn’t compare.
It’s the same with a sheet of blank paper– it doesn’t have to be in a journal. If I have some spare time, a piece of paper and a pen, I am a happy camper. It’s been that way since I was a kid– I also enjoyed doodling whenever and wherever I could.
But in a blank journal, things are organized and seem to have a purpose. One page follows another and adds to the previous page. Maybe that’s why I loved blank journals- because I can feel like my life has more purpose than a bunch of uncollected pieces of printer paper. Maybe that’s why I prefer a blank journal to one I’ve already started– it’s easier to start over than to pick up from where we’ve already started. We prefer fresh starts to redeeming the past.
If you had a blank journal, what would you do?