My journal

It’s garbage day, and I’m sending away my journal. I threw my first journal away 17 years ago when I became pregnant with my first child. It was a new beginning, the start of something different.

I never wrote anything down after that. So throwing this journal in the recycling bin is purely symbolic. What is really happening here is I’m ready to let go. 

So many of us are eager to tell our story, to try to help people understand why we are the way we are. An excuse of sorts, maybe a reason. Others never want anyone to know. We work hard to build “a new life”

Do you remember when… my sister starts so many sentences. I never do. It’s as if I missed our childhood entirely. I don’t remember. 

And I’ve been condemned to repeat it, as they say. The same experiences have repeat themselves until I believed that some things were true. But I made a mistake. 

If every time she flips a coin it comes up heads, she might tell someone that a coin when flipped always lands head’s up. That’s how my life flipped. Always the same, until I was convinced there was no other side. 

Here I am, forty-something years old, just now realizing that every coin has two sides, and I don’t actually know anything because there is no one truth. There’s always a chance of other truths. 

Like the journal I abandoned when I accepted my new life once before, I am sending away all of these years, and my head’s up understanding of life. 

I don’t know what’s true, and tomorrow I will go forward into a world of new possibilities. I don’t remember most anything, anyway, so I may as well just start fresh in the morning. 

I’m excited to learn what my new life has to offer, and I’m welcoming the other side of the coin.

OnGarbageDay.com