What I do

I write Morning Pages, every day, ala Julia Cameron’s “The Artist’s Way”. Few things have had a more powerfully positive affect on my life. My notebook is my portable therapist.
Here’s what you do.
You buy a thick, cheap notebook. (It’s important that it be cheap, because if you get something fancy, you’re going to start thinking your grandchildren will read it and it needs to be perfect.)
You commit to writing three pages, in long-hand, every morning of your life. (Hint: you won’t do it every morning because you aren’t perfect, and you don’t need to be. Nobody, least of all God, expects it, so let go of that one. It’s a lie you’ve written into the script.)
Next, no judging. You write what comes out of your head, and you’re as honest as you can be. It’s a stream-of-consciousness thing, and at first, there will be a lot of garbage. That’s a good thing. Allow it. Revel in it. Celebrate it! You’ve done something wonderful. You’ve gotten the garbage out of your head and onto the page, where you can get some perspective. Many of the movies playing in Bijou You, a multi-screen cinaplex, are unconscious. Once you are aware of them, they are on their way out.)
At least at first, don’t reread your entries. That can keep you beating the same old drums, the ones that underscore the soundtrack–yes, there’s a soundtrack–of some of your worst movies. (More on drum-beating and soundtracks tomorrow.)
Write it down. All of it, even the ugly stuff. Especially the ugly stuff.
Perspective is a marvelous thing, and there’s only one way to get it.
By next week, I’ll have an email address, specifically for replying to the entries in this blog. We’re going to push up our sleeves, and journal our way out of Bijou You, into the Real World.