I'm the kind of girl who craves routine and familiarity. At least, I used to define myself that way. The need for it has certainly lessened over time as I've found ways to cope, and I've noticed a steady decline in my need to do so. It's not longer solely about getting comfortable in a new place as quickly as possible as it is to explore, see new things, and make new friends. It's a brand new challenge, getting to know an unfamiliar place.
When I was younger and relocated, either for internships in college or otherwise, I always had a few things I had to find in a new place to feel comfortable. First and foremost, I had to find a good, local coffee shop to write in. (Note: "local" meant no chains allowed, even regional brands.) Something about the aroma, the clientele, the collection of random flyers on bulletin boards, the two-year-old magazines, and the mishmash of nicked and scratched furniture always made me feel at home. It was like my sanctuary, my escape from the unfamiliar. And I had to have a place to write.
The day I learned to form thoughts into words on paper, I started a journal. The first one was a fabric bound book a gift from my Grandmother. Other mediums of choice ranged from composition books to five-subject college ruled notebooks to napkins, all entries organized in a specific fashion. Journals for traveling, journals for home, all with a purpose. I loved to write. I loved how free I felt. I loved how the companion I found in between the pages pulled the honest truths out of me and how futile resistance was. That companion taught me more about me than anyone else ever has. No expectations, no judgment, it just listened.
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| My box of "special stuff" can survive anything. |
When our house in Ithaca burned down in 2007, all I could think about was whether the box of journals I'd packed up before moving to Alaska and stored in the basement was safe. That was my life. And they were. As I "grew up", I stopped keeping regular entries. I'd write when something important happened. I didn't have enough time, I didn't have anything to write about, the excuses just kept coming. But relocating meant needing to find familiarity in something, and I realized how important it is to be introspective, especially when it scares me. So I'd get out my journal in my little coffee shop and write.
I haven't moved in three years, and thus haven't had to think about finding coffee shops to write in. If I felt the need, I'd know exactly where to go. But I have a feeling if I moved, the things I'd seek out first would change. I don't seek refuge in journals often anymore, and if I do, it's more fun to sit at home with a cup of my own brewed coffee and a cat on my lap. I'd guess a climbing gym or local crag would be first on my list, closely followed by the nearest place to hike. Next would come a farmer's market. Last, but certainly not least, could come a good, healthy restaurant that serves local food.
I haven't moved in three years, and thus haven't had to think about finding coffee shops to write in. If I felt the need, I'd know exactly where to go. But I have a feeling if I moved, the things I'd seek out first would change. I don't seek refuge in journals often anymore, and if I do, it's more fun to sit at home with a cup of my own brewed coffee and a cat on my lap. I'd guess a climbing gym or local crag would be first on my list, closely followed by the nearest place to hike. Next would come a farmer's market. Last, but certainly not least, could come a good, healthy restaurant that serves local food.
One of the best things about keeping journals is they serve as your own personal history books. You get to look back and see how you've evolved and how you've changed. I'm glad to be able to share some of it with you!