I attended a women’s retreat on the banks of beautiful Flathead Lake yesterday. About sixty of us discussed spirituality in all its loose forms and how we might demonstrate our personal beliefs in daily life. I was struck by the importance of writing in the process. We wrote letters to ourselves to be opened at next year’s retreat, and time to journal was built into the schedule.
As soon as I could print, I recorded my thoughts and feelings on paper.
I’ll reread all my old journals one day, and for that implausible reason I can’t bring myself to burn or toss them. All those intimate self-revelations are part of me. Truthfully, sometimes I don’t know what I think until I write it down.
One Saturday among women from all backgrounds reinforced my belief that my writing today started with journaling. My work represents far more than stories. It represents what I have to give back.