And so we slowly move past the holidays and begin wrapping up another year. There will be a temporary reprieve from the Labels of Guilt – that onslaught of personalized address labels from good environmental causes, children’s hospitals and international aid organizations. More labels than you will ever need in your entire life. The mental moral dilemma nags ever so slightly in the back of my mind; should I use them in good conscience if I’m not sending all of them money? I wonder what percentage of donations these places receive via The Guilt Factor. I’m guessing it must be significant, given the amount of personalized mini notepads, labels and stickers that get mailed out. Over the years I have amassed so many never-to-be-used-but-I-just-can’t-throw-them-out labels in my tiny desk drawer that they often fall out the back and land wedged behind the desk and the wall…. where I don’t want to get down and crawl around trying to retrieve them. Finally, the volume was winnowed down to a few sheets – some with birds, plants, a few with snowmen and reindeer for those holiday cards I forget to send, and a sheet of generic ones.

It is a time for filling out product warranty registration cards and scanning bar codes, should one be the recipient of bar-coded, warrantied items. It is a time of merchandise return labels and making sure not to discard the original shipping materials just in case someone has something to exchange. It is a time of being unable to finish those remaining cookies lingering at the bottom of the tin. Of hovering over those wrapped truffles and knowing even a chocoholic like me cannot handle one more. Of deciding which book to begin, and complete. Maybe of looking in the mirror and saying “Next year I’m going to do better.”

It is a time for memories, for ups and downs. For reflection. There might be stress. There might be travel. There might be none of those things. Maybe this year is busy and boisterous. Maybe it is a quiet time. I’m never sure what to expect anymore. In my family we have something which has gained the title of “The Christmas Curse,” which actually spans the entire holiday season and usually encompasses some sort of complication or narrowly averted disaster. Releasing expectations seems to be the best approach.

I received three writing journals as gifts this holiday. My collection of journals now extends beyond these to one from last year and multiples received in years before that. These notebooks are scattered on shelves, tables and in drawers throughout the house. As a child I kept diaries almost from the time I could write, journaling through high school, college and beyond. Since those diaries mostly were an outlet for sorrow, heartbreak or angst, one determined day I decided to symbolically free myself from said anguish by burning or shredding them all. I’m not sure how well that actually worked, but maybe it’s good I don’t have to relive all of it in print again. Dump on the page and discard.

Once upon a time I carried around a journal or sketchpad in my purse or backpack in order to jot down thoughts and observations, or to quickly scribble an idea, a feeling, draw a visual. Travel diaries full of interpretations and adventures. Journaling often happened in the morning before I got out of bed or right before falling asleep. I have even done The Artist’s Way by Julia Cameron a few times and was once upon a time committed to writing Morning Pages.

As gifts of books with blank pages continued to accumulate, they were designated different uses. One became a long-running collection of wonky recipes coupled with personal vignettes, which was eventually published. One was used for recording dreams. Another contains interpretations of Sibilla oracle and Lenormand card readings. Somewhere in the bottom of a closet there is still a black-covered book of mostly (but not all) black-colored thoughts and memories which began as far back as the 1970’s. But no entries have been made there in many, many years. To counteract that book of dark feelings, I decided to designate a blank journal sent to me by my cousin in 2003 as a Book of Joys. It started out with great intentions. I dug it out and opened it just now to the first page, which says:

“For years I have used these journals to document moments of pain and sorrow. I have done this because it has aided me in the process of shedding the grief. It would appear then, that I am just filled with misery in all my interactions. Not the case! I have found joy in many things, many times, sometimes hidden within the grief. I will use this book to document those joys.”

The Book of Joys has sporadic entries up until 2010 and then it stops. The events are not necessarily things that happened between 2003 and 2010 though. They mostly encompass memories from the past that stuck with me, times where I felt great happiness, bliss, contentment in the moment. Parts of it are fleeting joys that go way back to childhood. I’m sorry I stopped entering those thoughts, because since that time (and even before) there have been hundreds of joyous instances, both small and great, that have never been written about. I think what has happened is I just haven’t taken the time to sit down and write about it when the Joys have occurred because I don’t need to offload those kind of experiences.

Maybe I should revisit this journal. Each entry has a title. Some examples: The Bicycle. The Wishbone. Surrounded By Pines. Gustavia Harbor. Make Big Eyes. Wallflower. Quartz and Mica. There are a few discussing the voices of my children. And a number of entries concerning lobster! Apparently lobster has given me some repeated joy over the years! There is even one about soft-shell crabs! Foodie joy! I think writing Joys might be something I want to revisit.

There is a problem though – that problem being that as I age it is more and more uncomfortable to write with a pen for any length of time. It’s so much easier to type out the thoughts almost as fast as they spill from my head. This is probably (well, exactly) why these journals are not filling up, and also why keeping a blog going has been so much easier. But there is something special about saving it on the pages of a book versus a file on a computer.

One of the journals I received this Christmas has a mock-up of the Daeja’s View header on the cover. This gift came from my sister, who actually compiles and has been printing a hard copy of this blog into personal books. The journal is meant to jot down the thoughts I would like to write about as they come, which actually will be pretty helpful, as (these days) ideas fly out of my head and then are quickly forgotten. The other lovely journals perhaps will be used for passwords, lists, sketches, ideas, plans for the future, written vision boards, or maybe for more recipes. We will see. Hopefully all will be a catalyst for further inspiration.

Revisiting The Book of Joys has been helpful in gaining balance and perspective, the symmetry of the shadows against the light.

~*~