Lost at Hartsfield

I lost my journaling notebook at Hartsfield Jackson Int’l, yikes!  That is two whole weeks worth of notes, blog topics, and other personal works in progress-- gone.  It seems I should be grieved over my loss.  But isn’t the point of being a writer and having a blog is so that you can connect with complete strangers by having them decipher your internal babble and ‘deep thoughts’ anyway?

What about my thoughts that I had no intentions on sharing?  Or what about a certain “experience” that I was not planning to expose AT ALL; what if THAT got out into circulation somehow?!?! 

My notebook has been like a diary these past few weeks.  Granted, some of the material would probably have been posted on my blog at some point anyhow.  However, much of what was lost was written with a lot of emotional energy behind it.  I think of it as self therapeutic psycho-babble.  James Baldwin said, “One writes out of one thing only — one’s own experience. Everything depends on how relentlessly one forces from the experience the last drop, sweet or bitter, it can possibly give.”  Now, how can I recreate what was written without having to re-live the bitter parts?  Impossible, I think.   

After reading The Alchemist for the second time on my plane ride into the sunset I realize that leaving my notebook on concourse C was no mistake.  I just hope whoever picks it up finds some shared pleasure, anguish, solace, or intrigue in what treasure they’ve found; because two hard weeks of my heart, soul, and tears was left on that concourse today.

Maybe they’ll unknowingly just toss it like trash.  I really wouldn’t mind that either.  After all, some things just weren’t written to be read.