I promised to write regularly. I promised to journal everyday. I promised to keep my promises.
Here I am, grovelling to the imaginary reader, unseen faces behind computer, tablet and mobile screens. When I ask you, reader, for forgiveness, I really mean me. In begging for your forgiveness I attempt to grapple with technology, squeeze through the screen and reach my past self. The one adamant this promise can no longer go on because I have broken it once.
I am adamant, you, reader, would not mind if this venture in writing regularly was slightly stop start. Yet, I will always know it was not fluid or perfect. Rejuvenation is taking something tired and old. This promise is tired and old because I failed for four weeks.
As I write this, reader, for you, I am really doing it for me. For a Mother’s ‘kick up the backside’, for the honesty I cannot bare to hear. “It does not matter, try again.” Quitting is easier than trying and we all know I’ve been a quitter in all previous lives.
Even as I write, self derision keeps my decision at bay. I do not know if writing everyday is the direction I want to go? What would the me from week three think of this? She’d be furious. Accuse me of always looking for an excuse to stop, searching for darkness when it is peacefully trying to retreat.
And, after all of these loathsome words my selfishness pulls through spectacularly. In my rush to hush my negativity, the daily prompt ‘Tenacious’ was dropped delicately on my doorstep. An answer. I am tenacious. I seek perfection. Yet we all know nothing is or ever will be perfect, at least not in 7 billion eyes.
I am tenacious. So, I sit in the limbo of my determination to persevere and let go.
Life, however, continues to haunt these cities and houses; hiding your keys, crashing your computer and carelessly, purposefully creating chaos. Life goes on and so can my promise; if, my tenacity flourishes into discipline, blossoms into resilience and flowers petals of perseverance.