What better time than a sunny bank holiday Monday to start a new notebook? So that's exactly what I did.
Nothing overly momentous, I've done this plenty of times before, (although not as many as would be needed to justify my notebook-buying habit) but today something struck me:
I can never bring myself to write on the first page of a notebook.
But, why? It's as if I'm constantly second-guessing myself, even in the most trivial of ways, always anticipating that fatal error that will serve to tarnish everything else around it.
Am I seeking to delay the inevitable first impression? Even I cannot ignore the irony of my writing this entire piece in pencil, allowing myself the dubious freedom to erase it all should I change my mind.
The first page of a notebook is the public image, the profile picture, the Twitter bio. If I were to adorn it with a cacophony of swirls and scribbles what would that say about me? What about a simple name, contact details, an 'If found return to:'; the barest bones, the highest of walls against any kind of judgement of the person within.
To me, the first page of a notebook is a BIG DEAL, because the simplest truth is that my writing is me, and that to all intents and purpose I am my words. What first impression do I give off? What first impression do I even want to give off? If someone were to pick up my notebook, what would they see? And ultimately, do I even have any kind of control over it?
I've always been called indecisive, which probably renders this some kind of self-fulfilling prophecy, but in actual fact I'm incredibly wary of making the wrong decision, even with the most trivial of choices. OK, so sometimes I am just awkward, but the story so far has seen me defining myself and my worth by others' actions towards me, so as that begins to change and at the ripe old age of 23 I actually start to figure out who I am, maybe I will be more willing, or perhaps even more able to put pen to paper.
So today, I started a new notebook, right at the start, and here's the proof...