Today's is another, "When will I ever learn? I should be able to do better than this", moment.
Journals. From time to time I am seduced into purchasing a journal because other people convincingly recommend journalling as an Essential Practice for powerfully improving life.
It doesn't work for me. People write down all the deep stuff about their interpersonal relationships in their journals, don't they? I mean, jeepers, I'd never sleep at night if I thought for one minute all that remained extant in written form. What if I died? Who might read it? No way.
But every now and then I get embroiled in a course someone's teaching or similar, and am persuaded to acquire and begin a journal. I never get more than a few pages in, and then the course (or whatever it was) ends and most of the journal hasn't been written in so I feel I ought to keep it and not waste the paper.
That's why these two journals have tagged along with me as pilgrims on the road these last few years.
Not any more. Today their secrets were immolated in a ceremonial fire. Bye bye.