When I was a kid someone gave me a blank jigsaw puzzle. The idea was you could draw your own picture on it and have a one-of-a-kind puzzle. This thrilled me greatly and I ran to get my markers. But my father stopped me. “You can’t just start drawing on it. Don’t you want it to look nice? You should plan out what you want to draw on another piece of paper first and then draw it on the puzzle in pencil carefully before getting to the markers.” I never did that puzzle. It wasn’t just the idea of planning that cooled my enthusiasm (I love to plan), it was the feeling of pressure to be perfect that turned me off.
Earlier this month, when I came home from the craft store with my new Smash book (hybrid journal and scrapbook: See “Should I Live Scrapbook my Italy Trip?”), I was excited to show my dad because he likes arty things. I mentioned the cool pockets you can glue into the book so you can add things you collect (feathers, leaves, notes, etc.) and how I could bring it with me to Italy and do it as I went along. My father said something to the effect of “or you could do it when you get home so you can plan it out and it will look nice.” I didn’t say anything but it made me a little mad and brought back the memory of the untouched blank puzzle sitting somewhere in our attic. I can just see myself getting home from Italy, getting involved in some other project (like the Creative Writing class I’m going to take online), and never making my Italy Smash Book. It will be yet another great project I don’t finish because I want it to be perfect and I lose interest and momentum.
While walking through the book section of Target last week something caught my eye. It was a small paperback book titled Wreck This Journal. Intrigued, I went in for a closer look. It was a “book” by Keri Smith which actually encouraged you to doodle in it. Each page is more or less blank with some kind of creative and/or destructive suggestion. “Spill your coffee here” or “poke a hole with your pencil” or “make this page into a paper airplane.” I tossed it in my cart (already filled with assorted items for the Italy trip) and, when I returned home, handed it to my father with little ceremony. “I saw this and thought of you,” I said. He thumbed through it. I could tell he was dubious at first. But the more he read the witty suggestions, the more I could tell he liked it. He even said something like “this might be good for me. I always hate to write in new journals because I don’t want to wreck them.” I just smiled and said I hoped he had fun with it.
A few days have gone by and my father actually has written in the journal. He showed me what he had done. He followed the directions, but not to the letter. He drew a picture of a guy spilling his coffee instead of actually spilling coffee. He wrote “don’t” on a piece of tape and added it to the title on the cover of the book.
You might think this means he has not changed or heeded the advice of the author to loosen up. But knowing my father the way I do, this is actually a huge step for him. The fact that he wrote in the book at all is huge. I’m actually kind of proud of him. Baby steps, you know?
The question now is: will I do it myself? Will I “live scrapbook” my Italy trip? Will I “journal in the moment” and not worry about having a final result that “looks nice”?
I’m starting to think I will.
