It’s a Thursday evening and I’m sitting on the porch of my parents’s Airbnb, at a loss. I have absolutely no idea what to write for this week’s journal. I go through periods of this - last week’s journal also featured my cluelessness. I really care about this silly little blog or newsletter or whatever box you like to put it in. I call it a journal because that gives me the flexibility to write whatever I like: a reflection on my thoughts, a dream about my future, a story from my past, an invitation to see something from a new perspective. The one thing I want each journal to be is good. That is a wonderfully concise, but wildly vague description. I suppose that I mean I want to publish well written articles that show I’ve put effort into crafting them. I want to be thoughtful or witty or cutting when I write. As long as I feel that I have written something from my heart, and displays some discernible amount of skill, I’m happy. Of course, I also want you to think that each journal is good. I want what I write to be worthy of your attention. I would hate to think that you read that week’s journal and thought what a waste of time… Or worse still, if my writing was so poor that you simply lost interest. I often consider my readers when I write. A revelation strikes me: I am in the wonderful position of having an audience of loved ones.
I sometimes imagine that I am writing Jeremy’s Journal for a large audience; one ready to burn me at the stake upon any disappointment, if I publish an hour too late again, for example. Side note: I have no clue why I would imagine such a hostile crowd… in truth I don’t really believe that individual people are quite so ruthless. Then again, a group may have something different to say. Perhaps I have some ideas to sort out… But of course, that isn’t the case. At the moment, my weekly journals get anything from 100 to 40 eyes on them (double those numbers if you’re taking that literally). And almost every single person is a loved one, I’ve certainly met everyone on the list, at the very least. What a wonderful blessing! I am so overwhelmed by the wonderful compliments that subscribers have to offer whenever I see them again. To hear the people I love cheer me on is absolutely fantastic. And I don’t take enough time to register what a gift that is. So, while I’m in the mood of thanksgiving - to each of you that read this, thank you! I know that you know me, no matter how well. I don’t know when last we spoke or when next I will see you, but thank you for believing in me, and actively supporting this venture by reading.
That isn’t to say, of course, that I don’t aspire to grow a larger audience. I dream of reaching the screens, and hopefully lives, of many people (add a zero on the end of the number you’re thinking of, wouldn’t that be incredible?) But in the hurry to grow my reach, I think it would be easy, it has been easy, to lose sight of the privilege I have in a loving audience. I won’t pretend that every single journal is a winner, you and I both know that I’ve published some entries that could have used an edit (or rewrite). Hell, the format, schedule, tone and look of Jeremy’s Journal has been entirely redone since its inception seven months ago, and you have given me the grace to do it. Perhaps an audience of strangers would not have been as forgiving. And I am beyond grateful for the space I have, to experiment, to grow, to fail. There were a few weeks earlier in the year when I didn’t touch Jeremy’s Journal at all. And yet, you returned. I think I have reached a place, now, where I am happy with what I am making, the tone, the look, the pace. I think my journal feels like me.
And that actually is me (or a picture of me in any case, read my entry This is not a journal to catch the reference). I don’t know why, but I wanted to show you this photo. The river behind me is the Rhine, and that bridge is a very recognisable landmark in Cologne, Germany. Were I a better tourist I would remember the name or history of that bridge, but all I remember was sharing the walk with my girlfriend, happy that a four day fever had finally broken. Or subsided enough that we could safely go for a stroll. Though perhaps I was not as well as I imagined; I collapsed straight into bed and snuggled into the warm duvet immediately after returning home, but I suppose that isn’t especially out of the ordinary for me. I can’t remember much else of the day. But I guess that’s why we take photos, isn’t it? To help remember the little bits that might otherwise fade.
It is my ambition to one day have thousands of people reading what I write. Perhaps my writing will come in the shape of a book or a magazine or this journal. But I hope to speak into the lives of many people, to encourage, to uplift, to highlight the beauty in their lives, in our shared world. It’s a future I look forward to and a path I’m sure I will enjoy forging (though I am sure there will be frustrating sections). But for now, I have you. You are perhaps some of my most important readers. The precious few. After all, every bonfire starts with some kindling and a match. You are my kindling. I sort of love that I can show you this photo and you already knew what I would look like. More than that, without telling you, you may know my girlfriend’s name, or know her, or be her. Hi gorgeous!
Your support means a lot to me. Your kind words mean even more. On days when I doubt myself, they tend to come in waves, your gentle, loving, ever present encouragement presses on my heart, assuring me: I can. Can what, exactly? Well, I suppose we’ll just have to wait and see.