My therapist recommended that I keep a journal of purely happy things, so I tweaked that idea and started scrapbooking again. Now, I’ll admit that I’m not the most artistic person in the world so my scrapbook isn’t the prettiest one around. My own mother even said it doesn’t look like I plan out a look for my scrapbook, and she’s right, I don’t. I just paste photos in there and stick in whatever decorations I see fit, whether it’s foam shapes, sequins, or colored paper cut with wacky scissors.
See, it’s not the end result that satisfies me. The very act of scrapbooking itself is soothing. Just like when I write, I don’t overthink it to the point that I don’t enjoy it and thus defeats the purpose; I just go with the flow and let inspiration come to me.