Here's a tale. Running a drop-in workshop making journey books, a woman came to me and said they were terrifically pretty, what are they for?
I explained how the journey you stitch into the book is one you can take literally, or metaphorically. You can walk about the gardens, or walk about your mind, or your soul, or your heart, or the places of your recollections and childhood. Whatever it is that makes you, you.
As you walk, think, choose, stick, write, you build a story of a moment. You need never put your name on your journey book. If you wish, you can hang your story from the branch of a tree and watch it spin and dance in the wind. Any passer-by can read it. Anyone might take your book, follow your steps, walk in your shoes and for a moment, they might know an altogether different you.
She spent two hours making a book, walking about the gardens, thinking, choosing her words carefully, making a journey that didn't have an ending or a beginning. Peeking over her shoulder, catching a glimpse of her words, I was glad she could take the opportunity.
She is a person I keep in my head, and she is the reason why I make the books always with spaces for reflection and quiet consideration.