What do you write in your journal?
Someone asked me that question yesterday. This isn’t a question I answer easily. It’s not because I don’t like sharing. It’s because my journals are basically so dull, I can’t imagine anyone wanting to read them. To make my point, yesterday when a friend asked me about the journaling workshop I’m teaching and what I write in my journal, I picked up my morning pages journal and read out the first sentence of each paragraph in the day’s morning pages entry:
Tuesday.
I’m scaffolding my life these days.
So what have I done?
Yesterday, I wrote with Sarah and it was good.
And keeping one day a week for reading review (although I’m going to change that to Wednesday) was also great for me.
And I have been trying to stay a bit closer to home and take care of things in the house.
And it will be worth my time to go through and neaten things up…
And trying to not go spend all my daytime hours in the car/running errands.
She had meal planning ideas…
Things are slowly but surely coming together.
The Venn diagrams of Christine.
Yeah - that last one got a bit interesting, but as you can see, it’s three full pages of mostly daily life ruminations. Me going through my days and thoughts and writing about what I’m trying to do to structure my life so I feel better about my days.
Samuel Pepys I am not. His diary is famous for being a careful account of how he spent his days, a glimpse into life in 17th century London.
Mine is a glimpse into the mind of someone who struggles with depression, can’t figure out what to do with her life, and reads a lot of books. And yet, these pages upon ink filled pages are vitally important to me and if kept from them for long enough (three days), I get cranky.
So, what’s the point, why do I it? Let me make a list and see where it goes.
Reasons I Journal
It’s cheaper than therapy. I say this a lot, but I mean it. For me, after getting through the nitty-gritty (and there was and is plenty of nitty-gritty), therapy became a place where I could think out loud. It was expensive, intermittent, and inconvenient. In short, when I regularly Marie Kondo my grey matter idea machine, my life is more joyful and less anxiety-ridden.
It’s the aesthetics. I’m forever romantically in love with the every movie maker’s image of Jo in the attic writing in an unstoppable frenzy. The writing hat, the writing cape, the fountain pen, the paper - bring it on, I’ll take it all. Using beautiful basic materials for writing makes me happy. Touching notebooks makes me happy. The sound that a fountain pen makes as it scoots and loops across a page makes me happy.
I want to be an amazing writer. One day, I am going to walk into a cozy little independent bookstore and see my name on the spine of a book on the shelf. That’s been my dream since I was buying Little House on the Prairie books at the Albertson’s in Rapid City, South Dakota in the 1980s. Here was a woman who wrote about her life, just that, and it was riveting.
It helps me solve problems big and small. Today, I wrote this gripping passage, “I’m starting to think about Wil and Henk coming back next - no this weekend. I will be ask them what their plans are for Sunday - no, I’ll ask them whether Sunday or Monday dinner out works better for them. Just saying that - I think Monday would be so nice. They could have a send-off meal and I won’t have to run around or clean on their last night here - both will be nice. See - sometimes I just have to think things through a little bit for myself, and then it starts to make sense.” In the next paragraph I go on to solve at least three basic questions about the meaning of life.
It sounds so cool. I love to tell people I keep a journal. I like the high arty, slightly superior feeling I get about myself when I look around at all these early adopters who keep journals on computers or on their tablets. When I journal in public, I know everyone is watching me and curious about the my lyrical use of language, unique perspective on the world, and insights into the meaning of life.
OK - scratch #5, it isn’t cool. In fact, it’s the opposite, but it’s entirely mine and over the years I’ve learned to make it mine and love it for being mine. It’s become part of the way I live and experience the world and think. My journaling is for me and only me. That makes it a sanctuary in a life where I’m a mom and a wife and an immigrant and a minority every day. On those pages, I get to be the center of my attention for just a little bit.
The history keeping part. It’s special to pick up a book and see my name and handwriting and dates like 26 June 1996 and see what 19-year-old me was thinking. “Well, now, this is all very interesting - I feel like I should be keeping some kind of travel log in this journal. But alas - my days of travel are far behind - and ahead- of me yet. Basically no my present tense.” Note the mildly pretentious language and the grandiose visions of my life. 19-year-old me had flair and bought kraft paper journals with corrugated cardboard covers.
My journal from 26 June 1996 (Chapel Hill, NC) - 21 August 1996 (Chapel Hill, NC) I journal because I love it. The feeling of picking up a pen and opening to a fresh page and writing whatever I want will never not be one of my favorite things. It’s a place where I can go and escape from the world, figure out the world and my place in it and for just a few moments feel grounded.
I’m so curious to hear if anyone of you journal and how you do it, why you do it. Please share your experiences in the comments!