Ode to my journals
Why journaling is one of the greatest gifts I’ll give my future self
If you had to leave your home in a rush, and only pack four physical objects, what would they be?
That’s a question we were asked at a team offsite three months ago. I’m not naturally attached to physical stuff, so it took me a while to decide because it didn’t matter too much.
The only one I felt adamant about was my passport, but I jot down my computer, piano and scuba gear as well, while having in mind these could be replaced easily.
And now I want to write about journaling, and how wonderful of a practice it is for me, and realize I totally forgot about the pile of journals I have on my shelf.
Duh. Of course that’s what I would pack. I’ve been journalling for years now, and these notebooks are undeniably some of the most precious belongings I have.
I left high school 8 years ago — which feels like a lot and nothing at the same time. And I love to look back and distinguish the many lives I’ve had, along with the mental and character shifts that come with change, challenges and experiences.
A crisp look back would not be possible if I hadn’t crystallized those shifts in pages and pages of everything I’ve experienced over time. Introducing: journaling.
Travels, moving countries, getting to new schools, romances, unfulfilled crushes, break ups, day-to-day streams of consciousness, reflection on the past, reflection on the future, goals, bucket lists, values, people I love, people who annoy me, thoughts I’m stuck on, feelings I don’t want to process.
It’s all in there. My journals quite literally make up the story of my life, with all the highs and lows, all the joy and sadness I’ve been through.
I also have a special journal where I didn’t write anything, but asked my wonderful Australian friends to write me a note when I left, which I read at the airport and hold on to dearly.
Journaling has this incredible effect on me: as I write, it helps me process whatever’s going on, positive or negative. I can expand my joy on those pages, or write how confused and angry I am.
And then, it offers this travel-back-in-time deliciousness, where I get to be surprised at how 3-years-ago’s Me felt about people who are no longer in my life. Where I get to feel the warmth of reading about goals I forgot I had, but still achieved because they were part of who I wanted to become.
At the very beginning of my journaling practice, I would make a point of writing every day. Partly for consistency and creating a habit, but also because of how great it would sound to be able to say: I wrote in my journal every day for the past 10 years, and I never missed a day!
Over time though, I realized that was besides the point. For me, it didn’t matter — in fact, at times there was something about reflection overload that made it feel better to not write for a while. I’ve also stopped looking for a particular format to stick with, because it didn’t matter to me either.
Accepting that about myself has made journaling a lot more enjoyable. I’ve also learned, as I re-read my journals, that the silences between entries say a lot too.
I re-read my journals once in a while. Maybe once a year at most. It’s usually when I’m at a point of inflection, and given where the world is at today, I suspect I’ll feel the urge to do to it again soon. Dive into what I cared about in the last few years, and how that will or will not contrast with today.
I’m also writing a lot at the moment, because I’m sure that 5 years from now, having a record of how I made it through a global pandemic will be interesting, to say the least. And I must say, there’s a lot on my mind to process these days.
I sometimes hesitate about how explicit I want to write my thoughts down. There’s always the fear that someone, at some point, might come across them. Living on my own has silenced that some, but I do think about:
Would I want my great grandchildren to know this about me?
The answer may be no sometimes, but I push through anyway, as I don’t want to compromise for the fear of being seen. I’ve decided there’s nothing wrong with leaving pages of raw humanity behind.
I would love to hear from you. Do you journal? What do you get out of it? What are things that have worked for you, and others you’ve let go of? Let me know in the comments. ❤
