...helps me discover what I'm thinking, how I feel, where I am, where I've been, and where I'm going (the image above is from my dream journal).
In my journal I don't have to follow rules of grammar,
punctuation, syntax. Who cares about my style? I don't! Nobodybut me is going to see my musings. The best (and only) audience for my words is my future self. This freedom to
express myself any way I choose has liberated me, helped me
find my way, my voice, my self.
I’m in love with the meander the mind takes on the pages of a journal.
Writing takes you places you simply don’t go when you’re only thinking. Trust me, you will be delighted, enlightened by the free-range for the imagination your journal offers you. Maybe not the first time you sit down to write. Be patient. Keep writing. Writing begets writing. Meaning grows on the page.
For some people, this kind of writing is a bit like exercising.
Over time you get more comfortable doing it, more adept at it, stronger. If you hate exercising, disregard my simile. I happen to enjoy exercising but I know many people loathe it. No matter. Remember this: writing takes very little muscle, preparation, or sweat. You don’t have to shower afterwards, change your shoes, wash your socks. Writing is good for you. Research shows that writing about the hard important things in life improves immune function and makes you feel better.
There is no right way or wrong way to keep a journal.
There are no rules. As the famous diarist Anais Nin said, the
journal is about process not product. You can take a moment’s
respite from this mad, topsy-turvy life, take time to reflect.
Not for hours, necessarily. A few minutes will do.
An entry can be like a mini meditation, a moment simply to
stop and pay attention. That’s all it takes, really. Jot a list of what’s important right now, what’s eating at you, what
your senses are absorbing at the moment.
Describe something. Someone. A conversation. A memory.
In a poem called "Journal" Billy Collins writes: "...it rides all day in a raincoat pocket, ready to admit any droplet of thought, nut of a maxim, narrowest squint of an observation."
I record my dreams in a dream journal and am often grateful for the nugget of gold a dream image offers up. Dreams are
like gifts from another world. Ask a dream image where it came from, what it means to you. It will speak if you let it.
I date all journal entries, including the year. Volumes of
dog-earded journals are all over my house. Sometimes, I pull
an old one off the shelf, plop onto the couch, and marvel at
the strange, yet oh-so-familiar past world captured in its
pages. What has changed? What hasn’t? What am I still working through? How have I grown? What are the themes of my life?
When my first child was desperately ill in the hospital, I wrote constantly in my journal. The writing saved me. I think I might have exploded into a million pieces all over the hospital floor, if I hadn’t written everything down. Once something is on the page, your relationship to it shifts. It’s a magical process.
When I can’t sleep at night, I write in my journal. As Colllins says, “it holds whatever I uncap my pen to save.”
Uncap your pen. Save.
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