Dear Diary, It’s Me Again (A Few Years Older)
A few months ago, I was clearing out my master bedroom closet. Amidst all of my paintbrushes and artistic markers, construction paper and specialized scrapbooking scissors, I came across several half used dollar store booklets that showed several earnest attempts at journaling. Over the years, I’ve had the idea that journaling would be good for me, and in moments of emotional angst, I’ve even begun the craft.
I found a booklet written during the first year of the pandemic. Lots of data and news headlines mentioned, squished between paragraphs that show the emotional strain. Worry, fear, negative thinking. Thankfully I seemed to lose momentum quickly in that book.
Another book I found, documenting the first year of my retirement, when I was learning to live without the title and status afforded me as a career woman and professional. Oh I had great plans. This book contained a lot of to-do lists, short and mid-term goals, a few dreams listed as having potential (and some pointers on how to “manifest” said dreams), and various versions of budgets I never stuck to. This journal was clearly abandoned within a month based on what my life looks like now, just 3 years later. I certainly didn’t have ‘writer’ written down anywhere.
Another journal was more of an emotional release during my marital breakup. More pages filled with strong emotions, heartbreak and worries for my children. I’m sure many tears were shed as I poured out my anger and my despair. I figured I’d better destroy that one before somebody else came across those rather personal writings, and so, after one last glimpse it was no more.
The journals were really of no use to anyone, and only of some interest to me now too. But every now and then I would come across an entry that transported me back to a specific moment in my life.
I could remember exactly how I felt. The worries I had. The things I thought would never change alongside the things I thought would matter forever.
And what struck me most was how often I had been wrong. Not wrong in a bad way. Just human. The crisis that felt overwhelming eventually passed. Relationships I was worried about found their footing. The dream I thought I wanted more than anything, turned out not to be the dream I wanted at all.
As I sat there reading those old pages, I was reminded why so many people keep a journal. It isn’t really about recording events. It’s about understanding ourselves. For others, I suspect their journalling was more about recording memories so they wouldn’t fade over time. Journals have many purposes, and perhaps over your lifetime you’ve used journalling for a wide variety of reasons. Either way, the practice is often recommended to others when something in their life needs improvement.
For some people, it is a daily practice. For others, it’s something they turn to only during difficult periods of life. Some fill beautiful leather-bound notebooks while others type their thoughts into a phone or computer. There is no right way to do it.
The common thread is that journalling creates space.
And in a world that seems increasingly determined to fill every spare moment with noise, space may be one of the most valuable things we can give ourselves.
Stepping Off the Productivity Treadmill
Modern life encourages us to live almost entirely in the practical world. There are bills to pay, appointments to keep, groceries to buy, emails to answer and a never-ending stream of tasks demanding our attention.
Most of us become very good at managing our responsibilities. What we often neglect is our inner world. Journalling offers a temporary retreat from the constant pressure to be productive.
It allows us to step away from the endless to-do list and reconnect with thoughts that aren’t attached to accomplishing something.
Many people describe journalling as a form of meditation. Not because they are sitting cross-legged on a cushion chanting mantras, but because writing slows the mind down. Instead of reacting to every thought that passes through our heads, we begin observing them. This is called “mindfulness”.
When we put our thoughts onto paper, we have the opportunity to notice patterns, worries and identify dreams that have been quietly sitting in the background waiting for our attention.
The act of putting words on paper encourages us to move inward. And often, that inward journey brings a sense of calm that is difficult to find elsewhere. It’s as if we’ve unloaded on a friend, and are now free to release ourselves of the burdens dragging us down.
Beating the Noise to the Punch: Just Me & My Tea
Many dedicated journal writers prefer the early morning hours and I can see why. It’s when I’ve decided to build journalling into my day. Before the news, social media and work demands.
If you live with others, or in a busy urban area, early morning journalling happens before the rest of the world begins telling you what you should care about.
There is something powerful about starting the day with your own thoughts before exposing yourself to everyone else’s.
The older I get, the more I appreciate the importance of protecting my attention. Every day we are subjected to countless micro-onslaughts, such as the incessant advertising, news headlines, political opinions and expectations of others.
We face social expectations about how we should look, behave, spend our time, spend our money, and even how we should feel. It can become surprisingly easy to lose sight of ourselves amid all that noise. A morning journalling practice can act as a kind of anchor.
A reminder of who we are.
What matters to us.
What we value.
Rather than immediately being swept away by external demands, we begin the day grounded in our own sense of self. That doesn’t mean life won’t still throw challenges at us. It simply means we meet those challenges from a stronger foundation.
Some people like to leave as little time as possible between their morning alarm and when they need to step out their door and head on their way. For me, I’m the opposite. I like to wake up 2-3 hrs before I need to leave the house. I like a slow entrance into the day.
I make myself a pot (not a cup) of tea. I sit at my table in low lighting, take in the natural views just outside my window, and begin a practice of reading and writing.
Maybe that comes from all my years as a teacher. I needed to review my dayplan and often made edits in those early hours. It helped me to feel prepared for the days’ lessons and on top of the game plan, so that I didn’t enter into my place of work already in frantic stress mode.
As a result of this already established habit, for me, journalling in the morning made the most sense. And maybe it will for you too.
Dropping the Mask (And Letting the Petty Out)
One of the greatest gifts journalling offers is permission.
Permission to be honest, brutally honest. If it’s a private journal we can be more honest than we might ever be willing to be with another person.
Most of us wear masks throughout the day. Not because we are fake, but because society requires a certain amount of self-regulation. We don’t say every thought that enters our heads, or express every emotional reaction.
We don’t always reveal the full extent of our hurt, anger, jealousy, disappointment, envy, resentment, fear, or selfishness.
We’re taught from an early age that some emotions are acceptable while others are not. As adults, we become highly skilled at suppressing the feelings we believe make us look immature, irrational, unprofessional or flawed.
But suppressing emotions does not make them disappear, it simply drives them underground. Using a journal provides a safe place for those emotions to exist. It’s a sanctuary for us where we can admit that we are angry, jealous, hurt or feeling petty.
It’s a space for us to share (with nobody) that we are frightened. Knowing nobody will ever see our words, we can write without fear of judgement, or consequences.
The truth is that every human being experiences uncomfortable emotions. Having them does not make us bad people. It makes us people. By acknowledging those emotions rather than denying them, we may actually reduce their power over us.
Instead of carrying them around like hidden baggage, we can place them on the page and examine them with curiosity. We gain insight. And insight is often the first step toward healing.
Bottling up our true emotions leads to many physical and emotional scars. It isn’t healthy and we need to find safe and effective ways to release that which causes us angst and stress.
Many therapists recommend journaling to those who are experiencing some mental health issues. They feel it is one tool in the toolbox when it comes to identifying overwhelming emotions, identifying behaviour patterns, and relieving stress.
It helps you to develop greater self-awareness. The regular reflection boosts mindfulness, helping you clarify your values, track personal growth, and celebrate accomplishments
Moving the Argument From My Head to the Page
Have you ever replayed an argument in your head so many times that you became even more convinced you were right? I certainly have.
The problem with thinking is that we tend to think from inside our own perspective. We are the star of our own story. Our experiences, our interpretations, our emotions all shape how we view events.
When we write things down, something interesting happens. The situation moves from inside our heads onto the page. That slight shift can create a surprising amount of distance. Sometimes enough distance to see things differently.
We may begin noticing details we previously overlooked or recognize assumptions we made that could be incorrect. Sometimes we may even start to understand how another person experienced the same situation.
Often putting the words down allows us to move beyond the narrow confines of our own perspective. And when we do that, solutions frequently appear.
We may identify a better way to approach a conversation or a more constructive response. A path forward may materialize that we couldn’t see when emotions were high.
You can see that in this way, journalling can function as a private brainstorming session with ourselves. A place where problems become a little less tangled and possibilities become easier to see.
Because Memory is a Terribly Unreliable Narrator
There is another reason many people keep journals. Memory is far less reliable than we like to believe. For some reason, it’s easier for most of us to remember the milestones (births, deaths, moves and new jobs).
But life is largely made up of smaller moments. The moments that seem insignificant at the time and not worth remembering. Yet years later they are often the memories we treasure most if we can still find a way to access them.
These moments created the fabric of our life. The pace, the environment, the common rituals and traditions, food, music and people. That’s what made us who we are today. We can sometimes forget that over the decades.
A journal becomes a personal historical record. A snapshot of a life as it was actually lived. Not the polished version. Not the highlights reel. The real thing.
Some people keep journals primarily for themselves. Others hope future generations might one day read them. Either motivation is worthwhile. History is not only shaped by politicians, generals, and world leaders. Sometimes it is shaped by ordinary people recording their experiences.
It’s in the letters between separated lovers, the thank you note tucked between the pages, saved handwritten notes to Santa, and side notes on a passed along family recipe.
While our personal diaries hold a mirror up to our own lives, collective history is often built on the exact same foundation.
Perhaps the most famous example of a journal that taught the world so much, is the diary of Anne Frank, whose writings provided an intimate and deeply human perspective during one of history’s darkest periods. What began as the observations of a young girl became a document that helped the world understand the human reality behind historical events.
Most of us will never write something that influential. But that doesn’t diminish the value of recording our own lives. Every life contains stories worth preserving.
Dusting Off the Creative Muscle After Fifty
One of the biggest myths many people carry into adulthood is the belief that they are either creative or they aren’t. Somewhere along the way, often during childhood, many of us decided which category we belonged in.
Maybe we were praised for artistic ability. Maybe we weren’t. Maybe school exposed us to a very narrow definition of creativity.
Whatever the reason, countless adults now describe themselves as “not creative.” I’ve always found that a little sad. Because creativity is far broader than painting, dancing, or playing a musical instrument. Creativity is problem-solving, imagination or seeing possibilities where others see obstacles.
Journalling exercises that creative muscle. Even when we’re simply describing our day. We’re making connections, exploring ideas, and playing with language as we seek to find the right word to capture a thought, emotion or image.
When we write we may be examining possibilities, searching for and creating meaning. And like any muscle, creativity grows stronger when used.
Creativity and Aging
One of the most exciting ideas I’ve encountered is the suggestion that creativity may continue expanding as we age. Yet many people over fifty never give themselves permission to explore that possibility. They assume it is too late if they haven’t been too creative growing up.
What if it isn’t? Journalling offers a remarkably accessible way to find out. No special equipment, expensive classes, no audience or expectations.
Just a notebook, a pen, and the willingness to see what emerges. Perhaps the greatest surprise isn’t discovering what we think. Perhaps it’s discovering who we are still becoming.
The Ongoing Project of Becoming
At its heart, journalling is simply a conversation with ourselves. It’s a way to slow down long enough to hear our own voice, process experiences and acknowledge emotions.
Journalling gives us an opportunity to preserve memories or cultivate our creative expression. It can help us to make sense of a complicated world.
The older I get, the less interested I am in certainty and the more interested I am in understanding. Journalling won’t solve every problem, answer every question, or make life any less complicated.
But it might help us notice things we would have otherwise missed.
A pattern.
A truth.
A memory.
A possibility.
And if that’s true, then perhaps the value of a journal isn’t found in the words we leave behind on the page, but in the person we become while writing them.
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