A couple weeks ago I had to get a new journal because my old one was completely filled up. It is nice. It’s one of those really cool looking journals from Barnes & Noble, with an antique leather look like something I imagine famous authors writing in. Dead authors—like Jane Austen or Charles Dickens or Shakespeare or somebody. But even though it looks old on the outside, on the inside the pages are a new, crisp white. It’s so inviting. Oh the wonders a fresh, blank book and an inky black pen can do for the creative soul!
I don’t remember exactly when I began journaling—probably when I was around fourteen. Never have I written very consistently, and it took all of high school for me to fill even one journal. But despite my sporadic entries, somehow that journal managed to capture not necessarily every event of my life, but my main thoughts and ideas, struggles and growth. When I got the new journal, I thought it would be interesting to read through the old one in its entirety, a task which proved to be simultaneously encouraging and embarrassing. On one hand, some of the things I had written on those pages were incredibly stupid. Really, I have never read dumber ideas. Other times, I was quite shocked by how insightful some of the entries were (especially in comparison to the less-intelligent things I had written…). At any rate, one thing that was definitely nice about reading through it was seeing how much I have grown, spiritually, intellectually, and also as a writer. From the first entry to the last, it’s difficult to believe the author is the same person.
And so, the moral of the story is: you should keep a journal. Even if you only write in it once a month, it’s worthwhile. It is so nice to be able to look back and see everything you have been through, all you have accomplished and overcome, and also the things you still need to improve on. Journaling is an immensely fulfilling habit; it securely holds onto what your memory would otherwise leave in the dust.
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