it's the journal, not the destination
I journal a bunch. Which means I have a bunch of journals.
the diary
My diaries are the journals I have the longest history with.
The reflective and meditative moments I've spent with myself since I was old enough to write have filled up dozens of notebooks. They were my first therapists, pages heavy with emotional burdens I would hand over without hesitation or fear of anyone’s reaction.
Does writing in a diary make my problems disappear? Of course not. But it lets me process my doubts, regrets, anger, frustrations, and sadness in the safest of spaces. It allows me to feel joy at its loudest setting, unbothered by how it might provoke naysayers or woe-wishers. Writing for my eyes only, funnily enough, shows me how to be myself in the eyes of others.
the work journal
I don’t know where my career or mind would be without the humble work journal. I’d curate a storm of stress trying to remember all the things I had to do, and then promptly get nothing done.
My saviour is a wearer of many hats (inasmuch as a book can wear hats, I suppose). It’s the little voice helpfully chiming in with my to-dos and to-sees. But it’s also the chronically efficient secretary that prioritises my time and energy so I can move through the day without tension. And it’s the beloved bell-ringer at the end of my work day telling me to clock off and go look after myself.
the gratitude journal
I recently went through a rough period of my life and gave gratitude journalling a go.
I find it works like a pair of glasses.
I started listing five things I’m grateful for every morning and noticed a gradual shift in the way I perceive my life. Gratitude-coloured glasses transform weary morning skies into dappled sunlight peeking through tree canopies. They turn my eyes from cat-hair-on-clothing to happy-little-tail-swishes.
The more I saw thankfully, the more I saw to be thankful for.
It's come to the point where nothing can escape my gratitude — not even me. (Now, I appreciate qualities in myself I used to overlook and downplay. On purpose. Imagine that?)
the random scattered brain dump journal
You’ve heard of the BuJo.
Now introducing, the Random Scattered Brain Dump Journal — DuJo.
(I kid.)
For every idea that's popped into my head, and I think, “Hey, I should write that down… Nah, I’ll remember it,” there’s a page in the DuJo that wishes I had.
(...I’ll stop saying “DuJo.”)
That’s why my random journal follows me around now. I take it on walks in the park, fondly and indiscriminately tossing it epic lyrics and impactful one-liners and bestselling plotlines.
Of all my journals, this one’s my favourite. It’s where I go to see my mind at its fizziest, most unbridled state. Where my ideas await me eagerly, hoping I’ll take them on my next creative run.
the blog
Sometimes I like sharing my inner-journal secrets with loved ones. And when I do, we have the most vulnerable, powerful moments of community.
So, I thought: sharing more writing with more people could help them find solace. Inspiration. Courage. They could know they’re not alone in this big, bold place.
Hence the blog. Hello, world.