My bookshelf has a collection of bound journals, from whimsical to professional; earthy to ornate. I have started journal-writing many times, usually in times of confusion or pain. I have stopped when the crisis passed. Seven years ago, I announced that I would retire in a year. That impending change triggered the desire to journal; a history of sporadic efforts inspired me to do it differently.
Instead of a fancy bound book, I turned to college-ruled notebook paper. I carried the paper with me at all times; writing first thing in the morning, at the coffee shop, while waiting for appointments, and between other tasks. The informality of notebook paper allowed me to capture random thoughts and glimpses of meaning without the need for complete sentences, poetic phrasing, or perfect penmanship. I filed the pages in a plain recycled cardboard three-ring binder.
The exercise became an ongoing dialogue between my outer and inner lives, dealing with events on a practical scale while deepening the experience on a personal level. Today, I count seven bulging brown volumes on the bookshelf, one for each year since I began. They are decorated with stickers I picked up here and there (mostly to do with running or beer.)
My weekly Reflections email grew out of journaling. The more I reflected on challenges in transition to retirement and other life changes, the more I realized I was not alone. Peer conversations echoed with common themes. So, I began to share selected journal entries with friends. They responded, and the dialogue enriched the journey. After seven years of journaling and almost six years of sharing Reflections, I am hooked. Why?
I journal for mindfulness. When I step back from living life and view events and experiences from a distance, I am more conscious of what is happening and, more important, how I am responding.
I journal for perspective. After I step back, I can look at the experience from different angles. If my first reaction is troubling, I can try on different lenses until I see the picture more clearly and can create positive options for making it work.
I journal for direction. I find meaning painting images of my destination with a broad brush. Who do I want to be? How do I want to live?
I journal for learning. As I take small steps in the direction I have chosen, I monitor progress and learn both from successes and setbacks. Lessons learn last longer when I write them down.
Journaling need not happen daily to be effective. It need not be profound or eloquent. It need only provide the chance to step back, look at events and experiences, interpret them in a helpful way, and express the renewed intention for moving ahead.
