The Art of Journaling
How to become more human through the practice of writing
“We create ourselves by words.” I was surprised to find this line in the introduction to The Oxford Essential Guide to Writing, a book which presents as a dry reference manual. But the author goes on to state that writing “will make you more complex and more interesting — in a word, more human.” There’s nothing dry about that: writing as a way to more deeply live the human experience. While this is true for many kinds of writing, this feels most true for me through my process of journaling.
So how does one write to become more human? In my experience, it starts with sitting down and getting out my journal.
It doesn’t have to be a “dear diary” type journal with a heart shaped lock — we’re complex, multi-faceted people, and our journal(s) should reflect that in look and number. I do keep a “dear diary” journal — but my entries are sporadic, and mostly for the purpose of unloading something off my mind or heart. For most of my journaling, I use (and love) the Rifle Paper Co. fabric bound journals. Soft, durable, inexpensive, easily packed in a purse, and lined. For the longest time blank pages appealed to me more in theory because of their creative possibility, but as writing teacher Richard Hugo said, “blank white paper seems to challenge you to create the world before you start writing.” So find a journal that makes starting effortless. And find a pen that gets you excited to write. I prefer a .38 Muji pen in black: it writes neatly and easily, and dries quickly without smudging. Journaling is a process of becoming, so it’s most important to find the tools that allow you the freedom to let go and do you.
Most of my entries begin with a line like “I am so upset right now. This day’s been wrong since my alarm went off” — but through the process of writing about my day and what went wrong, I usually get to a deeper level of what’s really going on, and I’ll often end somewhere unexpected — in the realization of my need for love and affirmation from my partner, or a recognition of my sense of loss over a friend who has drifted away. It helps direct me — like a compass which already exists in my heart that just needed an outlet to show me the way forward. Other times, my journal entries will be short and simple: we’re taking the whole day as a date… reading, sketching, soaking in the full sun on the beach. I want to remember this day forever — no responsibilities, plenty of time, just the two of us. Nothing dramatic or soul rending, just a beautiful moment I wish to acknowledge and document because it is so precious. Something I’d like to lock on paper since my memory can be fickle with those things I hold dear… meaningless to someone else who might read it, but precious to me. And that’s all that matters in journaling. There are no rules. As Virginia Woolf wrote about her journaling practice: “The habit of writing thus for my own eye only is good practice. It loosens the ligaments. Never mind the misses and the stumbles.” So write on without looking back. I find the process to be cathartic, and I hope you will too.
The personal journal is not the only type of journal I keep. I have one for words I stumble across in my reading that I don’t know yet. I’ll usually keep a running list on a note app on my phone, and when I have time, I’ll sit down with the dictionary and write out the words and definitions. The act of writing also helps me commit these words to memory for future recall.
(Ustulate: colored or blackened as if scorched; Diorthosis: making straight, correcting; Crapulous: given to or characterized by gross excess in eating or drinking)
How’s that for becoming more complex?
I also keep a journal of quotes that strike me from the different books I’m reading. These are rewarding to return to, since I try to bring something away from every book I read. The practice of writing out meaningful passages helps solidify that “something” by giving it pause and repetition through the act of copying down. This journal is like my own inspirational quote book.
Many of my daily observations get jotted down in whatever I am carrying on me at the moment — usually in my planner. Sometimes they could be understood by someone flipping through, other times they are code only for me to decipher.
“New Years hopes and dreams: Gym 2–4x/week. Learn skateboarding. Landscape front yard.” Ok. Clear enough.
“Hands on hips. Not in the mouth or in the hair” Say what?!
Some of all-time favorite notes are quotes from my children —
“I love the smell of raindrops and diesel.” — Stefan, 10
“Do you know my favorite part about dirty undies? Warm.” — Claire, 5
“If you make me go to school with you, I will turn into a rabid wolverine and eat you.” — Tim, 3
“I think I know what heaven will be like. It will be like falling into the arms of love.” — Stefan, 4
These small things are more clear than a photograph of what they were like, what they thought or said, and they bring me to a more vivid memory of who they were — the little people they “used to be”.
Part of journaling for me is for the purpose of returning to my previous selves as I journey through life and become “more human.” As Joan Didion remarks in her essay On Keeping a Notebook, “we are all well advised to keep on nodding terms with the people we used to be whether we find them attractive company or not.” For this reason I keep my old journals handy and revisit them often, usually when life becomes difficult or stressful, and especially when I am being too hard on myself. It helps me to see change, find hope, and cultivate compassion for myself. Life is a journey of becoming, and it’s good to recognize how far you’ve come, and what your struggles have been to get you where you are today. It’s a gentle act of honoring the person who was becoming, and of recognizing that you are still in a place of becoming. So journal, sporadically or regularly, and save what you write. You’ll never know when you’ll need that “hindsight is 20/20” perspective. Journal on.
