I’m on my fourth 5-year journal, so you wouldn’t be wrong if you said I was hopelessly stuck in my ways. In nearly two decades, my nightly ritual hasn’t veered an inch: brush teeth, lay out tomorrow’s clothes, slather hydrocortisone on itchy ears (long story, tell you later). And yet: my friend Tsh just recently released a twice-daily journal, and dare I say it? It’s perfect.
There’s a certain beauty in bookending your days with greater truths and small gratitudes, juxtaposing opportunities for grace, room for laughter and surprising moments all in the span of a single spine. In the time it takes to scrawl out the answers to 6 profoundly simple questions, you’ve pinned the whole of your day to paper – and that’s no small thing.
The rhythm of journaling, whether daily or weekly (hat tip, A Year of Reflection friends!) is one of the simplest, most transformational practices I know. So why don’t we all do it? We argue we’re not writers, we can’t commit to a method, we can’t find the time. But in truth: documenting your life takes just mere minutes, moments we’ve all been given morning after morning: a string of seconds between coffee brews, waiting for your turn in the shower, walking to the corner bodega, waiting for your Zoom host to join.
Sometimes, I think, it’s not about making space in your day. It’s about making a place for your day. It’s about finding a reflection practice you can actually stick to, about getting it all down on paper, writing with fury and fervor both morning and night, week by week, all in one place – a series of chicken scratches that, in good time, will carve the story of your soul.
May this beautiful journal meet you there today. But mostly? May it guide you there tomorrow.