Journal journey
With the stretch of summer ahead, the air swarmed with promises of pool days, long days at the park, and play dates with friends - all without the weight of homework hanging over my head. Expecting no assignments, I was taken aback when my mother called for me and my brother to give us a task. She handed us each a empty wide-ruled notebook with the word “Diary” printed across the covers, and simply directed us to “write”. She promised she would never read our journals, told us we could write everything and anything we wanted: what we did that day, stories, our thoughts and dreams. Everything was free game, as long as we wrote something every day. Though it was a small undertaking, this was an unwelcome surprise, as my days of no obligations were now shattered. I first accepted this task as a chore, a pointless assignment I was forced to do. Taking advantage of my mom’s promise to never read our journals, my entries were as short and succinct as possible, mere bullet points of various events that transpired throughout the day.
Slowly, as the days went on, my annoyance dissipated and my entries grew. After filling out 3 full journals, I now began writing in full, complete sentences that not only outlined events that occurred throughout the day, but also reflected my thoughts and feelings. I realized that even the most mundane of days could fill a whole page with writing. Journaling became ingrained as part of my daily night routine, and skipping an entry made me feel like I left something incomplete. Not only did I stop dreading journaling, I began looking forward to starting every entry.
In my early entries, my choice writing utensil was the pencil, which reflected my personality. As someone who wanted everything to be faultless but unobtrusive, I felt safe using soft graphite of the pencil, as I could simply use an eraser to edit any aspects of my writing. I found reassurance knowing that I could easily fix any mistakes I made without blemishing any pages. I felt wary of the bold, permanent nature of pen: it stood out, and I wanted to blend in.
In my early entries, my choice writing utensil was the pencil, which reflected my personality. As someone who wanted everything to be faultless but unobtrusive, I felt safe using soft graphite of the pencil, as I could simply use an eraser to edit any aspects of my writing. I found reassurance knowing that I could easily fix any mistakes I made without blemishing any pages. I felt wary of the bold, permanent nature of pen: it stood out, and I wanted to blend in.
Being relatively shy and rather self conscious, I was heavily reliant on the few friends I had. I would immediately reach out to others to find solutions, rather than attempt to solve issues on my own. With my friends, I would do everything I could to fit in with them, adjusting and changing my personality to conform to their characters, like a pencil.
When my parents told me we were moving away from Florida, the only home I’ve ever known, I sought comfort in my friends rather than in my journal. We made promises to keep in touch, and I began my trek across the country to my new home in California. There, I found it difficult to maintain the same friendships I had with my Florida friends back when we lived in the same state. Since I was heavily reliant on my friends, I lost my sense of security as I no longer had anyone to talk to or confide in. At my old school, I would be constantly surrounded by friends, and I could always find someone familiar to accompany me. Now, I spent my lunch breaks alone, writing in my journal, as it was the only thing that kept me company and made me feel less lonely. My only anchor of stability was my journal, and it acted as a bridge between my old life and my new life, as it comforted me to have some sort of constant in my rapidly changing life.
Knowing I always had my journal to rely on, I began adjusting to my surroundings and started to step outside of my comfort zone. With this newfound courage, I was able to reach out and meet new people, developing friendships. Even with the new friends I made, I would reach out to my journals as my primary source of stress relief. By finding comfort in my journal, I began finding comfort in myself, as I was essentially guiding myself through difficult situations. I became more independent and developed essential problem solving skills. Gaining confidence, I swapped my pencil out for pen, now encouraged by its bold strokes and courageous character. I stopped being afraid to stand out, and began to develop my own personality. I accepted that mistakes are an essential part of life and that the only thing to do is to cross them out and move forward. |
When I have any doubts or thoughts, I turn to journaling and write out what I can about the particular matter. By the end, of the session, I usually have a more solid grasp at the situation at hand, as I am able to refer back to what I wrote and look at it from a different perspective. Through this exercise, I am not only able to solve issues on my own, but also learn about myself through the process. In the heat of the moment, it is easy for me to say things that I might come to regret later. However, my writing offers a good buffer between my emotions and intentions, as the privacy of my journal prevents such statements from causing rifts in my relationships, while allowing me to properly releasing my emotions. Eventually, after releasing my frustrations, I am able to assess my issues with a clear head.
I have now accumulated over 11 years worth of journals. They have accompanied me across the country, through the elaborate dramas of middle school, the never ending struggles of high school, the transition into college, and everything in between. By reading my past entries, I am able to map my development into the person I am now. I can see my transition from pencil to pen, from being self conscious to confident, and I watch my short bullet points expand to paragraphs and eventually full pages of writing. By finding comfort in journaling, I am able to find comfort in myself. Although it was something I despised at first, journaling is now something I look forward to doing every night. Life is filled with inconsistencies, and while people haven’t always been there for me, my journals always have.