Over the years I have accumulated about a thousand journals…ok so maybe more like ten, but the point is that I have a lot. I have a journal with a peacock on the cover, one with a map of the world, many with patterns of flowers, and a few with inspirational quotes. Some of my journals are filled with my younger selves stressing about school and ranting about how mean our twin is. Others are the beginnings of books I never wrote but plan to, and others simply contain all the thoughts I needed to write down. I am constantly asking for more journals, even though I have only ever filled one of my already numerous journals. I ask for more because I love the potential that a book of empty pages can have. I love looking at the different ornate designs on the covers of journals. I love journals.
Now I don’t use my journals as much thanks to school and an inordinate amount of homework and essays, and I miss journaling. Journaling would give me a reprieve from my worries and allowed me time to think. I also had time to write down my latest idea for the next Great American novel. Now I just look at the scattered journals around my room with fond remembrance.
Yet recently I have started journaling again due to classes that require me to. Now it’s not fun to journal when you’re expected to. When you journal just to have a journal done, it’s painful and is a waste of time. But if you actually take the time to spend a moment with just your thoughts, a pen, and an empty page, it can actually be cathartic. Also when you journal it doesn’t have to be this great literary piece of work. Journals can be jumbled messes of unfinished thoughts, or there can be clear messages. There is no wrong way to journal, so give it a try and maybe you’ll fall in love with journals.