journaling - a way to process and respond to that life. A diary was reporting on life. Journaling was making sense of it and, in the process, making sense of who we are.
For all of the years that I have been journaling, reading every book on the subject that I could get my hands on and studying the "experts," it was only in my late 50's that I found what to me were the quintessential examples of what journaling is supposed to be. They came in the published journals of the late poet and writer, May Sarton. Never before had I read anything quite so expressive of what goes on in the mind of someone who seeks to explain and understand her world and her place in it. Beginning with, "Journal Of A Solitude," and ending with, "At Eighty-Two," written shortly before her death in 1995, Sarton seeks to come to terms with subjects like aging, illness, the attitude of women writers in what was, in her time, a male-dominated community, family and friendship, and how gardening and poetry helped her to find solace in an otherwise chaotic world.
What I've come to understand about journaling is that it is a safe place for us to dip our toes into the pond of new dreams and ideas, struggle with our egos over what is truly in our highest and best good, and rage at the world when things don't work out as we had planned. It gives us a way to voice our anger and outrage over the state of the world when it all seems to be going badly, and a mountaintop from which to shout out our joy to that same world when our lives are flowing with joy and promise. I have actually had conversations and arguments with myself on the pages of my journal while trying out different chapter ideas for my books or subjects for my blog posts. I'll ask myself a question across the top of the page: "Well, Barb, what do you think of this idea?" Then I'll process all of the pros and cons until I arrive at what will show up in the final edit.
One of the things I have come to love the most about my journals is the honesty with which I can grieve and let go in private when sadness strikes. I don't know what I would have done without my trusty notebook when 9/11 happened, or when we received the news that my mother had died during the night on the day before my daughter’s bridal shower, and how I had to hold it all together for her so she could have the beautiful day she deserved before we had to move from joy to grief later on after it was over. I think I filled an entire notebook that day. Years later, I took it out and re-read it when I was packing to move and came across that particular volume. I was amazed at the strength and love I was able to share that day, and it told me a great deal about how far I have come from a young adult who spent the majority of her life never feeling good-enough, pretty enough, smart enough ... well, you get the picture. There is truth in the saying: "with age comes wisdom." The proof of that is all contained on the pages of my journals.
There is no right or wrong way to journal. There is no formula for perfect journaling. There are no experts, although there are many, many wonderful examples of beautiful and insightful journaling. The key is to find a notebook and pen that feels perfect in your hand, sit down in a comfy, favorite chair, and write from your heart. What is going on around you, inside you, between you and your world? Write about that. Have a conversation with yourself as if you were talking to your dearest and closest friend. The more you do, the more you’ll get to know your real self, and I'm willing to bet you will love who she truly is.