Old book and photos. Objects isolated over white

I know the title of this post is not a real word at least to my New Oxford Dictionary but I don’t mind stretching the English language a bit once in a while. This post is about how journaling became such an important part of my life.

I have been a writer for most of my life but ferociously so in the last couple of decades. I have been keeping a journal, a diary to all you of the female gender, most of my life. That practice started out because I am a perpetual list maker. Until I threw them away about a decade ago I had a eight-inch-high pile of 4 x 6 index cards chronicling every week of my corporate life, that is until computers came along, they then moved digital. While I didn’t keep a personal journal at the beginning it has been a part of my weekly life since about 1984.

I can’t say that I write in my journal every day but seldom does a week go by without an entry. Journaling is so important to me because it forces me to look at things in different perspectives. It makes me look at the big picture of my life and whether I am living it as I really want.

Putting words to paper so to speak makes them linger in my mind for a longer period. That lingering often creates subconscious breakthroughs that would not have otherwise existed.

As I have mentioned here, this blog is my public journal. The vast majority of the four-thousand or so posts start out as a brief idea in draft form and then are fleshed out by my subconscious sometimes days and sometimes it takes weeks until it is in its final format. This thought process has become second nature to me now. I can’t tell you how many times a spurt of an idea blossoms in my thoughts and are immediately written down so that they agitate in the back of my mind.

It has taken literally decades to fully form this creative process. This developed process also makes me often step back and question what I think I know about so many areas of life. If you haven’t begun journaling I encourage you to do that. It will change your life in ways you can hardly imagine.

It seems appropriate to mention one journal that has become perhaps the most famous and that is the Diary of Anne Frank. It was written over a period of two years while she was hiding in Amsterdam from the German occupation in the early 1940s. Her journal remains a beloved and deeply admired testament to the indestructible nature of the human spirit. When I was writing this post I shamefully realized that I have yet to read it. It now resides on my Kindle reader and will be consumed very soon…