Journaling has become somewhat of a compulsion in my life.
I journal not because I want to, but because I must.
The words that flow out of me each morning seem outside of my control, outside of my conscious.
There is a need inside of me to satiate through writing.
Because it’s cathartic. Because it brings sharpness of mind. Clarity. Because it lends moral support. Because it’s fun.
We live in a world that proscribes drugs to counter any malady, that over-eats, over-drinks, over-everythings in order to address — more accurately ignore — fundamental issues in our lives.
If we are faced with a difficult decision, we ignore it. If we are unhappy, we distract ourselves. If we are scared of something, we avoid it.
And in such a world — one of endless distraction and of quick fixes — journaling is one of those rare, uncommon things:
It is a tool to hold a mirror up to yourself and ask yourself: What do you want to do with your life? Are you happy? If not, why not? Are you scared? Of what? And why? Of failure? Of death?
Journaling encourages you, on a daily basis, to sit down and face these large, looming problems we wrestle with & to overcome them.
Because, through writing, you are able to give these fears, hopes, worries form.
You can quantify them, address them, resolve them.
“The life of every man is a diary in which he means to write one story, and writes another; and his humblest hour is when he compares the volume as it is with what he vowed to make it.” — J.M. Barrie And that’s important.
Because you don’t want to be one of those who look back & realise they never lived the life they intended to.
That all their hopes, dreams, worries, fears lay in a pile of unopened mental envelopes. That, in avoiding difficult things, they never even gave themselves a chance.