another newsletter about journaling

Last night was, somewhat unbelievably, my 10-year high school reunion. Many people put in a lot of work to make it a really fun event. I helped in a characteristic way: I brought my yearbooks from every year of middle and high school, and I put together a slideshow from the many photos I still have from K-12.

While talking to my friend Sam, he said he wasn’t surprised to see my name written in the inside cover of all the yearbooks. Then he said something like, “You’re the record book” — a descriptor I’ll proudly accept.

I’ll never forget when some of our other friends, Sam, and I were swimming together at the end of the summer after we graduated high school, before some of us scattered for college. I was in the pool when I grabbed a floating leaf and held it out to Sam, standing on the side of the pool. “Will you put this by my phone?” I asked. He looked at me and the leaf strangely for a minute, then said, “Journal?” I felt so well-known.

This week I got two new exciting tools for my documentation. The first was a new iPhone, after months of offloading content from my old phone to avoid completely running out of space. Now I have so many gigabytes for photos of my cats — and photos and videos from the reunion last night.

The other thing I bought was a quilted notebook cover from Left Handed Studio, a product I saw and fell in love with on Instagram. It’s a sort of folio with several pockets for the paper goods I often collect for my journal, two pen holders, and elastic to hold two notebooks.

I almost didn’t buy it — the cost was totally justified for the handmade work, but it wasn’t insubstantial. “We don’t spend on your journaling for the ROI,” Loui said, so I ordered it.

And I’m so glad I did; I am truly obsessed with it. It’s so cute, with flowers and multiple colors and cats with glasses. And it’s so soft and welcoming. If possible, it increases my affection for journaling, already one of my lifelong loves.

And, though not financial, there actually are so many returns on investment for my journaling. A few weeks ago, I was working on how to finish up a chapter of my book. In the space of one working session, I referenced my journal from November 2019, Alice’s book that was published in 1983, and a class project I finished in March 2020. That documentation — and my memory that the documentation existed — was crucial, and so very exciting.  

“Imagine if I were not a meticulous record keeper,” I said in a text.

It’s impossible to even imagine.