I don’t believe I’ve made a secret of keeping a journal. It’s hardly a rare thing for someone to do, of course, and less rare for someone who spends as much time writing as I clearly have and do. Just within the past five years (which is actually a meaningful thing to say at this point, with more than ten years of work in this webspace, as well as years of work in such other places as this and this), I’ve made explicit mention of doing so on multiple occasions: here, here, here, here, here, here, here, here, and here. I’ve written about why I journal, and I’ve drawn things from out of my journals for others to see. I think I’ve managed to bear out the practice in my own experience, and while I acknowledge that what works for me does not necessarily work for others, that it does work for me means that it might well work for others. I am not quite so different from other people, after all.

One thing I’m not sure I’ve recently noted–and I’ll concede some flexibility with “recent,” here; I know there are some who would not consider 2020 recent to 2025–is that journaling, for me, provides something of an emotional anchor-point. That is to say, I feel better about things and about myself when I keep up with my journal-writing. I do not always keep up with it; I started writing in bound journals, rather than on hole-punched notepads, in 2004, and there are definitely lacunae among the volumes of writing I’ve accumulated in the decades since. I have found over that time that I get…nervous when I have not kept up with my writing; I do not feel as certain. Perhaps it is some analog version of the perception that what is not on social media does not really exist, some script form of “pics or it didn’t happen.” (I know that’s an older quip. I’m not a young man.) Having the written record, even acknowledging that any writing I do reflects my inherent and overt biases, helps me remind myself that I was and am, that things happen and that I and mine were present to experience them, however small our parts in things might well be.

So much said, I do have some difficulty with journaling. Reflecting on the day’s events is good, generally, although it is the case for me that it can also lead to the kind of overthinking that tends towards self-recrimination and the development of a depressive cycle. That is, I run the risk of turning in on myself every time I sit with a pen in hand to go over what happened during the day. I mitigate it by writing more often; when I do so, I have some feeling of accomplishment, which helps stave off sadness, and I tend to write in shorter bursts, so there’s less time to get into a bad headspace. I also mitigate it by writing, generally, according to something of a formula. I discuss first the weather and noting any major events that have come to my attention–and I’ll admit that “major” is as flexible for me as “recent,” here. Then I write about what I learn from my wife about her day, then the same for my daughter. Only after those do I report the events of my own day–and I try not to go into detail about my workday, both because I keep a record of work activities at work and because I do try to keep my “regular” work in its own place. Doing so helps me to keep a sense of myself as myself and not as some economic production unit.

We are, all of us, more than just the work we do. I hope that, for me and mine, the more is also better.

I mean, yeah, you can have some soulless machine crank out some written slop for you–but you could, instead, get something real for yourself. Make the better choice; have me write for you!

Or you can send your support along directly!