How to: Keep a Journal and Your Sanity
When I was presented with the option of living and working in Beijing, I leapt at the opportunity. I spoke no Mandarin and knew less than a handful of people in the city of twenty million people, but these details only sweetened the deal as I’m quite an introverted person. Traveling to China was akin to visiting another planet: I couldn’t read most of what was written, I couldn’t understand most of what was said, and I could only communicate with others if I really wanted to. It was as if I lived in a vacuum, I was in direct control the exact amount of human interaction in my life. It was a dream, until it wasn’t; I thought of myself as someone who needed more solitude until that’s all I was given.
Silence is golden but in this way I was rendered a King Midas: everything I touched turned quiet and, as a result, nothing could ever touch me back.
I spent eighteen months in my apartment and though it was broken up by flights, business meetings, and dates, I later did the math and discovered that I spent about sixty percent of my time in Beijing completely alone with no tangible, reciprocal human interaction at all. In retrospect, I should have joined a club or social organization shortly after landing but I didn’t realize the damage I was doing to myself until it was too late. In a world with no apparent consequences, I needed to be assured that I actually existed, so just before I hit rock bottom I began to journal.
Keeping a written record of your daily thoughts and feelings is an activity with a long history but still a practice that isn’t quite understood by those who don’t partake. Growing up we might hear of Anne Frank and see her diary as more of a story or a historical record rather than what it literally was to her: an outlet to not only explore her imagination but to audit her sense of self. She used it as a pastime and an escape from a cruel and banal reality, sure, but you’ll find that at no point was she ever ‘talking’ to herself as such a thing isn’t possible, for journaling is not an act of speaking but listening. You cannot write in your own voice, only hear it reverberate back to you.
The idea of a daily journal is seen as daunting to some and trivial to others. You might over-inflate the difficulty of sitting down and ‘pouring out your soul’ each day with a, “Oh I’m not sure what I’d say.” Or you may see it as recursive and redundant, that reliving or explaining your inner state is a waste of energy. I was rather apathetic about keeping a journal for my first twenty-five years on Earth, and therefore didn’t, but I can honestly say that the habit of taking a few minutes to jot down whatever comes to my mind about my mind has not only saved my life to some degree, but has improved, strengthened, a contextualized it.
Truffles have been a sought-after and expensive cooking ingredient for centuries, some species are so highly-prized that they might as well be buried treasure. They are found underground near tree roots and the most effective way of locating them is by enlisting the help of dogs or pigs to sniff them out. The benefit of using dogs is that they have a keen sense of smell and are easier to control, but they must be trained to locate truffles whereas pigs have a strong biological ability to find and locate the luxury that they have a tendency to start digging and eating them as soon as they discover a source.
The human brain takes advantage of pattern recognition in order to make sense of the world around it. Rather than consciously analyze and constantly interpret every possible stimuli, the mind will connect details together and register repeating combinations as a pattern. This is then compressed into a simpler nugget of data that can be more easily utilized later than scattered information would be, as it requires more energy to actively process individually. Your brain, whether you notice it or not, buries your interpretations of the world as compact truffles just under the surface of your active attention.
You will likely spend most of your time finding the truffles of your mind with a metaphorical dog of some sort, one that you have trained to discover anomalies or just keep track of your imagination and notice when there might be a treasure nearby. You might notice happy elements of your life when you are happy and sadness may be apparent to you when you are sad, but deep-seeded flaws or insecurities that you might like to address are likely too obscure to find until an earthquake in your life unroots them (and by then you will have no space for delicacies). What you need is a pig; something that will actively sniff out the little treasures you’ve buried for yourself, be so drawn to the discovery that you’ll have to stop it from devouring the delicacies itself, and will always ensure that you’re unearthing something new. There are many ways to address your mental health and future, but journaling is the cheapest, easiest, and most reliable swine you’ll find.
The word ‘diary’ comes from the Latin ‘diarium,’ which may sound like a particularly-devastating gastrointestinal catastrophe but actually means ‘daily allowance.’ The word ‘journal’ is not technically a perfect synonym, as it comes from an Old French extrapolation that has a less interactive implication: ‘of the day.’ Though you can use these words interchangeably, I would encourage your ‘journaling’ habit embody the spirit of the word ‘diary,’ as cultivating the idea of a ‘daily allowance’ promotes a healthy mental intake as well as regular evacuation as well (consider it similar to a fiber that might prevent the aforementioned catastrophe).
There are many ways in which to journal, so many that it might seem overwhelming or pretentious if you dare to do even a bit of research. You might typically associate the act of keeping a diary as an avenue for a teenager to daydream about schoolyard romance, or the way in which a dull CEO outlines their boring ambitions, but the act of writing to yourself is truly no different than having a conversation with your best friend and greatest enemy: it’s not about how you speak, but what you say.
If the idea of having a daily discussion with yourself seems intimidating, try eavesdropping on the inner dialogue that others have been kind enough to share. Don’t read memoirs but seek out true journals or diaries that have been published by private or notable figures. Blogs or materials which were intended to be made public as they were being written will lack the true vulnerability and honesty that you’ll want to note (e.g. no matter how much you think I may be ‘opening up’ in this article, it naturally pales in comparison to my writing not intended for public eyes).
The easiest and most notable example of such inner openness is the aforementioned Diary of a Young Girl by Anne Frank, a collection of private entries that were published after her death. But a lesser-known example that I found enlightening is A Year of Swollen Appendices by Brian Eno, one of the most accomplished musicians and producers of the last fifty years (his book also being a nominee for the coveted ‘Most Clever Title of All Time’ award). The first section of his published diary covers his daily activities in 1995, a time when he was working with David Bowie and U2 as well as creating his own music. The second section is comprised of appendixes (see? clever) containing essays he wrote and correspondences he shared (which I would also recommend: saving important emails, letters, and messages that you exchanged with others is its own form of journaling).
What stands out most in Frank’s and Eno’s journals are, ironically, the banalities of their extraordinary lives. Even when faced with a constant existential threat or working through the creative process with some of the world’s most prominent artists, the daily writings of these two figures still contain a multitude of ‘stale’ passages in which they struggle to find meaning in monotony. People (typically) don’t open their mouths simply to hear themselves speak (typically), but we have a similar disposition and mindset when it comes to writing, feeling that we should only engage in the act if what we’re attempting to say is not just eloquent but necessary. This is a polite and considerate way to interact with others, but an unhealthy limitation when speaking to oneself. In reading the inner voices of others, you should be freed from the shackles telling you that the content of your journal needs to be even remotely substantive or ‘important.’
The simplest way to begin journaling is to not grab just a pen and paper or computer keyboard, but a timer. There is no reason that you should be intimidated by sitting down each day to dig into your heart and soul if it’s only for a few minutes. Set a countdown on your phone for even just five minutes and start writing. Better yet, find a piece of music without words and write until it’s over. Just like that, even if it was only small talk or jotting down nothing of great significance, you’ve begun a conversation with yourself. Maybe it’s the first time in a while, but congratulations: I’d like to introduce you to yourself; I think you two will get along well. Do the same thing tomorrow. It’s only a few minutes, it’s not any different than brushing your teeth or showering, but this is an exercise to clean the dust and grime off of your mind. Give yourself a call and see how you’re doing.
At a loss of what to write or where to begin? Talk about what you’re doing right now, at this exact second. “I don’t know what to write, this is stupid, I hate this.” Perfectly acceptable, I probably have a hundred entries that begin the same way. Talk about what happened five minutes ago, or an hour ago, or this morning. What did you literally do today? As I said before, there were days when I didn’t even leave my apartment in Beijing, it was as if I was in a lunar modular on the Moon with absolutely no human connection whatsoever; I was still able to describe how I mopped my floors or what I cooked for dinner or even what that evening’s particular sunset looked like.
But there’s no reason to treat this as some sort of military exercise. Human memory is directly linked to emotion, it is incredibly difficult to remember the details of an event that caused you no great or terrible feeling. It is practically impossible to live a day where you felt literally nothing, so think back on what caused you joy or sorrow today. You can even get away with describing a YouTube video that mildly amused you or some small inconvenience that almost annoyed you. What you’re going to inevitably unearth in doing this is a ‘why,’ and finding a ‘why’ in your day will grant you some sense of purpose or understanding that you didn’t have before sitting down to write. Taking an active effort in finding the ‘whys’ in your days will inherently grant your life a sense of purpose and understanding, which is a pursuit that is inherently neglected when not directly undertaken.
When I was alone for such an extended period of time it became difficult to differentiate between what was a good day or bad day. Many of my efforts on a given day were similar to those of the day before and the week before that, there was no conscious way to dig into my heart and soul to feel if that day’s product felt silky or sludgy.
I solved that issue in February of 2018 when I was sent to Amsterdam on business. As a history enthusiast, a visit to the Anne Frank House was obviously my priority; I bought those tickets before I even booked my flight. I was tremendously moved on the day that I visited the museum, to the point where I remember the exact date off-hand even today (Tuesday, February 20, 2018), I’ll never forget crying in the dusk rain with deep church bells nearby reverberating in the atriums of my heart: not all of life’s ‘whys’ have a happy answer.
That visit reignited my interest in another young woman that I looked up to in my youth: Sophie Scholl, an anti-Nazi student activist in Germany in the 1930s and 1940s. With the thoughts of these two young intellectuals in my head, I found a way to gain the courage to talk to myself. Anne Frank wrote entries in her diary to a fictional friend named “Kitty,” and I had a similar desire to project my inner ramblings to a friend, as I was obviously quite lonely at the time. Frank was a notably optimistic girl, so on ‘good’ days I would begin my entries with “Dear Anne-” whereas Scholl was more versed in dissent and philosophy, so on ‘bad’ days I would write “To Sophie…”
I no longer address my entries this way but I can look back on my “Letters to Anne and Sophie” during this relatively dark time in life and understand my mindset on a given day simply by seeing which friend I chose to confide in. I don’t think it’s necessary to conjure an imaginary confidant unless you feel particularly isolated, but there are plenty of ways in which you might make these conversations your own. In personalizing a daily exchange you will again find another ‘why,’ learning something new about the way in which your thoughts and actions interact with the world around you.
After you’ve written about your day and the feelings that its events may have conjured in you, look toward the future: what does tomorrow look like? Remind yourself of your duties or obligations, but then think: what could tomorrow look like? What would you like to see happen tomorrow? Is there anything you can do to ensure or encourage that it happens? Jot it down. Daydream. They say to shoot for the stars, but they also say to stay grounded; this is where you take that horizon where the sky meets the earth and sew the two together.
I typically journal twice a day, once in the morning and then at night. My morning journal is very blunt, I do a simplified bullet journal of what I need/want to do that day. Chores, duties, responsibilities, and even simple wishes are noted and then I might go back and cross items off as I complete them, but I’m not always militaristic about it. But taking the time to lay out and plan my day, charting both professional and personal tasks, actually significantly increases the likelihood of their successful completion. The stars of my ambitions do not fade or crash to earth, I am able to consciously lasso them and bring them down one-by-one, inch-by-inch, because I take the time to map them out beforehand.
This makes reflecting on myself, my work, and my life each evening not all that daunting. Some people balk when I say that I write about a thousand words a night in my journal, but I don’t really write longer than twenty-five minutes. After two years of journaling almost every day, I’ve built up enough incremental experience to just let the little piggies go find my truffles. Initially, some of the nuggets were lodged deeper than a five-minute entry, so it was no big deal to start finding six-minute pieces of music to write to. Then ten minutes, then twenty. Now, just as I’m able to pull stars down during the day, it’s not all that monumental to craft some new ones to throw into the sky for tomorrow’s harvest.
Journaling renders monumental tasks and endeavors of introspection into rather simple gestures; in the same way that you’d probably not dare drive cross-country without consulting a map, it’s a bit ridiculous to attempt barreling through life without stopping to check your coordinates.
However, the true reward that journaling will bring to your life is not found in miraculous answers to the questions of your life or tremendous personal discoveries, but the peace it provides your sense of memory. I’ve been journaling religiously for two years now, my personal and professional life have all undergone extreme transformations due to outside forces during this time, not to mention the monumental political and cultural shifts that have taken place in the world. I use journaling software to keep track of my thoughts and I can honestly say I don’t have to bother remembering anything anymore. I can pull up an entry on a specific date or search for specific keywords and see exactly how I felt about a particular moment or what I thought about a world event.
Maybe I don’t miss that young woman as much as I thought I did, maybe I miss that other young woman more than I imagined. I might not have a good idea for a screenplay right now, but maybe the bolt of inspiration struck a couple days ago. Maybe I have a pesky political thought today that is actually a little contradictory compared to what I asserted a month ago. Maybe I don’t have to succumb to negative thoughts when I can’t actively remember the last moment I felt true joy: I can just look it up. “Ah, right, I saw that video of the dog on the skateboard last Tuesday! That’s what I was going to write the screenplay about! He can’t find the truffles because he can’t skateboard in the forest!”
This practice of auditing yourself in this way is invaluable, as there is really no reason or avenue for your mind to actively do it otherwise. On most days you will be confident and resolute in your thoughts and actions, as they are easy to justify and perpetuate through confirmation bias, but keeping a record of your thoughts keeps you honest: no longer are you a slave to the temporary and subject to fickle emotional resonance. In the same way that weather is not climate, truth is not found in moments but trends. No matter how measured, considerate, and analytical I may be in my thoughts and actions, they scatter like dandelion seeds in the winds of time if only grounded by good intentions, mnemonic devices, or relying on short term memory. Spending twenty five minutes each night helping my pig dig a hole into my soil, which I can then use to plant my goals, desires, and dreams into, has been the best process I’ve found to discover tasty truffles and consistent blossoms.
I mentioned before that I was able to do the math to figure out how many days I spent alone in Beijing, and I mean this literally. I found an exact number. There was a point where I could scroll through my “Annes” and “Sophies” and find the precise percentage. If you would have asked me if I felt sad or lonely before I started the habit of nightly journaling, I would likely have disagreed and stated that I probably just needed to just quadruple-down on my already productive routine. I would have asserted that no one understands me better than myself, despite the fact that I had never spoken to, and therefore listened to, myself.
But after taking up journaling? Well, my pig found that little nugget of desolation and I sprinkled it over a fire of self-improvement, then I went out a couple days later and enjoyed a twelve-hour Mandarin lesson over pizza with a new friend. I can’t say the Italian food in Beijing was worth writing about, but that dawn, or “日出,” certainly was.
Jesse Stewart is an American filmmaker, writer, and tenacious truffle-tracker for Epocene Motion Picture Company.
