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Allow me to set the mood for what you’re about to read. I invite you to brew a fresh cup of coffee or hot cocoa. Curl up in a ridiculously large-but-soft armchair (I’m picturing Susan Ryeland’s sofa-chair in the Magpie Murders television series). Wrap a heavy-but-soft blanket –could be tie, knit, crotchet, your choice– around your shoulders. Start the fireplace or put on your favorite “Sweater Weather” playlist on Spotify. Close your eyes and take three deep breaths. Are you cozy yet? Wonderful, let the post begin.
. . .Journaling is my safe, cozy space. It does not matter whether I am at home with my twinkle lights and “It Smells Like Snow” candle lit (did you get the Gilmore Girls reference?), at a bustling coffee shop with an overpriced honey-vanilla-oat-milk latte and chocolate croissant, or on an almost-too-soft couch by the fireplace at my favorite North Shore lodge. The practice of freely picking through the tangled thought web and organizing them on paper (real or virtual) is therapeutic.
The best thing about journaling? I can never run out of things to say. There is no topic I need to stick to – no prompt I need to follow. There is no pressure of being graded, of having my grammar picked apart as though with a fine-toothed comb. My sentences can run on (see above paragraph), or they can be. One. word. See what I mean? I can write a bullet-point list of three things I’m grateful for, one thing I accomplished, and one compliment to myself. For example: Things I am grateful for
I can also document everything I did and everything I felt in a day. This so-called “prompt” is my go-to when I am traveling. I don’t want to miss anything! However, I usually don’t write every day because it takes a long time to recall everything and every feeling in 24 hours. On the other hand, it is special to look back on past entries, little moments, and big feelings when I return home. Would I remember the feeling of tasting the best gelato in the whole world in Burano, Italy if I didn’t write it down? Probably not. (For reference, I got dark chocolate and Bussola cookies – 10 out of 10). I typically record both styles – “gratitude” and “a day in my life”– in my physical journal. It’s nothing special. I’m not one of those people who collect vintage, leather-bound journals or write all her deepest, darkest secrets in a hot-pink “My Diary” journal with a functional lock and key. It’s a simple, thin, packable journal I picked up at a random bookstore in Zagreb; it does the job. But hey, if you need that special journal to inspire your writing (or are a Charles Dickens aficionado with an old feather pen and ink jar), I am not judging. I wish I could claim I wrote more in this journal. When I was home for spring break, I frequently sat on the back patio with an iced coffee and jotted down some bulleted lists for a future outline or other weird thoughts here and there. By the end of the week, my journal had just as many scribbled-out words as real ones. I should’ve used a pencil. Sometimes, when a spontaneous idea enters my head, I quickly type any (comprehensible) words and phrases in the Notes app on my phone. Unfortunately, this kind of inspiration usually happens when I drive, in the middle of conversation, or in any other least-convenient situation when I can’t easily take out my phone. For example, on one return road trip to Duluth, I had to wait 45 minutes until the mid-point rest stop before I could furiously type out the practically fully formed blog post that had entered my head at mile eleven. It’s moments like these when I honestly roll my eyes and think, “I’m going to have to write a blog post about this.” When creativity calls, my journal answers. And honestly, the blog has morphed into a kind of journal over the past (almost) four years. At least it’s living up to its name! Ok, come on, back on topic (although it’s fun to ride the tangent train sometimes, right?). Usually, I write journal entries –or blog posts– on my computer. I feel techy because I use a portable Bluetooth keyboard that makes soothing clicking sounds as I type. Here I go: click, space, click, backspace, click. It offers another background noise in an otherwise quiet room, unless I am playing some music through my headphones. (My favorite Spotify playlists for writing or journaling: the candidly coined piano “Music for Writing,” “Your Favorite Coffee House,” any acoustic indie playlist, or a John Mayer or Jack Johnson setlist. The last two got me through a lot of essays in college.) I suppose I default to “writing” on the computer because my fingers can keep up with my thoughts better than a pen. Plus, I don’t have to worry about the strikethrough marks that make a rough draft look like an inky crime scene. Unlike when I write by hand, I don't need to shake my hands to prevent cramps every fifteen minutes (cue a flashback to my AP Literature and Language exams). And, there’s just something about Times New Roman font (although on the final blog post, it’s something different, trust me, it’s Times New Roman in my Google Docs drafts) that is comforting. It makes my tangled thoughts seem more sophisticated as though I am writing a polished work of art instead of a shiny mess of word vomit. One odd thing I will say about journaling: like any creative expression, it cannot be forced. Journaling is a form of creative writing. It must be intrinsically motivated and cannot be persuaded or manipulated by a deadline. Journaling about a given prompt is challenging; I still have six drafts I have not opened for at least a year. And who knows if they will ever make it to final production! The drafts that do, especially my “best work,” are the posts I cranked out at 10:00 pm in a burst of creative adrenaline or swiftly typed out as a release from built-up stress from procrastinated course assignments. Sometimes, creativity is amendable. If I struggle to commit to an entry, I may do one of two things. First, if I am at home, I will turn off my overhead light, turn on my desk lamp and twinkle lights, put my feet up on my chair (yes, crouched like a child), and wrap a sort of blanket around me (yes, like a turtle). Second, I will go to a coffee shop – this change in scenery was the secret to how I finished my research last year. The quiet shifting of people picking up their orders, hushed conversations, the occasional shriek of the milk frother, and my Spotify playlist-of-choice concocted a perfect spell to snap me into “work mode.” But this spell usually costs $5-6 plus tax for the accompanying latte. Both of these options, however, slip me back into the safe, cozy head space I associate with journaling. I have not yet perfected the art of journaling, but journaling is an imperfect art by nature. However, journaling does require commitment and practice. To reap the benefits, I took time to discover which style of entries suited me and my reflection style. I see journaling as a kind of storytelling. I can recall stories from a day of travel or piece together thoughts to create an autobiographical entry. A journal is a memory quilt of sorts: each entry is a square that documents a moment, thought, question, milestone, or experience. After being stitched together, the finished quilt represents a period in the author’s life. Now that I am getting metaphorical, a journal can also be a friend, a confidant, a therapist (although real therapists are incredible assets!), and a good listener. It is nonjudgmental, objective, consoling, and reliable. There is real power and courage in starting a journal and relinquishing the tension of haunting thoughts. Journaling has no boundaries. No rules. No expectations. A journal is simply a book of blank pages ready to be filled. All it takes to start is a pen (or pencil) and a head full of thoughts. (Blankets, candles, twinkle lights, coffee, and a playlist are optional.) So what are you waiting for? Head to your local bookstore or dig through that old stack of forgotten notebooks from high school (there’s always some lying around the house) to find a journal that is a perfect fit for you. Or, simply open your computer and begin typing. Click, click, click. Space. Click, click, click. Space. . .you fill in the rest. Did you enjoy this post?Consider sending a Venmo payment to the Journal of a Future Teacher business page!
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AuthorMeghan Hesterman (she/her) is an aspiring educator, storyteller, and traveler. Through regular posts and commentary, she candidly reflects on her evolution as an educator and young adult. Categories
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February 2025
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