Anne Frank, a young Jewish girl, wrote in the form of journal called a diary prior to her capture and death at a Nazi Concentration Camp. She wrote about the simple pleasures of life and of her hopes for the thereafter. It was her way of coping with an uncertain future. Anne did not worry about proper spelling, grammar, or consistency in her writings. What is interesting to me is that today’s teachers require us to write perfect papers. Correctly punctuated and completely accurate information is required for such assignments; however, it is a blessing that not all forms of writing are a cumbersome. For instance, the pleasure of writing can be savored to the fullest extent through journal writing. Journal writing is one of the best ways to break free from the confines of essays and term papers.
“A journal,” according to the 2000 Edition of Merriam-Webster’s Dictionary, “is a brief account of daily events.” I remember my first diary. IT was a bright yellow Walt-Disney character book that was bought on my second family venture to Walt-Disney World, Florida. I was ten years old at that time. I would sit down every night to write about a boy I was crushing on, how my school day was, and even about my first kiss (age thirteen). Now, it seems as if I have outgrown that stage. My most recent journal is a pink blank book with a ballerina on both the front and back covers, a blank book with cats on both covers, and a notebook. Each journal is nearly full. But, I must say, the entries have no consistency whatsoever.
Some people are able to write anywhere, under any circumstances. I can only write under certain conditions. My journal entries are written only at night. First of all, everyone in my home has to be asleep. Second, it must be absolutely quiet. If it’s not quiet, soft music in the background is permissible. I know a few women who can write in journals daily, never missing a day. Yes, it seems like a peace making experience; however, I cannot just sit down at a certain scheduled time every night to pen my thoughts onto a blank sheet of paper. The phenomenon of writing in my journal requires and impetus. There must be enlightenment, a letdown, or a catastrophe before I am able to sit down and pour out my soul to that blank sheet of paper. The funny thing about the impetus or catalyst is that when I do have something to write in my journal about, it seems as though the paper is so hungry it devours my words. I can write fervently for over ten minutes about a particular incident without pausing for more than one second.
There have been at least four huge catalysts in my life. If anyone were to find my journals and read them, he or she would be able to feel the same emotions that I felt at the time each entry was written. The largest portion of my personal writings would have to be those dealing with the decline and death of my mother. My mother died at the age of thirty-nine from colon cancer. I was twelve at the time of her death. I had so many issues to deal with that weren’t being addressed. So, I wrote about my confusion, my dreams, and my hurt. I often wrote poetry in my journal.
I wrote in my journal about my moving experiences, especially the move from Houston, Texas to Laurel, Mississippi. I had to make many changes. I found my new atmosphere to be quite contrary to my previous environment. I wrote a little about my new best friends, Corneiaz. He was a young gentleman who I liked when I first moved to Laurel. He used to walk me home from school, even in the harsh wind and rain. I told him everything. At the start of our friendship, he occasionally found his way into my journal. But it wasn’t until much later that he took center stage in both my journal and my life, heart.
I light of the former reminiscence about Corneiaz, he later took up a third of my pink ballerina journal. At the time of his death, I wrote fervently about my loss. It was bad enough to lose a mother, but to lose my best friend compounded things into a tragedy. It was a pain that would only subside after weeks of crying and nights of writing.
Another propellant was an assignment given by my high school English Teacher. Every week his students had to turn in a complete week’s worth of one page journal entries. No, it was a personal catalyst, but an imposed catalyst that forced me to find things to write about. Most of the writing was still about the loss of my friend, and a few we about the English class. Either way, I could often be found scrambling into class Friday morning trying to write four quick entries before the teacher walked in.
Despite such gross catalysts, there were less tragic issues that inspired me to write in my journal. One such was my first relationship. I wrote about the entire experience until its bitter end. By reviewing the writings from the account of my relationship, I was able to determine that I had low self-esteem and was in an abusive relationship. Now, I go back many times and review my journals to look for ways I can improve myself. By doing this, journals because the means by which I can improve my self-understanding.
Writing in a journal gives me greater joy in life. It calms me down from a hectic day. It helps me release my stress. In 1990, James Pennebaker, a professor at Southern Methodist University, found that, “First year students who write in a journal or portfolio cope more effectively with stress and are healthier than those who don’t.” Besides stress-relief benefits, I am also improving my writing skills.
If anyone wants to enjoy a better life, be more introspective, or just release stress, journal writing is the best way to go. Just think of Anne Frank. A teenager forced into hiding in a less than delightful living space with less than delightful people. Death and mistreatment standing imminently before her, but she did not let it worry her. She took her mind off of the danger and kept it on the simple joys of life. She noticed changes within herself. She reflected on each day of her living arrangement until the capture. Face it, journal writing is both therapeutic and enjoyable which is why I do it, when I feel like it. Perhaps anyone else can master daily journal entries; but as for me, daily entries will never happen. Bet on it.
