Revisiting an old friend
Yesterday I returned to a structured morning journal practice. It felt refreshing, like an olive branch offered from the part of me which is being, to the part that is becoming. I’ve used journalling practices in the past to great effect, to order my mind enough that it becomes a tool for my betterment rather than a treacherous dust storm.
I find the simple task of filling in a few pre-set sections is usually enough to offer me the space I need to sit and sense into the nectar of the immediate. It’s like a kind hand on the shoulder. I have a pretty simple format at the moment, which is tailor-made to help me make the best of whatever world (and me) I wake up to. I chose the wording with some care.
Down the left margin of the page, I write the times of day, in 24hr format, on every second line. I’ve been using a 12 hour window, starting 0700 and finishing 1900. This leaves me a couple lines (around 6 brief words) to plan or record the happenings of that hour. I use about 40% of the page width for this, leaving a few free lines at the bottom.
In the column to the right, which takes up around 60% of the width, I write 6 sections…
1. My goals: how I want to live and who I want to be, e.g. “acutely present to here and now”
2. My targets: the practical actions that will induce this, e.g. “20 mins conscious breathing”
3. Ways to celebrate today: “enjoy a coffee” or “notice my life is what I once sought”
4. Ways to build compound value: things that serve future me, e.g. “make extra food at lunch”
5. Three people to show love towards: who might I reach out to and offer my appreciation?
…and finally, the hitter.
6. Reasons to wake up tomorrow: e.g. “continue my life’s work, if I am fortunate to wake up alive”
As I answer this one, I always take a moment to acknowledge that I might not wake up tomorrow - and part of me starts thinking of those old folks who die when their husband or wife dies. They die because their reasons for living have faded away in one way or another. If the time is right, this is beautiful… but if our imaginary old couple let go of their projects and reasons to live long before they actually went, it’s tragic.
This is where I’ve found my fear and anxiety comes in handy. If I’m wallowing in apathy, my lizard brain reminds me that the grim reaper might just rock up and slap me into the void before I’ve finished my next thought. My mind tells me “you better find a reason to wake up if you want to be here tomorrow, otherwise you might not wake up at all.” Inducing this anxiety at the right time can float me to safety.
If being more productive and whilst genuinely appreciating the process isn’ a compelling enough reason to start, I understand. Sometimes productivity and joy feel like abstract ideas, detached from the drudging reality of the day to day (which can feel necessary, yet quite tediously unproductive). In this case, writing to oneself with structure is an antidote to chaos. By putting pen to paper, you can use mental projection and forethought to create a simple but sturdy path ahead.
Whether you run down that path seeking its end, or simply take a seat and go nowhere, what matters is that you have created your path. You have created some free mental real-estate to breathe and to be the architect of your day. Because we’re all floating around in this reality either way, and the least we can do is make our most immediate patch (the body, the mind, whatever) our own.