The Pages Between Us: There is No Right Way to Journal

Sometimes the best stories are the ones you weren’t looking for.

This summer, while traveling through New Hampshire, Bob and I stopped at the Basin in Franconia Notch. Even from the side of the freeway, I was blown away by its beauty, and once we started exploring, I understood why so many people make it one of their first stops in the Notch.

We started hiking alongside the water, where small waterfalls spilled over enormous smooth rocks and collected in clear pools below. Then we’d walk a little farther and discover another pool. And then another.

It was humid that day, and the whole place seemed to have this wonderfully positive energy. People were swimming, climbing over rocks and finding places to sit near the water. Some ventured farther up along the rocks to reach the higher pools. Bob even got into one of them for a swim.

I kept going.

I climbed a little farther, crossed over a small path and eventually reached another stretch of water. It was quieter there. The rocks opened into a broad, flat area beside one of the upper pools, with the forest surrounding it.

And that’s where I saw them.

At the far end of the rocks sat two young people on a towel.

They weren’t swimming.

They weren’t taking selfies.

They were journaling.

Both journals open, art supplies scattered nearby. There were markers and colored pencils spread across the rock. The other held a dark journal.

I didn’t know their names yet.

I didn’t know they were a couple.

I didn’t know they were from Long Beach, Long Island, or that both of them were getting ready to head off to college.

I just knew that in the middle of this beautiful place, I had stumbled upon two young people doing something I care deeply about.

So, naturally, I took a couple of pictures.

And then I walked over and introduced myself.

They looked a little surprised—and who could blame them? A complete stranger had just appeared and wanted to know about their journals.

But the surprise quickly turned into conversation. They seemed genuinely open to my questions, and before long I was sitting there learning about Gregory and Salome.

“What do you guys use your journals for?” I asked.

“A sketchbook,” Salome told me.

Gregory used his differently, sometimes. But also liked to draw.

“I have a different journal that I break down, like, what I’m thinking and goals and stuff like that,” he explained.

There it was.

Two people sitting side by side.

Two journals.

Different reasons for using them.

As we continued talking, Gregory mentioned something else that caught my attention:

“My dad has a journal.”

I loved that.

Because maybe journaling is something we learn partly by seeing someone else make space for it. A parent writes. A child notices. And somewhere along the way, the idea of putting your thoughts on paper doesn’t seem quite so unusual.

Then I learned a little more about the two of them.

Salome was heading to Cortland to study biomedical science. Gregory was going to Buffalo to study business. They were a couple, but college was about to take them in different directions.

That gave me another idea.

“You guys might want to start an interactive journal,” I told them.

I explained that they didn’t need to buy anything special. One could write in a journal, put it in an envelope and mail it to the other. Then the other person could add to it and send it back.

Back and forth.

A conversation they could hold onto.

They would undoubtedly text, call and FaceTime while they were apart. But writing to someone is different. Sometimes we discover things on paper that we never think to say out loud.

And imagine having that journal years from now.

Before I left, I admitted something else.

I had already taken two really cool pictures of them before they even knew it.

Thankfully, they didn’t seem to mind the stranger who had interrupted their afternoon. Instead, they let me take more photographs and even shared their journals with me.

I walked away thinking about those pages—and about how differently each of us can use an empty one.

So What Actually Counts as Journaling?

Maybe we’ve made journaling far more complicated than it needs to be.

We hear the word journal and imagine paragraphs of beautifully written reflections beginning with Dear Diary.

But look at Gregory and Salome.

One person was drawing.

Another was working through thoughts and goals.

Both were journaling.

Your journal might contain a drawing you made beside a river. It might hold three sentences about something you can’t stop thinking about. Or a grocery list. A budget. A debt you’re trying to pay down. A dream for next year. A quote you don’t want to forget.

You can doodle.

Make lists.

Tape in photographs.

Write down something funny your child said.

Keep track of a financial goal.

Draw arrows and circles while you’re trying to make a decision.

Write five pages about something that’s bothering you—or write only five words.

Sometimes a journal is where we record our lives.

Sometimes it’s where we plan them.

And sometimes it’s simply where we put all the things that have been taking up too much room in our heads.

You Don’t Have to Know What You’re Going to Say

This may be my favorite part of journaling.

You don’t have to know what you think before you begin writing.

Sometimes writing is how you find out.

Start with:

What am I really worried about?

What do I want?

What am I avoiding?

What would I do if I weren’t afraid?

Or simply:

I don’t know what I’m thinking, but…

And see where your pen takes you.

No editing. No worrying about grammar. No wondering whether it sounds good.

No one ever has to read it.

Five Minutes Counts

You don’t need an expensive journal.

You don’t need an hour every morning.

You don’t need a special pen or beautiful handwriting.

Five minutes counts.

One sentence counts.

A drawing counts.

A list counts.

A page of numbers counts.

Even opening your journal and writing, “I don’t know what to write today” counts.

I went to the Basin that afternoon because I wanted to experience a beautiful place in New Hampshire.

I didn’t expect to meet Gregory and Salome.

But maybe that’s another reason I keep paying attention to the stories happening around me.

Sometimes you hike a little farther, cross a path, look toward the end of a stretch of rocks—and find two strangers quietly reminding you why you believe in something in the first place.

There is no right way to journal.

There is only your way.

And somewhere among the sketches, lists, worries, goals, numbers, doodles, dreams and half-finished thoughts, you may discover that you’re doing more than filling pages.

You’re keeping pieces of your life.

— Pen & Path

Writing memories. Building bonds.

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