Paper Journal vs. Blog

I miss writing in my paper journal.

Ever since I began blogging (8-2-05), I have not inked the first impression, thought, reflection, poem, insight, quote, or any other word in my original paper version.

Prior to blogging, quiet Saturday mornings were the best time of the week for me to get up and recall the past week of events in school, at home, at church, among my friends and family. Unhurried, unguarded, without pressure, instructions, or direction, I would sit at my dining room table and breathe deeply, relaxedly, and reflect on it all, what happened, how I reacted to it, how it affected me, changed me, who I interacted with, how it might have affected them. Inner prompting would lead me to focus on one thing. Often I would dwell on a particularly difficult situation, or a word that was spoken, by me or by another, and the significance of that utterance. Usually, I would briefly describe the event, and then write several pages thrashing out my point of view or the other’s. Or I might pose a question, setting me on the edge of familiar, discomforting darkness. In response, my writing would be an attempt to answer the question, sometimes finding in the end some light to guide me, but many times not. Generally, more questions would develop from the one.

Writing in the blog has provided a new feature I had not known with my paper journal: an audience.

I don’t know who they are, but often as not, they are my friends, co-workers, family, and other acquaintances who may have received my blog address through my emails. No doubt I sent that address out on purpose. Part of me wanted an audience. A little ego trip, I suppose.

I was thrilled when I received my first AOL journal comment alert! Someone had read my journal entry… actually, three someones: my brother, my sister-in-law, and my niece. So sweet of them to take the time to read something as verbose and common as a personal journal, then leave a comment so that I knew they had stopped by for a visit! For the most part, however, I don’t know who reads my blog. Strangers, parents of my students, other friends and family? It doesn’t matter. Someone else is reading what I write.

In both the blog and the paper journal, my writing reveals the joys, wonders, discoveries, and whimsy of my heart. Although the blog provides an audience, there is a part of me that does not want an audience. I cannot write to the length and degree of boldness that a private paper journal provides.

Anyone who has been journaling for a very long time knows what I am talking about. A journal is not merely a diary, a record of secrets or daily events. A journal is more than that. For some folks like myself, who take journaling seriously, it is a habit, a routine, a daily ritual, a part of their lives that is sorely missed when it comes to a sudden stop. I’ve known of people who are addicted to running a certain number of miles a day, to counting calories or to watching a certain TV show each week, or to having their first smoke of the day, and that first caffeine boost in the morning. Journaling is kind of like that for me. I had a routine each morning, and Saturdays were especially important because the time factor was lifted.

When I started blogging, the time it took to journal in my book was taken up at the computer, writing about things that are safe to share with the world, especially my known world, and the world that knows me. Many times I would make a blog entry, then delete half of it after I remembered that someone else was going to read it, when I remembered how it might affect them.

As a responsible writer, I must keep the reader in mind. I cannot be as bold here as I’d like to be without misunderstanding and critical judgment coloring everything I write. Perhaps, if I was a journalist and got paid to seek out and speak out, with a particular agenda in mind, regardless of who it offended or praised, and perhaps if I didn’t have a compass to guide me in a certain direction, I would be blatant and caustic, critical and demanding. But then, that is not me, and my thoughts often don’t carry me in that direction.

Thoughts are sacred. To write of them is a sacred act as well. When one writes of them, one has to lay them out first, as cards on the table, exposed, and regard them all, the good, the bad, and the ugly. One then tries to make sense of these thoughts, organize them, decide which ones to hold and which ones to let go, which ones to table for another writing session, and which ones demand immediate attention. The danger comes when something written is taken out of context. Such preliminary, organizational thinking can be misread or misinterpreted by another. Often the polished piece is never written. Meanwhile, the journaler has discovered the solution and implemented it in her life, which does go on, leaving some pages of the book unwritten. But the journaling itself is what led her to the answer.

I suppose the thing to do would be to write one’s disappointments, fears, sorrows, and other disturbances on paper, then burn it. That solves the problem of privacy, doesn’t it?

However, the journaler has an agenda. A person on the course of journaling is trying to solve the great mystery of life, to answer the questions of life, unravel the knots of daily interactions. Every person is on such a course, whether they realize it or not. We are all searching for answers, and the quality of the answer can only be measured by the quality of the question. We each have questions that we are asking of ourselves, whether we send them out to the universal cosmos, keep them shut inside and never reveal them, or address them to God. They are the big questions: Who am I? Why am I here? What am I supposed to do with this life that was given me? Where will all this living take me?

I don’t know many other journalers, nor do I know anyone who blogs in my circle of friends. For me, the purpose of journaling is threefold: 1) it helps organize my daily thoughts and put things into perspective; 2) it gives me a baseline from which I can measure all future things that happen in my living experience; and 3) it provides a doorway that links my conscious life with my unconscious life, that is it helps me to connect with the stories and images of dreams.

When I journal regularly, I am able to keep a focus on my purpose in this world, for I have already considered the alternative on pages of lined paper. I am able to contribute calmly when chaos breaks in, for I have already visited the darkest corners of my mind through the tip of my pen. I am able to interact with others more compassionately, for my own heart has been carefully and lovingly nursed through scripted words. Old, forgotten wounds are revealed with the scratch of a pen, yet healed with the balm of a dialogue that never took place in real time, and the only scars left behind are the ball-point pen dents felt on the back side of the page. I am not reduced to making demands of others to hear me out, for I have already been heard. 

When I am ready to do some spiritual spelunking, journaling is my preferred tool to gain inner guidance, problem solving solutions, counseling sessions, and to find interesting paths of exploration.

I wish I could blog it all out here. It would be easier, and take up less space than a collection of composition books. But it would not be practical to lay all my cards on the table at any given point for the world to see.

I prefer to journal on paper.