into the journal: a feature series
01 this will be sweet
Welcome to a fresh series that examines how and why people journal, because no two practices are identical. Much like live workshops, this endeavor appreciates the journal as a sacred inner world for uninhibited wandering and wondering.
If you have a journaling practice that you’d like to share about here, email me at evapberezovsky(at)gmail(dot)com. For this first go, enjoy reflections of my own.
eva berezovsky
origins
I’ve been journaling since age 10. I adorned my first journal’s cover with streaks of navy, magenta, and neon yellow nail polish.
current journal
I have yet to purchase the same journal twice. Right now, I’m trying (and loving) the High Quality Paper Double Ringed Ruled Notebook by MUJI. I found it at MUJI SoHo just before the store closed one night in November. It feels sturdy, matte, and smooth. It smells nutty. Its size invites me to pack it in my smallest of handbags.
utensil of choice
This MUJI pen.
evolution
My original journal was an endearingly simple place. Entries were sporadic and captured everything from day recaps to friendship or crush reflections to visions of my dream life. Most entries also featured illustrations and diagrams. In all of the journals from my child and adolescent years, I hardly logged my anxieties or anything un-fun, which is the biggest distinction between my practice then and now.
It wasn’t until college that I started to turn to my journal as a place for the un-fun. I think I used to perform a completely jolly life in my journal — I wanted to be able to read it back and feel only fondness. But eventually, I needed a place to commune with my true brain.
I still write about my days, relationships, and dreamy visions, but for the most part, my journal is where I practice awareness (and gratitude) and untangle difficult threads. I initially wrote for future-me, and now, I write for present-me.
language
I used to feel at home in the term “diary.” It sounded iconic, romantic, and cinematic to my child self. As I broke into adulthood — when my practice deepened and became more functional, more truthful — my preferred term pivoted to “journal.” I guess it has a more serious hue. An academic journal, a medical journal.
Part of me also loves thinking about my journal as a “log” or a “record,” though. Something that merely collects data, the output of my psyche. The neutrality of these terms supports a nonjudgmental mindset when writing (and rereading).
routine
I don’t have a concrete journaling routine. No set frequency, no strongly preferred time of day. I am not naturally routine-oriented, and I find that I organically reach for my journal at least a few times per week, which is enough for my liking. But if I’m traveling, feeling rough, feeling profoundly wonderful, or find myself with extra free time, I’m likely checking in with my journal multiple times per day. And I love to journal in public. Taking it around like a little companion and entering reflection in different settings. When at home, I like to journal in my bed.
I also have a separate, unlined journal that I use exclusively for travel logs, year in review reflections, and notes from workshops/talks/miscellaneous educational experiences. But this journal feels like its own world and deserves its own moment at a later date.
rereading
I do reread old entries. Sometimes they still resonate, and sometimes I cringe. The cringe bubbles when my writing sounds underdeveloped or my life outlooks feel naive in retrospect. A visceral reaction to how much I have changed. But of course I have changed, and I’d hope that I have, and I hope I continue to change, so I should cut myself more slack. With that, I think rereading old entries inspires a nice practice of compassion for past-me.
a recent entry
My most recent entry was written at a jazz bar on a Sunday night. I asked my friends Hailey and Giselle to write something (anything) on a fresh page mid-show, so the first page hosts their very miscellaneous contributions. The second page documents my own reflections from the same moment: My Sundays once felt so filled with obligation. This Sunday has felt so filled with restorative leisure. A romantic pancake breakfast, a sweet afternoon with family, and now, live music at a tiny candlelit table alongside friends who make me feel like a self-realized adult person and a joyful little girl at the same time. Not every modern-day Sunday feels this way, but I treasure those that do.
such a cool concept, wow! thank you❤️