This feature series examines how and why people journal, because no two practices are identical. Appreciating 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.
emma marlar
My name is Emma Marlar. I run/caretake for an arts and community space in Minneapolis called RESOURCE. I used to start all intros by letting folks know I am a dancer, and although I feel complicated about that one right now, I approach most things in life from that seed. I write a little Substack called love note prompts that shares the personal, and also shares ways you can move your body to listen, learn, and be. And if I could get paid to brainstorm I would want that to be my job.
(I struggle with introducing myself and actually want to host a writing workshop where everyone’s friends write an introduction or bio for each other. If anyone wants to come, let me know!)
origins
My earliest memory of journaling is from third grade, if not earlier. I vividly recall a classic black and white composition notebook that held the hottest gossip a nine-year-old could have. It talked of crushes, friendships, and family drama. I was one of those kids that thought I was way older than I ever was as the youngest of three sisters, so the drama and emotion sounded like that of a 13-year-old, coming from the brain of a nine-year-old… I am 95% sure that it’s still in a closet at my parents’ house. I will report back on my next trip home.
evolution
My journaling practice has absolutely transformed over time. I have left it and returned again and again, and think it will be that way for the rest of time. The ebb and flow is a constant.
The latest and greatest change, though, is exploring what it means to share things publicly — things I would typically journal about in private. Playing with putting my thoughts or the hyper-personal out there.
An old version of me believed that it was too much to share, or that it would not generate any connection or interest from anyone. What I’m discovering is that, by sharing myself, it sets a tone for others to share, too. It’s felt affirming to have my natural, conversational voice translate to my writing, and I now believe more and more that my voice is something worth sharing. I feel very open to where it might lead.
process
For a long time, I was a big morning page person. If you’re familiar with Julia Cameron’s The Artist Way, this is one of the first “assignments” to incorporate into a more creative life. Write three stream of consciousness pages as close as you can to getting out of bed.
The idea of waking up in the morning and going straight to my notebook felt romantic and reflective of the type of person I wanted to be, so I stuck to it. But in recent months, I found myself rushing through, or feeling so consumed by what I needed to do in that day that the spacious time for thoughts in the morning became to-do lists or walk-throughs of what was to come instead of being with what I was thinking or how I felt. So, I said goodbye to that practice for now and let myself be more intuitive about my timing.
I try to find the pages when it feels right, or when I feel an open block of time emerge. If I can catch the wind of a thought or idea, that is when the most material flows out, and it feels better than focusing on consistency in my practice.
My favorite place for journaling right now is at the back of our space at RESOURCE when a performance or workshop is happening. I feel spoiled that I can write amongst other art being made, or in the background of communities connecting. It definitely has to do with that idea of parallel play with a healthy dose of secret world. And if not at RESOURCE, I like to write anywhere outside (when it’s warm enough).
language
I am not sure if I have a preference when it comes to terminology. I definitely don’t use “diary” these days, but I could see myself incorporating that and giggling about it. I kinda want to eye-roll at myself, but I think I’ve been calling these sorts of things “my writing practice” since starting to share about it more.
rereading
I try not to reread. It’s not that I’m inherently opposed. I just don’t feel drawn to reread most of the time. It is funny to me, though, because I refuse to throw old journals away. I feel like it’s essential to keep this archive, even if the pages are never cracked open again. Occasionally, if I can recall a very specific moment that I want to feel big nostalgia around, I will try to find that exact entry, but besides that, I leave them be.
a recent entry
In regards to the private-gone-public, I have been jamming on this writing that will ultimately lead to a list of delights. I wrote it sometime last week. It’s at that stage where I might throw it out all together, or I might be able to mold it to feel more true.
“In the late fall, my partner and I were set to have dinner with both sets of our parents. We have the in-law situation in which our parents knew each other before both of us were even born. There was never that moment of them meeting each other once we started dating or when we started dating again or when we decided we were going to get married, so everyone feels relatively comfortable. The type of comfortable you get from 30+ years of living in the same not-so-big town and running into each other at the grocery store. Or the type of comfortable you get from watching the same middle school theater performances and seeing each other after the show.”
medium & material
I’m a little all over the place, and feel like I’m in a slightly liminal space. I have entries in my notes app and drafts in my Substack, and then there’s a physical journal as well.
For years and years, I would repurchase the same paperback brown unlined Moleskine notebooks. They come in a set of three, and I’d use one notebook for my dancing work, one for my writing practice, and then a back-up for whichever one got used up first. I have stacks and stacks of them scattered in desks, on our bookshelf, and at the bottom of various purses and backpacks. Right now, I’m working through a notebook whose cover is made of old billboards. It’s thicker and heavier than my old reliable. The pages are bigger and lined. I’m not sure I would go for the same one again, but I love the space it’s offering at the moment.
I don’t think I could ever fully commit to only a digital writing practice since it sometimes feels a little disembodied to me, but I also feel like I can keep up with my thoughts a bit better there when they are rolling at full speed. I love the opportunity that handwriting gives me to slow down and consider.
utensil of choice
I’m left-handed, so I feel like I’m still searching for the perfect writing utensil. A pen that doesn’t smear and a pencil that doesn’t leave too many eraser marks behind. Similar to digital/physical journaling spaces, I feel like I am truly 50/50 on pen and pencil and use each for different purposes. When I’m in more of a manifesting, list-writing, clarity-creating mindset, I reach for a pen. I like its permanence and commitment. When I’m brainstorming or know I might search for the perfect way to say something, I go for pencil. Easy opportunities to write and rewrite again.
*
I was blushing the whole time while working on this. I admire so much of who you are and how you think, so thanks for being in conversation with me about these things.
( The feeling is mutual. Thank you, Emma <3 )
@evaberezovsky
evaberezovsky.com
evapberezovsky(at)gmail(dot)com
꩜
 | A guest post by
|