I’m Asking You to Journal, Especially If Your Life Feels Boring

I didn’t. Now I regret it.

Image of Author

For years, I refused to journal because I believed my life was too boring.

I didn’t want to be confronted with the dull picture of my everyday existence. Wake up, have breakfast, go to work, commute back, cook and eat dinner, watch TV, sleep. Repeat.

Journaling was for people with more interesting lives. Entrepreneurs changing the world, globe-trotting nomads, and artists creating beauty every day. I wasn’t one of those people.

Then, I quit my job and became one of these people — travelling and having new adventures every day. But I still couldn’t journal. Journaling about my day felt like a task of epic proportions, more akin to doing taxes than a restorative hobby.

That’s when I realised that I had been wrong all this time.

I thought having an interesting life was a prerequisite for journaling. It isn’t. Even when mine finally became exciting, journaling still felt like a chore.

Just over five years ago, I stepped away from a ten-year legal career. That’s probably a story for another day, but recently I’ve been thinking a lot about my days as a lawyer.

There’s a memory that keeps coming back. The first time I stood in a courtroom. A 22-year-old woman arguing her client’s case in a court full of men — seasoned lawyers with decades of experience in the courtroom. How did she do it? What was she feeling? What did she tell herself in that moment so her voice didn’t waver when she spoke?

I can’t remember.

The memory feels fuzzy. Like a photo that has faded with time.

Image of my cohort of lawyers being admitted to the Bar. I’m peeking out from the back row.

I wish I had written about these moments. At the time, I took them as part of everyday life. Something not worth writing about. I probably will never step into a courtroom again. That stage of my life has passed. That version of me has gone with it.

I don’t want to lose any more versions of myself. That’s why I journal. To preserve, and see, all versions of myself as I continue to change.

Don’t be like me

I let years go by without writing anything. Without noticing the little things that were, in hindsight, the big things. I didn’t write, because I felt my life was too mundane. Too boring.

I was wrong.

I was trying to write a chronological summary of my days. In doing so, I had zoomed out too far.

When you look at life from a distance, the days all tend to look the same. It’s like looking at a forest from a drone thousands of meters in the sky — all you see are treetops that mesh into each other to form a green floor beneath you. But zoom in close enough and you’ll see each tree is different. There is a whole world unfolding in every second. You just need to look closely, and pay attention to the beauty right there in front of you.

Image by Author

If you don’t know what to write, start here

Living abroad for four months helped me to zoom in on everyday things that I had been dismissing as ‘ordinary’. Thankfully, this new perspective survived the transition back to Melbourne and I have since expanded journaling to include all sorts of writing — from quotes to doodles.

But you don’t need to move to a new country to begin journaling.

Here are the things I wrote about, both during my time overseas and back home. I’ve only included things that I’ve tried myself, and which feel reflective and nurturing.

Moments from your life:

You don’t need to journal about everything that happened during your day. Just write about one moment. Something you heard in the staff kitchen today, a delicious cup of coffee you had, or the episode you watched from your favourite TV show. Zoom in — how did you feel in that moment, what were you thinking about, what did you notice?

Image by Author — some moments of my life captured on the page.

What you’re reading, watching, learning:

Quotes — from books, films, and from your life. That thing your sister said to you this morning that cracked you up, or what you heard a colleague say at work that really stuck.

Notes. I am currently reading books on Buddhism, mental health, and burnout. I write notes so I can internalise what I’m learning, and refer back to when I need a refresher.

Image by Author — notes on Buddhism and burnout.

Your thoughts, reflections, and worries:

Those little, niggly thoughts that keep going around and around in your head as you’re trying to sleep? Write them down. Once they’re down on paper, they can safely exit from your head.

Intense, confused thoughts that I can’t yet make sense of. My journal is where I try to untangle them. I use writing as a way to ease my anxiety about things. It’s a practice I picked up during my stressful days in law and have continued ever since.

Things you are creating:

Anything you’ve created with your hands. I love all things food — cooking, eating, and creating food where every bite feels like a festival of flavour. So I record the recipes I make, and each comes with a story.

I also like to doodle. Not epic drawings, just tiny doodles. They’re not very good, but I am learning not to judge myself.

Image by Author

Ideas, goals, to-dos:

My husband and I recently quit our jobs to work on what we are passionate about. I write down ideas for our business, right next to ideas about my personal life — like my ongoing project to get fitter.

Sometimes, I even write whole drafts for my Medium articles in my journal.

Image by Author — my attempts to get fit!

By writing these things down, you build a mosaic of your life, page by page. More importantly, they build a fuller picture of you — all of you, who you were 10 years ago, who you are, and who you are becoming.

After more than 300 pages of journaling, I can finally see that my life is not boring. It never was.

It was always full of small moments unfolding in front of me. Moments I dismissed as ordinary, everyday life, not realising that they defined a season of my life that would never return.

I’m paying attention to them now.

I won’t lose any more versions of myself. And I hope you won’t either.

Image of Author — the day I joined the Bar.