When the Journal Jumps to Life

Why do we write in a journal? What makes us put down thoughts, record events and even capture mundane observations in the written form?

Is it because the journal is a friend who always listens? Or it is because of the need to capture our lives? To record them, knowing that they are no longer at the mercy of our mind’s fickle memories?

And what makes us want to periodically flip the pages, or scroll up in the app to look at things that have happened in the past? Not to specific dates, or things, or events; but just a random flip back into time. What do we want to see there? What to we read there? Do we read for nostalgia? Better times? Hard times that were fought off successfully? A different era?

We assume that the journal will faithfully recount our words, as we had written them. Simply act as a storyteller. And it does, almost always.

But sometimes, it does things we don’t anticipate. And catches us off guard.

Sometimes, reading an old journal entry is like throwing a torch in a forest. Like the switch to a film projector. The moment we start reading the entry, it takes over. The film begins. And memories we thought were no longer with us start playing out. Emotions and events start to come alive, again and again. Small details in the entry make up the palette that the mind uses to paint-in the sight and sounds. And the smells. The state of mind back then.

It takes us there. Makes us relieve moments no photograph or video can. Makes us smile; weep; become younger; takes us back to the tent with the Milky Way shining above in all its glory. Takes us to the moment someone wiped away their happy tears. Or absorbed our sad ones on their shoulder. Takes us back to the first day of rains; the earth’s scent filling up each breath. Plays the song that was on the radio as the car snakes around the turns on the hill, through the fog. Puts us in the middle of the orchestra section as Beethoven’s 9th symphony dances around in glory.

It binds us to a snapshot of time in our lives. That makes us wonder. And often question, rethink, and reconsider.

I should have written to her; I wish I had not gone on that trip; I should have grabbed her hand and stopped her when I had the chance. I wish I had stepped up back then. I wish I had another shot at the job. I wish …

The journal entry of a few words can last a day. Can stir up thoughts and emotions for weeks. And make us wonder for years.

And then it waits. In pages or bytes.

To start again, some day.

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