The first time I tried journaling, I was an awkward 12-year-old at summer camp. Every night, our counsellors made us spend 15 minutes scribbling in notebooks before lights out.
I hated it.
While my bunkmates filled entire pages with their deepest secrets and doodles of their crushes, I eked out maybe three sentences per entry.
“Today we went canoeing. It was okay, I guess. Lunch was grilled cheese.”
Riveting stuff.
For years, that’s what I thought journaling had to be: a boring obligatory recap of your day. No wonder I never got into the habit. But recently, curiosity (and one too many self-help books) made me wonder if I’d written journaling off too quickly. What if I’d been doing it wrong all along?
Reading about all the benefits of journaling, I was eager to give it another shot. I bought a nice notebook, set aside time each morning and evening, and began dutifully answering the prompts:
Initially, this practice helped me appreciate the good in my life, like my supportive family, my health, and small joys like a delicious cup of coffee. It encouraged me to set intentions for my day, like finishing a work project or going for an evening walk. And it pushed me to find the bright spots on even difficult days.
But after a few months, my enthusiasm faded. My entries grew repetitive and superficial. I was grateful for the same things – my dog, my home, good food and the weather. My days, while full, were rarely remarkable. I’d write ambitious to-do lists in the morning and then feel discouraged when I inevitably couldn’t complete them.
Journaling began to feel like a meaningless box to check off, rather than a helpful tool for self-reflection and growth. I started to dread opening my notebook each day, knowing I’d have little new or insightful to fill the pages.
So I gave myself permission to journal differently. Now, I write only when the urge strikes me, when I’m wrestling with a decision, bursting with excitement over an opportunity, or processing something challenging.
Sometimes I write long, stream-of-consciousness entries, like when I was weighing whether to take a new job last year. I filled pages exploring my hopes and fears, the pros and cons, and what I really wanted from my career. Other times, it’s just a few lines about what happened today.
After trying different journaling styles, I’ve found the most joy in my “Highlights notebook.” It’s a simple yet powerful practice: whenever something meaningful happens, I snap a photo and/or write a short note about it on my phone. Last week, I captured a stunning sunset from my balcony, all cotton-candy pinks and oranges. It reminded me to pause and appreciate nature’s beauty. Yesterday, I jotted down a heartfelt compliment from a coworker about my creativity. Their words gave me a much-needed confidence boost.
Other recent highlights include:
These moments, big and small, make up the fabric of a life well-lived.
This highlight notebook has become an essential part of my self-care routine. On tough days, like when I’m grappling with a stressful project at work, revisiting past wins and kind words remind me of my capabilities. When I’m feeling disconnected, scrolling through photos of loved ones and treasured memories brings me back to what matters most.
Knowing that I’m on the lookout for meaningful moments also trains me to be more present and engaged in my daily life. I’m more likely to say yes to impromptu plans, to really listen in conversations, to notice the good in myself and others.
My highlights notebook isn’t about curating a perfect life or focusing only on the positive. It’s about honoring the full spectrum of my human experience and finding meaning in it all – the joyful, the difficult, the ordinary and the extraordinary. This collection of memories has become a treasured anchor. It’s a way to celebrate the magic that’s always there, even in the mundane. And that’s a gift no traditional journal has ever given me.
Journaling doesn’t have a one-size-fits-all formula. What works for someone else may not feel authentic or sustainable for you. Experiment with different styles, frequencies, and formats until you find an approach to self-reflection that feels genuinely nourishing rather than forced.
The benefits of journaling come not from the mere act of putting pen to paper, but from taking the time to thoughtfully consider yourself and your life. So whether you write daily or occasionally, keep a traditional journal or a digital archive, the important thing is making space for self-discovery in whatever way feels right to you.
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