If you walk into my bedroom right now, chances are you will trip on something. Actually, probably more likely, multiple "somethings". In one corner, in a messy stack shoved against my dresser, lies a couple bulging photo albums, atop several worn, dirtied, smudged, and ripped collections of sloppily penciled-in thoughts. Not four feet above it rests a tidy shelf, boasting my collection of yearbooks from the four schools I attended. Okay, pick a number between one and three hundred-sixty. Now imagine you turn that many degrees in any direction. Wherever you end up, you are looking at more scattered song lyric journals, diaries, and random (filled) notebooks than you can count. Now, most would call this hoarding, and I am sure they are probably quite correct. But as I sit and surround myself in these dusty recordings of thoughts and memories, a very wonderful and unexplainable emotion of sentiment washes over me.
Have you ever stumbled across something that you wrote back in third grade? Picture the smile that filled your face before you even finished reading the first sentence. Maybe it was a book report on your favorite childhood story. Perhaps, if you were into that sort of thing, it was an old diary. I have come to realize, no matter what is, the nostalgia that follows is a beautiful thing. Have you ever felt so inspired as you did in that instant? It is a snapshot of the person you were at that time, a person you never again will be.
As wonderful as the warm fuzziness feels, it is equally productive. Never are daydreams so important as in these moments. Were you a wide-eyed child, full of innocence and naivety, with dreams stretching taller than the sky? If you have become more critical in the years since then, take a moment to remember that feeling of believing in everyone and everything, of believing you yourself had no limits to the things achievable. Were you an unhealthy weight as a child, or bullied and depressed? If you are now physically fit, or joyous and confident, celebrate in the progress you have made since that point. Now, you ask, what if I am relatively the same? In this case, either rejoice in the fact that you have managed to stay the person for which your younger self desired, or make a list of the ways you had hoped you would change but did not. Next, write out your action plan. This sort of self-reflection is exactly why conserving your past is so significant. If you never journaled before but completed the exercise I suggested, congratulations. You just journaled! You now have something to look back on next time you decide to travel back in time.
I find dreaming on paper extremely important. Writing out your vision is the second most vital step you can make toward your goal (next to actually implementing it, of course). You need to know what your finish line looks like. Even if it is just a simple sketch of what it may look like. After all, how will you know what to run toward if you do not at least have some frame of reference? In addition to using your journaling to record your dream ahead of time, it also serves as a progress check-point, a motivation to reread and find out if you are still on the right track to fulfill that imaginative future you created for yourself in the beginning. Let us not forget, however, how amazing it feels afterwards to revel in the fact that what was one day your wildest desire, is now your beloved reality. It also serves as a faith-strengthener to see how your past struggles have each been resolved.
Journaling is not only writing out dreams for your future, though. It is a perfect way to get out whatever it may be that is currently racing around your mind. Angry? Rant, and let it all out. Passionate? Record every thought toward your cause. Caught in a moment you never want to forget? This is your best bet; include everything from the huge, obvious details, to the minute, not-even-sure-it-matters details. Trust me, you will want the picture they paint. Infatuated? There is no shame in writing out your feelings. If you get it on paper (or on your computer, or whatever the case may be), it is no longer the big, daunting thing on your mind. You do not need to act on anything, but it is there for you either way. Additionally, whichever category you fall into, no one is entitled to reading your personal thoughts (unless, of course, you give your permission).
Many of my notebooks are summaries of those dreams or those thoughts I have previously discussed. But it does not end there. There are pictures... so many pictures. They preserve the history of my life and the life of my family and world as I know it, to reminisce upon at later points in life, when what I now know may be gone. There are song lyrics. As a musician, I pour my heart into my lyrics (most of which are never shared), and love to look at my writing's progress... or how great "that one" song was, that I just never realized at the time. Or how I have grown as a person, through all of those passionate and inspired moments. There are stories, and personal research projects, and list, and the most random—yet sometimes brilliant, if I do say so myself—ideas, alongside randomness that I could never begin to describe. And I am equally grateful to still have them all.
Yes, sometimes it is messy and chaotic. Yes, sometimes my friends and family think I am crazy (and honestly, they are always right). Yes, sometimes it makes me laugh out loud, or sob into my pillow, or just stare at my ideas in utter confusion (it happens!), but I view that as part of its beauty. Because, my friend, you only get one shot at a moment before it is forever gone, but preserving the dramatic or the mundane will always be a treasure. As much as I may have complained about all of the pictures taken of me, or my parents hating my stacks and stacks of notebooks, I have to say one thing: I would never take back that permanent collection of moments, my lifetime of snapshots.
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