A month after purchasing my gratitude journal, I marched into the kitchen and threw it in the trashcan. Writing in it everyday felt like a silly addition to my already overwhelming to-do list. Besides, I had keeping a “normal” journal for years. Why add another?
My friend and mentor urged me to give it another shot. He said that writing down a few things to be thankful for was different from free writing. For the next month, I found myself ending each day by staring a blank page, wracking my brain for five things to write down. Sadly, after collecting more dust than words, that journal suffered the same fat as the first. Years would pass before “daily gratefulness” became a regular practice for me.
The value of gratitude journal didn’t resonate with me, but I did continue to write in an ordinary notebook. Jotting down thoughts and ideas was part of y daily ritual. It was a therapeutic for me to decompress, a safe place where I could contemplate the day’s events and let my dreams, fears, and failures spill onto the page.
Long with journaling, consuming motivational material was a constant in my life. I bought dozens of personal-development books and listened to countless podcasts. The overall message from each author was the same: Set ambitious goals, Make a plan. Envision what life will be like once the goal is realized. Work your tail off.
I set goals, created vision boards, planned and worked tirelessly. But my marathon-sized ambitions never seemed to manifest. The more I focused on the finish line, the more my inner critic told me it would be impossible to cross it. So I’d give up. Then I’d read a new book, set more goals and start again.
My health goals were accompanied by diet and exercise, and I imagined myself a lean size 6. But when I looked in the mirror or stepped on the scale, I was discouraged. I pictured myself preparing meals in my newly remodeled kitchen, but doubted I’d ever have enough money to make it happen. I visualized authoring a book and seeing it on library shelves. But every time a manuscript was rejected I told myself writing was a waste of time. The coveted finish line had inched so far away that it was barely visible.
The read-practice-believe routine was exhausting and began to chip away at my self-confidence. Something was missing. What was I doing wrong? Recently, while organizing a cabinet, the answer came to me.
I came across the collection of journals I’d accumulated over the years. On a whim, I decided to flip through them. As I read, I realized these tattered notebooks were a roadmap of my past — a detailed narrative of my journey. Miles of blue ink flowed into hundreds of entries where I confessed my fears and captured fresh ideas. I wrote about new experiences and chronicles the events of everyday life. Each page-turn led me closer to the person I am today.
The more I read, the more I realized I was witnessing a transformation. Somewhere in those pages, I found the courage to pursue my dreams. I learned lessons, developed new skills and survived heartbreaks with renewed strength. These daily scribbles were proof that I had been making progress all along, but had been so focused on the future I was unable to live in the moment. I hadn’t been celebrating the little wins because I didn’t recognize them.
My decision to dip into a stack of old journals taught me more than any self-help book ever has. Looking ahead to see how far I have to go can make the finish line seem unreachable. But enjoying the process and looking back to see how far I’ve come makes every small success feel more like a victory.
I still can’t get into a pair of size 6 jeans, but I’m stronger, happier and fitter now than I’ve ever been. The old kitchen underwent a complete makeover. However, the new windows, fresh paint, updated appliances and modern flooring all came at different stages — over the course of six years. All my book isn’t published yet, I’ve discovered a love for the craft. And allowing myself to get lost in the practice of creating something new everyday has given me a restored sense of purpose. Taking time to celebrate when m byline appears in a publication boosts my confidence and empowers me to keep writing.
The gratitude journal found its way back into my life. This simple ritual that failed me in the past finally makes sense. But I prefer to call it a “GLADITUDE JOURNAL.” At day’s end, where I reflect on what went right and acknowledge the little wins. It reminds me to give myself credit and slow down long enough to honor the process and recognize the progress. And if I see or experience something that makes me smile, I write that down, too.
Whether it’s an essay on its way to an editor or a long walk with my dog, I’m learning nothing is too small to be celebrated. I still believe I can have it all, but I’m wise enough now to know I can’t have it all at once.
