On my more jaded days, I think writing thoughts in a journal is the equivalent of hiding money in a mattress. It's an inefficient and outdated practice, right? I mean, why would you go to the trouble of opening a notebook and writing about what's happening in your life when it's so much easier to pull our your phone and post something on Facebook or Instagram? Why would you squirrel away money in a mattress when you could secure your savings in a bank?
I'm not making a very good argument for keeping a journal, especially considering the trouble one can get into from storing cash in a pillow-top (see story about the woman in Tel Aviv who lost $1M this way). My money lives in the bank, but my dearest, deepest thoughts live in journals.
In an age when there's no such thing as privacy and your activity on the internet is subject to canvas fingerprinting, you ought to think twice before you emote about your latest conundrum or expound upon an idea. I'd personally like to make a cleaner line between my content that lives online and my content that develops in my journal.
Trouble is, lines are so blurry these days. Even this site demands close attention to how much is disclosed in images posted and ideas expressed.
I've been hearing this lament from a lot brilliant thinkers lately: that no one takes the time to process what they learn anymore. No one asks themselves what they think and why; people simply acquire new information and regurgitate it later. What I'd like to see is less information absorption through glowing screens and more contemplative processing through a busy hand writing in a journal.
Breaking from the screen and turning to paper is a refreshing and always welcome exercise that feels far more cathartic and rejuvenating than typing on a keyboard (she says as she types on a keyboard). Don't worry, I have the handwritten pages to prove my point, even if I don't share what I've written.