Journaling: The Most Rigorous Exercise You’re Unlikely to Try
Journaling can become the most rigorous form of exercise you subject yourself to.
PillarKeep a log, not a ledger.
Jim Rohn put it plainly: “Make sure your actions are the product of your own conclusions.” It sounds simple. But in an age when information on any subject is available in such abundance, thinking for ourselves can become an afterthought. It’s easier to borrow a conclusion than to reach one.
The place I reach mine is the journal. Journaling can become the most rigorous form of exercise you’ll ever subject yourself to. No matter where an idea comes from, the journal can become the mind’s dojo. Wrestle with the idea. Try to rip it apart. See how it responds. Every incoming idea must first prove itself on the proverbial mat.
What journaling gives me
Journaling engages the best parts of the mind. It’s an exercise I look forward to every day, and the trophy it brings is clarity. I’m drawn less to what I find than to the process of how it all comes together. It’s a puzzle we’re always attempting to construct. There’s a fascinating tension between ideas that hints at some undiscovered realization asking for our attention. The wheels start spinning, and my mind is off to another race.
The journal becomes an extension of my thinking, a platform to test the integrity of any subject. There’s a cathartic moment as the pen slowly approaches the paper. In that moment a kind of mental combustion takes place. I can see a newly received idea fully, and now I have to bring every resource I have to articulate it.
The tools of the trade
Being left-handed comes with its own restrictions. In school, left-handers adjust to a right-handed world, and pens and notebooks are built to that standard. There was never any elbow support for us, so we use our wrists instead, which leaves us prone to smearing ink across the page. Writing left to right hides the words we’ve just written, so we crook our hand to see them.
Pentel’s ink dries almost magically fast. Paperchase’s Flexi journals are soft against the inside of my palm as I write. I’ve used both, ritualistically, since 2005. I’ll admit I’m obsessed, to the point that I can’t write in my journal with any other brand of ink.
The atom smasher
Together, the pen and the journal act as an intellectual atom smasher. If you stay still and fully present as ideas collide, the shrapnel sends off fragments of deep, abiding truth.
There’s always a little momentum when I start. Some ideas have been chewed on long enough to earn a place on the page. The journal is where I record the observation before any correlation or interpretation happens. Starting with conclusions limits our capacity for new revelations to shine through. In those open moments, the universe opens wide to ideas in new and profound ways.
None of it can be forced. Forcing it is like driving with the emergency brake on. A relaxed state works best for me, and an environment of curiosity and inquiry sets the stage.
When it flows
Sometimes it flows effortlessly, and those moments are sublime. Other times it flows because the momentum of other accomplishments spills over. Many ideas arrive fully packaged, waiting only to be translated. They carve my worldview into a more refined version of itself.
Being present to an idea’s authentic integrity creates insights and implications which are filled with more ideas to explore.
A great idea gives you pause and invites a moment of reflection. By their nature, ideas should inspire more questions than conclusions.
Try it
- Relax first. Pressure is the emergency brake.
- Record before you interpret. Write down what you notice before deciding what it means.
- Put the idea on the mat. Argue with it until it proves itself, or doesn’t.
- Follow the questions. If an entry ends with new questions, it worked.
New revelations show us more mystery and more uncharted paths. That’s the point of the exercise.