Always Date Your Journal Entries
Issue #34 · Some self-reflection on a mini-milestone birthday.
June 20, 2024: Today I’m writing in stealth mode. I won’t be pushing this piece through email or Substack like normal, and instead will just sneak it in the Extracurricular Pursuits side door. I like the low stakes of it — it’s way less pressure to hit ‘publish’ knowing that I won’t be hogging space in your precious inbox or alerting the masses with a bright orange Substack notification.
Stealth mode means that I can write off the cuff and get a bit more personal, without worrying if my words skew too much towards intimate introspection rather than insightful, sharable ideas. In fact, this piece specifically feels like a few pages torn straight out of my journal, so it feels right that only those who stumble across this post deserve to read it.
Anyway, today I turn 35. Thirty-five, wheeeew. I’ll be honest: this one hit me hard. I suppose I shouldn’t be too surprised, given that it’s a pesky half-decade-marking birthday, and for the first time, I can see 40 looming on the horizon. Plus, twice a year like clockwork, I have a nasty habit of spiraling into Existential Crisis Mode (okay, definitely more often than twice a year, but around both New Year’s Eve and my birthday is always when it hits the hardest).
For those lucky enough to have never experienced it, Existential Crisis Mode essentially entails dwelling on what you’ve yet to accomplish, repeatedly asking “what am I doing with my life?”, making rash decisions, setting unattainable goals, overthinking plans, and (unsuccessfully) trying to puppeteer exactly how you want your life to unfold — all while wearing a blindfold.
Fortunately, I’ve discovered the antidote to Existential Crisis Mode is a healthy dose of caffeine-fueled journaling — in fact, just this month I’ve already filled up half of an old-school marble composition notebook. This morning was no different, except for two minor things: (1) in addition to my latte, I treated myself to a birthday cinnamon roll the size of a gorilla and (2) after just three paragraphs, my pen suddenly decided to take a trip to the big office supply store in the sky. Left inkless, yet resigned to stay and finish the monstrous delicacy in front of me, I resorted to flipping back through some old entries and stumbled upon a dateless five-pager (a lengthy entry even by my standards).
It was a highly specific list of ambitious goals, grand plans and lofty aspirations — lord, I must have been going through it that day. Halfway through reading, I realized that this chaotic entry was from June 20, 2023 — that birthday-induced panic never misses. Now, for most people, I think the dread of getting older mostly stems from not being where you thought you’d be [and/or] want to be at that point in your life — at least that’s been true for me, some birthdays of course worse than others. Had you asked me 20, 10 or even just 5 years ago, I never would have imagined that today I’d be living in Spain, self-employed, single, without children, and unsure if I’d ever return to my old life back in the U.S. — none of the above. So while this is certainly not where I ever “expected to be” at 35, in reality, life goals are an unpredictable moving target, and as mentioned, attempting to manually manufacture the future usually proves futile.
We judge success in dollars, degrees, popularity and power, yet we seem to overlook one crucial element: happiness. As 34 fades into the rear-view, re-reading this specific journal entry made me realize that, clear documentation of missed milestones and incomplete goals aside, I’ve had an absolutely fantastic year, and I’m so much happier than I was just 366 days ago. Suddenly, the sting of turning another year older doesn’t seem so bad.
Journaling is cathartic, and it can really help put things in perspective on days when you’re feeling blue — if it’s not something that you already incorporate into your morning routine, I can’t recommend it enough. And after this accidental trip down my mind’s memory lane, I’d also recommend that not only should you always date your journal entries, but sometimes, you should go back and reread them, too.
Recommended related posts:
Embracing the Blank Canvas — Another time capsule and (weak) attempt at trying to puppeteer exactly how I’d like life to unfold.
Choosing Your Own Life Adventure — On trusting your instincts and not looking back.
PS: I’d love to hear what you thought about this issue. Email me directly at hello@emilyannhill.com and I pinky promise I’ll reply back.