Hi. I’m Jolié. I’m going to be your writer for the next…however long it takes to fill your 200 pages. Normally it takes about a year to finish writing in journals like you. One time it took me just 6 months–I was going through a really bad breakup and I had A LOT to say. These days it could probably take less than a year too, it’s just that some of my thoughts I type out on the computer instead. But there’s still a fair amount reserved just for you. You’re the starting place, the safe place for it to all land.

There’s a couple things we should probably hash out as we begin this journey together. The first of which is a little bit of background on how I’ve worked with your ancestors before you. There’s lots of fun stories I’ve had with your great grandparents and aunts and uncles. I’ll also fill you in on a little bit of my writing style so you know what to expect as I start to jot on your pages. 

This isn’t a one-sided relationship

It’s wild to think that before you were here–nicely bleached, lined, and bound–you were free, wild, and standing tall…who knows, maybe hundreds of feet up into the sky! Maybe you were in the Amazon rainforest! Who knows what storms you’ve had to endure. You obviously survived a lot. And I'm sure it wasn’t easy all the time. But your roots held you strong and in place: you were grounded. 

It’s unmistakable that there’s still life in you. Your grounding spirit continues to help me stay grounded, too. You’re an active participant in my journey. This isn’t going to be a one-way conversation over these next 200 pages.

So I know your spirit is still in there, you’re just lying still. You’re always exactly where I left you. You don't write back, you don't cross out or underline to help me get the point. You do something much more profound: you hold space. 

I feel you, there. 

I hear when you’re telling me to turn the page and move on. I hear when you’re saying there’s more space here, let’s dive deeper. And that blank space, that moment of silence you offer after I write something I’ve never verbalized out loud or even consciously thought before. 

That’s why I’m excited that we’re beginning this new adventure together. I’m not sure exactly where we’ll end up, but I know we’ll be in it together.

The first time I met your journal family

I’m not sure if word gets around in the journal community, but I’ve been partnering with your ancestors for years. Your family holds so many pages of history for me. There’s been so much shared growth, struggle, joy, connections, and laughs, too. 

I’m so glad I found you and your family. I can’t remember exactly when we first met, but the earliest journal I have is from 2008. Man, that was a confusing time, and you held space for me when I was at my lowest. 

I was 16, inpatient at a psychiatric ward, and out of answers. We didn’t have much allowed in our rooms, but I was so glad when they gave me you. 

Once I got out, I kept you with me like you were my lifejacket. I was so lost. I’d get high or drunk whenever I possibly could. I couldn't be high unless I had you around because I knew if an idea or realization came up, I’d need to have a way to capture it. I’d need to know that I could save it for later to put all the pieces together. 

It was your lineage that held that space for me. I bet it was a scary time for you, too, not  knowing if it’d ever come out of it. I look back at those lines I wrote and I’m so grateful to have had you there with me. I feel so lucky, like I’ve escaped a black hole. 

And yet, something about reading back on those pages is funny, too. Because even in those darkest moments— I see myself. It’s still me through those pages. 

Sure, the light is a little dimmer. But by golly, it’s still me. Recognizable. Can’t be mistaken for anyone else. Instant identity. You’ve shown me that it’s been me here all along. And I'm so grateful that your family has held that truth for me to look back on after all these years. 

This won’t be a highlight reel

Anyway, sorry to start out all sappy. But I guess it’s good that we get that outta the way. I don’t use your pages as my highlight reel. You get the real stuff.

Things have gotten a lot better since then, but that’s not to say that there still aren’t rough times. Some of your ancestor journals’ pages have smeared ink because I'd be crying as I wrote. I venture that’s probably going to happen at some point with us this year, too. It’s okay. I’m not afraid of it. 

The whole point, as one of your great uncles taught me, is to go through the tough times. It’s not to avoid them. 

If I look at any of your ancestors’ pages (I keep them all; I’ll tell you more about it later), I can flip through those pages and realize that nothing that was worrying me then is still worrying me now. That lets me know that things pass. They always do. The good and the bad. The point isn’t to just exist in one frozen state. It’s to learn to ride the waves and stop trying to fight the ocean. You’ve helped me get a lot better at that, and it’s brought me so much peace.

Working your magic 

Despite how hard, overwhelming, or paralyzing things may be in the moment, when I write it down on your pages, something becomes easier about it. Not all at once, I mean, you’re a journal, not a damn magician. But even writing the same thing over and over in of itself seems to work magic in helping me get some perspective and cut through the fog of my feelings.

What can you expect that I’ll write about?

I promise to be a good steward of your sheets. I won't waste it. I won’t tear out unnecessarily. I want to use every inch of you. I’m so excited at what we’ll create together. 

Challenges/Accomplishments

As I look out over the horizon of what this new journey may hold for us, I get a feeling there'll be lots of questions, new challenges, new dilemmas, new confusions. There always are. That’s how you’ve helped me grow. I’m sure I'll have lots of questions about how to run a business, and how to make sure I stay authentic at the same time. I’m sure I'll make some mistakes, and you’ll hear about them. And I'll have some proud moments too, and you have a way of making me pause after I write those, so I don’t just brush past them without taking a moment to acknowledge and celebrate it. 

Love stories 

I have a feeling you might end up having some pages with love stories in them. I mean, I don’t know. Maybe it’ll be one of your nieces or nephews that get to hold those stories. But I feel like maybe, you’ll hear a new story about the dizziness of falling in love. The uncontrollability of it, the raging oxytocin in my body. The rush and feeling of aliveness that comes with intimacy. Maybe you’ll hear a new name get repeated across these pages. 

Who knows! 

Adventures

I’m sure there will be lots of adventures though. If it’s cool with you, I'll take you with me on my trips. I like my journals well traveled. You dad just went to Europe with me for 2 weeks. We explored 4 countries together. It was absolutely amazing, so many cool stories you’ll have to check out his pages for. 

I bet we'll have some really fun times this year. You see, the last few years, things have just been getting better and better. Not to say happy and happy and no hard times. I mean, going through the process, the ups and downs, with the overall trend being upward in a really exciting way. 

So that’s really exciting. 

I’m sure my most giddy moments will be somewhere in here. And I love how much you understand. Because sometimes it’s those amazing moments where I don't write overly much about it. It’s this sentence or two, and this quiet knowing of how it’s all going to be okay. And this silent acorn I bury in the ground for later, in the hard times, of “keep going. Remember this. It’ll get better.” I’m grateful that you hold all those secrets for me. Those buried treasures to keep me hang me over through the winter months, whenever they come.

I’m not sure yet where we’ll end up over these next several months together, but we’ll be there together.

Things to Know about My Writing Style 

Okay, now that the sappy stuff is all out of the way, there’s a couple things worth knowing about my approach to writing that might be some useful context and heads up for you. 

The perfect pen: there’s no time to waste

I use only very specific pens to write in you.

You see, you’ve got the space, and I’ve got things to say. So we need a pen that isn’t going to slow us down. We need a pen that’ll keep up with all that we’ve got going on and that can translate to you as fast as I’m thinking. And I don’t waste time with the whole “hard to get” game that pens play sometimes where sometimes they have ink and sometimes they don’t. 

This isn’t the minor leagues– they get all smart-alecky on you and they’re in the trash. I don't have the patience anymore for those. (Ask one of your great aunts about those pages that I wrote entire pages indented in “invisible ink” because the pen died right in the middle of a mad stream of consciousness that needed to be captured).

I’ve got a great lineup of pens, and I think you’ll like them, too.

I have two different handwritings: it’s still just me 

Sometimes you’ll see I write deliberately, and my handwriting comes out really nice (I know, legibility is such an honor). Other times, there’s no time— there’s something that just needs to get out to you, and I just need the letters to resemble words enough that if I read it back I can vaguely put it back together.

So no, don’t worry, it’s not two different people writing. It’s just me, in two very different states of mind. (I warned you you’d be getting all the raw stuff.)

No way to categorize the emotions: holding space for it all

I’ll be writing in mostly either black or blue pen. I tend to like the black more. One time I tried to color code my writing so I could see at a glance when black was me in a good mood and blue was when I was in a bad mood. But it got way too confusing. 

Most of the time, what I’m experiencing and writing about isn’t just one feeling. It's not black or white, it’s much more complex than that. Sometimes it’s somewhere mixed. Or sometimes it’s not even mixed at all. It’s bright white AND dark black. They don’t merge to a gray. They coexist in their own uniqueness. 

You’re typically the one that helps me find the space of being okay with that. You’re the helicopter pad, a place for me to land after a rescue-at-sea expedition where a sailor was rescued from tempest waters, and we’re not sure how she’s doing. We just need to get her on dry land to see what we’re working with.

You’re that for me. You’ve always been. The generations of you have held and carried me through the notable and also the insignificant times of my life for over a decade now. You come from a family lineage that holds space. Wide open, bright white, empty space. 

It means so much to me.

I want to do that for people, too. I want to be an open canvas, a place where they can see what colors are inside of them, maybe even for the first time. 

Writing on both sides versus taking up space

You have 100 sheets, 200 pages. Sometimes I write on both sides. Okay, most of the time I do. There’s so much that needs to be fit, even if it means scribbling in the margins in really small print. But sometimes, on special occasions, I take up space. And I say to myself, “This may only be 10 words, but this deserves a whole page unto itself. This is important. This is something I really need to remember. “

I’m not always that great at taking up space. You can see it on your pages. I write all the way to the edges and corners of the paper just trying to make myself fit. I hope I take up more space this year. Maybe you can help me with that. And if all goes well, you and I won’t even make it past June together! What would you think of that! That’d be a pretty cool story to tell the other journals once you’re retired on the shelf. 

Sometimes I need time away

Now, it’s also important that you know that sometimes I’ll take time away from writing inside you. It doesn’t mean anything is wrong between us, and it doesn’t mean I’ve forgotten about you (I could never forget you). Sometimes I just need some space for myself. 

Maybe it’s words that are better for the computer, or maybe it’s words that aren’t ready to get processed anywhere. Yet whenever I come back to catch up, no matter how long it’s been, you’re always happy to see me. 

You don’t make me pause and catch you up on everything that’s happened since that last entry 3 weeks ago. The logical flow of it all doesn't need to make sense. You let me pick up the story, right in the middle, right where I'm at right now. And I appreciate that. 

First blank pages: an opportunity to reflect

I always keep your first few pages blank. I’m not sure why. I think the idea is that at the end of the year I’ll go back and write a preface: “Here’s what you’re walking into with this journal. Here’s the sparknotes version.” I have yet to do that yet, though. Who knows, maybe you’ll be the first.

But until now, I leave a few empty, it’s like a homage. A spiritual sacrament. Or maybe it’s just tradition. Like how when you play poker, there's a burn card that gets drawn for every new card dealt for the board.

After those blank pages though, I’ll typically start by writing and catching you up on all that’s happened in the last journal. It helps to remember how far I’ve come. And then I write a vision of what I want to be in this new journal this year. All the cool learnings and growth and moments. Things I want to change or adopt. 

Now listen, I know you didn’t know exactly what case you were signing up for when you were there waiting for someone to pick you up at the store. But I promise you it’s going to be a great journey. 

The magic is getting it out, not reading it back

Also, it’s good that you know that it’s rare that I’ll actually read back on your pages after I’ve written in them. Once the whole journal is full, sure, I’ll look back. But will I regularly look back? Not likely, and not often.  The things written on your pages, their power isn’t in them being read. It’s in them existing at all. It’s in the creation– the act of creating the words and putting them on the page is the magic. Reading back on them is like reading the credits. It’s great, but the real magic happened during the actual showing.

It’s almost like creating space for people to vent. They don’t normally need advice or anything given back to them. They just need a place to get out all that’s inside of them. 

And that’s what you offer me– a place to get that stuff all out. 

You aren’t my only journal

Also, I want to let you know you’re not the only one. You are my primary journal, but I also have others… in every room of my apartment. The bathroom especially. And they are always accompanied with a pen. Because there’s always something that needs to get out. And it’s like you’re all the jars to help me catch all these wandering lightning bugs to hold light for me through the night. 

What happens when your pages are all full?

You may be wondering what’ll happen once our journey together ends– when all your pages are full. Will you be put out with the trash? 

No- I wouldn’t even think about getting rid of you. You’re precious to me, already, and we haven't even started yet.

I’ve kept each of your ancestors on my shelf. I even keep saying I’m going to scan them one of these days as another safety measure to make sure I’ll always have them. 

Every now and then, I even refer back to them. 

When your pages are full and you’re retired, I’ll pop you on the shelf, near your dad, your grandparents, your uncles. I’ll make sure you’re all reunited. And I'm sure you’ll all laugh and have a great time sharing the stories across the generations of this person that you each got to hold space for. I wish I could hear what you all would say to each other. Oh what a family reunion that’d be. 

One day I'm sure we’ll read back on our pages together and we’ll laugh at all the funny gaps and obvious trends and patterns that I wasn’t seeing at the time. I'll probably facepalm myself at how I had the answer to that one challenge all along, if I'd only turned back a few pages.

It’s alright, though. That’s all part of it. Because then that’ll be some experience I'll live through that I'll bring some wisdom into one of your great grandchildren one day. They won't even know half of what you and I had gone through together. I’ll let you tell them the stories once they’re matured enough to have their pages worn and all filled out in their own time.

The spirit of the writer lives on forever

One day I hope to do something special with the artifacts of you and your ancestors. There’s still so much beauty in them that’s even worth sharing and preserving today. I look forward to it. There’s something magical about writing that brings the writer back to life again. Even if it was me 10 years ago when I wrote it, there’s something about the spirit that’s embedded that lives on with it whenever it’s read. It’s like bringing her back to life, in a way. It’s so beautiful.

Because of you, I've been able to hang onto such a vivid memory of that young one. Not what she looked like, but how she thought, how she saw the world, what stood out to her, what kind of logic she reasoned with, what values were ingrained, and even some glimpses at how she became the person she is today. I’m so grateful for you to give me that.

Here we go!

So here we are, embarking on this journey together. I want to thank you for being here with me. You’ve been assigned to my case, and I feel like in a way it’s like I’ve been given my own secret service agent: it’s your job to keep me safe and supported, and you’ll know me more intimately than anyone. You’ll hold the keys, the secrets to myself that, at times, I won’t even know.

And I’ll trust you with all of it. You are safe for me.

I love you. Thank you. 

Let’s go make some fun stories!