[This is the next part of my previous take on depp journaling, which you can read here.]
Scattered thoughts on the act of journaling
— Sometimes it pisses me off how the loud people online get the meaning of journaling wrong. Hundreds of YouTube videos are made on the topic, maybe all getting the real point wrong that journaling is not merely putting your thoughts on paper. Saying so is like scratching the surface, only putting pen to paper to just vomit something there. But no, the human mind and creativity is way more exquisite than that. How dare they underestimating the multilayered human brain capable of things so great. I wish there was a new, descriptive word for the act of humanistic journaling, which has not been ruined in the collective understanding of its real meaning.
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— Exercising your writing stamina is like endurance training. The skill of translating your innermost impressions and thoughts are activities involved in the movements of putting pen to paper and drawing legible forms of meaning collectively agreed upon. It is an act of translation, bringing the invisible to the visible realm of existence. Meeting your inner being is no little business. It requires patience and a sense of introspection. It seems to be a world, where people are self-obsessed and lost in themselves, lost in the looks, and not really in the self. Neither of these are healthy if only practiced separately. It is a dynamic switch between the two. What you display and how you’re actually doing are two different conditions. Anyone can do the former, and for the latter, there is barely anyone having the courage to meet their own selves as they are, before the stage of display.
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— I am sure you have heard of the idea that you need to stay on the go to stay alive, here refering to historical times and the world of animals. To prevent getting attacked by a predator, the prey needs to move, escape, outsmart the hunter. Always on the watch, aware of the surroundings, they keep themselves dynamic, ready to jump, and leave. Sometimes I feel like my mind is exactly like that. Escaping from something not only disturbing but threatening. However, it is not a lion hiding in the shadows, but a creature of my imagination, the voices of other people. Society makes us believe that certain ideas are ‘normal’. We confuse fiction with non-fiction and believe we have facts of our lives instead of stories.
What are your stories you have been confusing with false ‘external’ facts?