The notebook that didn't change my life, but reaffirmed who I've always been
Your new January notebook should be a mirror, not a prison
This is the time of year we buy notebooks, convinced they’ll transform our lives—turning the disorganized into paragons of productivity and the already organized into overachievers.
But — I’ve learned from many such January journal purchases — one single notebook cannot and will not change the fundamentals of who we are.
The right notebook, however, can enhance who we’ve always been.
In 2022 I bought such a notebook.
I witnessed a friend remove a gorgeous, hardcover journal from her bag, open it, and turn to a page where she had created a meticulous calendar for the month. She marked the time and date for the plans we had just made in perfect penmanship, closed the notebook, and sealed it with the elastic strap.
“Tellmewhereyougotthatnotebook” I pleaded/demanded and she directed me to a niche little boutique website called Amazon.com where every model of the Leuchtturm1917 is available.
I spent no fewer than sixty full minutes of my one precious life selecting the perfect color and size— a fire engine red in the 8.75 x 12.5-inch model that, if nothing else, would be impossible to lose. I also added a book on how to bullet journal to my cart because my friend had told me that was the method she used to stay organized.
When my notebook arrived, I marveled at its beauty. It was pristinely bound, the red cover glistened, and the bookmark was just the right length. It was so… German. It felt designed to demand order and precision. And I believed, foolishly, that I could change everything about my personality and meet that demand.
With reverence, I opened to the first crisp, dotted page and dreamed of the type of person I was about to become. A person with hospital corners on their sheets and a pantry full of acrylic organizers.
I followed the how-to bullet guide’s instructions and created a Table of Contents, a Future Log, and a Monthly Log. On the next available page, I wrote a perfect bulleted list of everything I needed to accomplish for the first week of January. I had the same type of delirious endorphin rush and unearned arrogance as someone one day into a juice cleanse. I was about to become such a better person, I knew.
But soon, like the second day of most juice cleanses, things began to fall apart. Partly because I got too bored to finish the bullet journal how-to book, and partly because in the long term that level of organization was going to work for me about as well as a diet of only lemon juice and cayenne pepper. It just wasn’t sustainable.
The Future and Monthly Logs were quickly abandoned and the to-do lists went from neat bulleted lists to nearly illegible scribbles. The notebook became a dumping ground for every random thought that passed through my brain.
And for a while, I felt ashamed. Ashamed that I was probably an embarrassment to the author of the bullet journal guide, my organized friend, and worst of all, the German engineers at Leuchtturm whose perfect product I was abusing. Using their beautiful creation for my disorganization felt like like driving a brand-new BMW in a demolition derby.
But then I realized it didn’t matter what I did with the notebook because it was mine. That I paid for. And I could and should use it however worked best for me.
There’s a scene in “Pride and Prejudice” (the superior BBC miniseries version, not the Keira Knightley version I SAID WHAT I SAID) that I think about any time I start to feel bad because the ways in which I do things differ from prescriptive advice. Lizzie finds Maria hurriedly trying to repack her trunk in the exact method the staunch Lady Catherine De Burgh instructed. Lizzie calms the frantic Maria by saying, “Maria this is your trunk, these are your gowns, you may arrange them in any way you wish. Lady Catherine will never know.”
And so it was with my beloved notebook. It was mine, I may do with it what I wish, and neither my enviably organized friend, the bullet journal guide author, nor the Germans would ever know.
My notebook was never meant to be a prison. Only a mirror, no matter how disorganized the reflection.
So for the last three years, I’ve been using the method that works for me, which is to say, no method at all.
Grocery lists, thoughts on spirituality, and notes from interviews all share a page, sometimes marked with a date, sometimes not. New Year's resolutions are written next to lists of bills to pay. Multiple sections are just my children’s drawings.
My notebook reads like the writings of a madman. And if, heaven forbid our house were to catch flame, it would be the one item I would run in to save because it is the most accurate possible record of my last three years. Times for piano lessons scrawled in the corner of pages and menus for a week’s worth of dinners listed next to drawings of my dream garden tells the story of our family. It’s chaotic, but so is our life.
I’m on page 209 of 235. And when the notebook is complete I’ll immediately be ordering another Leuchtturm. Maybe in the medium size this time so it’s a little easier to carry around. And I’ll have absolutely no expectations that my notebook will change who I am. Just that it will let me keep track of who I’ve always been.
Where else on the World Wide Web you can find us
You can listen to Meg on Hive Mind and Strangerville, and read her weekly column at Deseret News.
Rebbie is a monthly guest columnist for the Salt Lake Tribune, and she overanalyzes representation of her religion on her Instagram and podcast Mormons In Media.
So good
I feel this one in my bones