The Journal I Don't Write (But Maybe Someday)
Let me tell you a little secret: I am a world-class, gold-medal-level journaling procrastinator. I want to write a journal. I even tell other people they should write a journal. But me? I just… don’t.
It’s a classic case of “do as I say, not as I do.” And I’m not proud of it.
I’m trying to do better because I see the benefit of journaling for Fox Park Strain Sourdough
I Believe! Yes, I Believe
Still, I believe in journaling. I see its value. I know its power—because I’ve seen it work, just not in the candlelit, tearstained pages sort of way. I’ve used activity tracking and documentation in my work, and I can tell you this: when it comes to research, debate, or defending your position, the one with the paper trail wins.
That kind of journaling—the practical, boots-on-the-ground kind—makes sense to me. Not an emotional exploration of my inner child, but a documentation of what I did, how I did it, and when. Not because I’m searching for well-being (though that’s fine too), but because I want the receipts. The evidence.
A friend recently posted about her mother’s journal—just a simple daily calendar from the 1950s. Her mom noted things like shampooing hair, visiting neighbors, working in the garden, buying clothes for the kids. My first reaction was, “Oh, how sweet!” My second? “Who does that—who thinks their day is that important?”
Then I caught myself. Ouch. Why don’t I think my day is important enough to write down?
Documentation Wins — Not a Loser Idea
That humble calendar was more than nostalgia. It was documentation. When did little Sue get a new dress? When did Aunt Mabel stop by? When was the last time the beans were blanched and frozen? That woman wasn’t just journaling. She was tracking. And that kind of record becomes gold later—for family, for memory, for managing the garden, even for planning next season’s wardrobe.
So here I am, rethinking journaling. Maybe I can do this.
Journals — Planners — JUST DO IT!!
Of course, the conversation quickly rolls into planners. I’ve bought more expensive planners than I care to admit—fancy ones, beautiful ones, goal-setting masterpieces. Know what they all have in common? Dust. I’m a pantser at heart—I fly by the seat of my pants. Every plan I make gets scrambled by real life, so I stopped pretending I was going to live in those perfect planner pages.
But what if journaling isn’t about planning forward? What if it’s about looking back—marking the path I did take, not the one I thought I might? Maybe I’ll never be a disciplined planner, but if I journal, even loosely, I’ll have a trail of breadcrumbs. I might not know where I’m going, but I’ll know where I’ve been.
Both planning and journaling are valuable. We don’t always have to do both, but choosing even one gives us something solid to hold onto. (Or maybe we don’t have to—maybe we get to.)
Don’t We All Like a Little Irony?!
Here’s where it gets ironic: I design journals and planners. Beautiful ones. Practical ones. The kind I wish I used more. I’ve got a printable sourdough journal that’s short, sweet, and ready to roll—a tidy digital file you can print at home or take to a print shop. It includes space to track activity, baking results, and even photos. I also created a simpler guide for the spiral notebook crowd, with categories you can use your own way. I believe in these tools. I believe they help people.
So now, I’m turning the tables on myself. If I want other people to journal their sourdough stories, I ought to do it too. I’m starting with the guide and a spiral notebook. I even treated myself to a box of colored pencils, highlighters, and those cheerful little sticky flags. I’m flagging off two or three pages per category. When they fill up, I’ll flag off more. Or maybe I’ll do two months per section and then start again. I’m still figuring it out—but I’m moving.
A bit of revelation. I find that when I come to the end of my day, being able to note the things I accomplish is VERY validating. I exist for something.
Maybe that’s the whole point. Not perfection. Not Pinterest-worthy spreads. Just a record of the life I’m actually living. Whether it’s baking bread, shampooing hair, or seeing who dropped by for coffee.
One colored flag at a time.