For my eighteenth birthday, my best friend Sonia gave me a beautiful, blue journal with a note explaining the power of bullet journaling. I was inspired, but I never used the journal because I did not feel equipped to draw or write. I was scared of trying something new; I was afraid of ruining such a beautiful journal and, frankly, I was scared of self-expression. Somebody play “scared of my guitar” by Olivia Rodrigo.
For years, I carried the journal and its blank pages with me. I displayed it on my bookshelf in my Joplin bedroom, in King (my freshman year dorm), Tom Brown (my sophomore year dorm), and UHouse (my junior year apartment). I cherished the journal, yet I never dared to draw in it, perhaps because of its value or because I was too intimidated to fill its pages. I had many overflowing thoughts, but I didn’t know how to express them tangibly.
On my twenty-first birthday — three long, challenging, coming-of-age years later — I was in a pretty horrible place physically, mentally, and spiritually. Freshly 21, going through a breakup, lost on my choice of study, lonely at college, I was very lost. I felt disconnected from myself. I felt ashamed that even my birthday felt depressing. For the Melanie Martinez “Pity Party” occasion, I started to reflect on all my past birthdays (as sad people do). I remembered my little blue journal Sonia gave me as a present and recalled how I wrote “18 Lessons for 18 Years” as my first and only entry. I decided to make this a tradition as I grabbed a pencil to jot down my “21 lessons for 21 years.”
When I opened the journal up, I came across the little note Sonia wrote. I teared up as I thought about Sonia and I’s friendship. For a moment, after reading her note, I felt less alone, and I remembered the redeeming power of love, friendship, and feeling seen. This journal was a little piece of Sonia that I could carry with me, a tangible form of the imaginative, curious, and adventurous spirit she radiates that could defy the 100s of miles between her and me.
After my sentimental moment, I dried my tears and decided that 21 was the year I would become a bullet journaler. The below pages are my journey toward that goal.