Yesterday, I left a meeting at work and made dinner plans to meet a friend. I found myself with an hour to spare in midtown Manhattan. I kept it simple, though. I decided to go to the restaurant, and they seated me.

As I settled in, I remembered that I brought my journal. I opened it, and I re-read some of my entries from yesterday and the day before. I was very glad to remember what had happened—things my mind had already set aside. It was a great use of time, and I felt glad I packed my journal.

Over dinner, my friend reminded me of another journal—more like a financial planning workbook—and he asked me if anything came of it. I hemmed and hawed, and told him I’d go back home and re-read the notes. When I did, I hadn’t consciously remembered much of it. I felt delighted. 

This is one thing I want to do more of—to re-read my journals, with less preciousness. Instead, I’ll just read them the same way I read books or articles. I’ll read them when I have a moment during the day, or when I’m in the bathroom, or just before bed.

There’s a lot of good stuff in there that I forgot, or that my brain hadn’t made sense of yet, or that I learned and hadn’t gotten around to writing up here or in my collection of notes. Reading it is the first step to doing that, to remembering, and to learning.