Historians love diarists. It’s thanks to people who document their everyday life and times that future generations are able to understand past societies. But forget the lives of the rich and famous and their agendas for posterity – give me a real-life, warts-and-all account any day.
A diary is an opportunity to vent, ponder and make sense of your life, the people in it and the world in general.
In recent years, keeping a handwritten diary has waned in popularity thanks to the rise of internet blogging. For me, blogging lacks the personal touch that elevates a diary above and beyond other forms of writing. And while my thoughts and anxieties are of interest to me, inflicting them on the wider world would serve no purpose whatsoever.
My first diary came in 1984 when Mum and I visited family in Western Australia. I was 12 years old and had never left Tasmania. I’d acquired a blue hardback travel diary for the trip, but the idea of devoting an entire book to my own experiences and thoughts seemed bizarre. Yet within a day of departing, I was collecting bus tickets, postcards and anything I could to stick into my travel diary. For the entire month of the holiday, I didn’t let a day go by without noting down the details.
But once we were home, I put it aside. Then, years later, I chanced on my WA travel diary again when my partner and I were getting ready for a trip to Morocco, Rome and Thailand. I’d never been overseas before, so in the great tradition of 1984 I decided to keep a record of my trip.
Once again I fell in love with the process, but this time on my return home I kept up the daily discipline of writing in my diary. Over nearly two decades my diaries would morph from a basic book with simple entries to a place I kept records of, well, pretty much everything. Phone numbers, addresses, birthdays, dream recollections, lottery tickets, recipes, budgets, bills to pay, groceries needed, holiday plans, Christmas gift ideas – you name it and there’s been a page dedicated to it. These days I also cover my new diaries with photos, postcards and clippings that represent my life and obsessions at that particular point in time.
Where once a hardback book with blank pages would last me months, now I’m lucky if they complete a seven-week service. My diary has become a place where I work out problems, weighing up the pros and cons of one decision over another. I vent, I despair, I celebrate and I remember.
The record of my adult years is stored in my late father’s wardrobe in the garage. I rarely go back over my old diaries unless it’s to locate something lost over time. On the odd occasion when I have had cause to open up a diary from the previous decade, I have sometimes been shocked at my thoughts and opinions. Views I would have denied in any court of law have humbled me and demonstrated my own personal evolution and growing understanding of life.
• There are no hard and fast rules – a diary can be whatever you want and used whenever you want.
• What will you use your diary for? Appointments? A ‘to do’ list? A place to keep your most intimate thoughts?
• What type of diary best suits your needs: maybe a custom-made one with a day to a page, or a simple hardback book with blank pages?
• Think about keeping phone numbers, addresses and a list of loved ones’ birthdays in your diary.
• Find a sunny or comfortable place in your home to write in your diary.
• Writing in bed before you drift off to sleep is a good way to make sense of the day and ready yourself for the challenges of tomorrow.
• Don’t beat yourself up if you only write once a week or once a month – it’s your diary, your rules.