My real diary

My real diary.

I’ve got a diary, a real diary. A square note book with a spine so that I can turn the page over 180 degrees, this enables me to write neatly and with ease – on the lined paper.

I love my real diary: it lives in my handbag and it travels with me where I go. On the lines are words. Words of things that come to mind, like a place I want to visit or a person I need to contact. Maybe some special gin I think of or a movie I should see; a café that I heard about and like to explore. And goals, I write down goals that I aim to achieve; I make a note of a word that I hear yet not recognise: things I need to google. I write it all down, within the lines with my special pen. Once in my real diary, all my thoughts are safely stored for a later date, when I open my diary to read what I wanted to remember.

During the year my diary, my real diary, becomes a kaleidoscope of words, thoughts and sentences, references and quotes I hear along the way.

The only entries my real diary doesn’t have are my appointments. My appointments go into my smartphone. I plan, arrange, invite and share my appointments on my iPhone. Once the time and day of the appointment have passed, the screen shows a grey reminder of the details before they eventually disappear.

But my real diary is an overview of spontaneous thoughts, book- and CD titles, names of people I meet, gift ideas for loved ones, anything that moves me is written down in this book: a collection of inspirations. Those entries stay in my diary so that at any given time, I can flick through the 52 and some pages.

The entries don’t get binned or deleted: each entry in my real diary is a reminder of what moved me on a particular day in a particular year. A bundle of thoughts, my thoughts that become memories, memories that over years I enjoy to read again and again.

And that is why I’ve got a real diary.

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