THE ART OF JOURNALING
Outside, the air is still cold and blue from the night and the odd street cleaner and lone car glide under fading streetlights. Inside, I am writing – describing what my life would be like as a tree. This isn’t my usual morning: yesterday, for example, I was writing a letter to my ten year-old self.
Journaling has been a part of my life now for four years. Before I started, I had heard people talk about this ominous ‘journaling’, but it sounded exclusive and cryptic, and I assumed I wasn’t qualified or educated enough
