Can Journalling Be an Effective Planning Tool?

MY SCHEDULE THIS PAST WEEK was particularly hectic.

Somewhere between back-to-back meetings and annual performance reviews, I still had a pile of paperwork including vacation approvals and other sign-offs. I looked into my email in-box and nearly fainted. After just two vacation days, which I was now regret, there were dozens of emails that required my immediate attention.

I took a deep breath and dug in, but not to the backlog of messages. I pulled out a legal notepad and began writing. Yep. I ignored my overflowing in-boxes and borrowing a writer’s trick went right to the page, in order to get myself sorted.

Years ago, I began this practice when I was swamped, or feeling overwhelmed by a ridiculously long to-do list that never seemed to get shorter. And what I discovered is that it helped me clarify my goals, or resolve a problematic situation. Often, I found creative solutions in the notes I’d made. So, I started to use the tool regularly. These days that it helps me plan my day and occasionally, it’s put a shine on an otherwise dull mood.

At first blush, the activity seems much like journaling, which I suppose, by definition it is, but my version isn’t used to record events, or identify feelings about personal relationships, or lack thereof, but to organize your priorities for the day.

This technique has been taught in writing workshops, has been practiced by writers for years, is used in women’s jails to assist in recovery and reformation, and has been proven to assist in healing traumatic stress and improving mental health.

The technique also translates easily from creative writing primer to the workplace.

Writing non-stop for 20 minutes can clear your head and allow you to think through issues at hand. Often you will be able to identify issues or concerns about work, or your own effectiveness.

Of course, I never keep the written work–the pages end up in the office shredder because once down on paper, grievances and petty irritations dissipate leave me with sharper thoughts and a focused mind. What’s written is no longer relevant.

And it’s not the same with a keyboard. Once your fingers start typing, the logical brain kicks into gear and keeps in time with keystrokes and you can kiss your right-brain creativity goodbye.

Most writers understand the creative aspect of dragging a pen (ballpoint, gel-point, or felt tip, it doesn’t matter), across the page. It’s therapeutic. And done every day, the effect is cumulative. You’ll see results.

The secret is to keep writing for a specified time, even if you write nothing but repetitious statements about budgetary constraints. Many days my “morning pages” (as Julia Cameron calls them) have turned into a full-fledged to-do list written longhand, nevertheless by the time I’m done writing, my priorities are unmistakable.

I once explained the process to a colleague as a fast-forward version of “sleeping on it.”

If you can’t manage 20 minutes of uninterrupted writing, start with five minutes and try to fill one page. Once you see results, you’ll want to work up to three pages and regularly set time aside to do this.

Anyone passing by my office, or strolling in to start their day, presumes I am preparing for a meeting and are thereby less likely to disturb me in my concentrated state. And since I am one of those folks who regularly thinks aloud, writing my thoughts on paper is a way of working out problems without inviting conversation.

Like many professionals, I am most alert in the morning when I first arrive at the office and more reflective in the afternoon, so I use the frame of mind to my advantage.

However, the process has been useful to me at various times during the day when I need to step away from the fracas of my day and re-focus my thoughts.

Spending time with a pen and paper is a long-established practice that works for writers and it works for other professionals, too.

Comments

[Andrea McCall]

Great idea! I thought I was the only one, in this day and age, who can't think "out of the box" on a computer.