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Purchased in a tiny bookstore in Brooklyn, this book may have never found it’s way into my life. We took a bus to New York City on a whim just before Christmas of 2014, fulfilling a long-time dream to see the Rockefeller Christmas tree. Turns out everyone else wants to see that tree. And it rained. A lot. But at least I walked away with One Line a Day, this little turquoise book that’s lived on my nightstand for the past five years.
My life on January 1, 2015 looked starkly different. We were young professionals in a bustling city. Now, I’m a SAHM living in a Midwestern suburb with two kids.
It’s captured the big moments: the birth of two babies, the death of grandparents, a move across the country, and new jobs.
But my favorite part is the mundane. The every day. The parts of our life that are routine and easily forgotton.
“How we spend our days is, of course, how we spend our lives.”
Annie Dillard
And how we spend our lives is captured in this journal. Entries after the birth of my first child read like they’re memos scratched onto a prison wall: “The days blend together, but they tell me it’s Thursday.”
Other days have stark differences, encapsulating on a single page how drastically and quickly our lives have changed. One particular January day in 2015, I spent the day at WeWork for a team meeting, had dinner out in Barrack’s Row, and spent the evening at a learning session at church, then back to a bar to watch a Buckeyes National Championship game. Five years later on the same day, we were snowed in with two kids. We built a snowman outside, made homemade donuts, and I labeled it a “banner day!”
Every day, I read back up through the past years’ entries for that day. Weird patterns emerge. I apparently always make chili in early January. Blueberry muffins cropped up in mid-February year after year. Someone seems to get a cold about the same time every October.
Even my handwriting tells a story. Entries are recorded in neat, crisp writing on days that went smoothly. And on occasion, a few entries are starkly different: large, sloppy writing that falls outside the lines tell of a late night of wine-fueled karaoke at a conference, or were scrawled in the dark when room-sharing with a sleeping baby.
This book has been slowly cultivated into one of the most treasured things I own. Long-form journaling is intimidating for me — especially if I’m inconsistent. Without a prompt, or much time, that habit has fallen back.
But a book and pen at my bedside table, formed into a habit as part of my nighttime routine, is doable. If I forget a day, it’s easy to forgive myself and fill in at least one detail worth noting whenever I remember.
And today is my last entry. I will complete this tome of life at the end of the decade, and on January 1, 2020 I’ll crack open a fresh book and start over. Nothing fantastic, no truly new beginnings — just another day of this run-of-the-mill life. But it’s worth remembering, with one line a day.
You can find the “One Line a Day” book on Amazon. I will receive a small commission from your purchase, which helps keep this website running. Or you could find that book store in Brooklyn, which wouldn’t help me out, but would support a local small business. Either way, cheers to preserving memories!
