MARY GABLE

What do I write when I don’t have to? Well, I was once a serial journal deserter—every year, it seems, I would begin a fresh new journal, its crisp white pages ready to record my daily musings. I’d usually abandon the effort a week or so later, relegating it to the back of a drawer somewhere to join previous years’ attempts. My one successful journaling venture, however, was the record I kept during my semester in Madrid last year. During those months, recording my experiences was hardly a chore. On the contrary, I had so many impressions and experiences to remind my future self of that the words seemed to spill from my pen on their own. For me, there was something so unique, effortless and intrinsically pleasurable about recording my travels, something I hadn’t experienced with day-to-day journaling. Each entry was part descriptive snapshot-part laundry list of places, people, street names and corner cafés to preserve in my memory. About halfway through the semester, I bought a second journal, not because I had given up on the first but because, bit by bit, I had filled its pages. It may not seem like much, but for me it was a satisfying first.

mary