Confession No. 7: Bullet Journals are the Worst

As an aspiring writer and someone who has a lot of emotions, I like to keep a written journal. It’s more personal than this blog, with more writing that can be easily linked to my identity and anecdotes about people other than me (in short, stories that are not mine to tell).

As someone who keeps a journal, I’ve always loved the idea of keeping a bullet journal. They all look so aesthetically appealing online, neat and ordered and picture perfect.

I’ve tried many, many times to keep one and come to the conclusion that they are the actual, legitimate worst.

I would like to be the kind of person who keeps a bullet journal, with perfect lines and gorgeously dainty handwriting. The perception that someone with a notebook that perfect has their life that in check too; I would love for my desk to be meticulously ordered and to never have to jog to work because I forgot I had a shift that day.

Confession Time: I am not that person.

I am the kind of person who has hair that often looks like I’ve been dragged backwards through a bush. Sometimes I have more than one pen sticking out of my ponytail because I forget about the first one I put there. My desk is scattered with loose papers and my bookshelf is crammed with novels that are falling apart at the spines, a random assortment of Pop! Vinyl figures propped on top in no particular order (Hermione stands next to Black Widow, while Peeta hangs out with Newt Scamander on top of my Jane Austen collection). My journal is filled with chicken scratch, words crossed out and written over, pages ripped and crumpled.

My mind is chaotic and so is my life.

Years of seeing bullet journals, or even just gorgeous artsy journals photographed and placed online left me under the impression that my journals had to be the same. That if it was the way it is now (namely, a complete and utter mess in a $2 Marvel branded notebook) it wasn’t a “proper journal”. I was just a kid mucking around with it.

And it frustrates me. Because while the advent of online forums such as Tumblr or Deviantart make it simple for us to share our talents worldwide (which is certainly something to be celebrated), it also adds to the perceived pressure and competition that surrounds the sharing of art.

Art is so subjective. Anything can be art. And we shouldn’t be ashamed, or believe that we can’t post what we’ve done, simply because it’s not as pretty or not as nicely organised as the post we’ve just seen.

My writing is messy, but it’s raw and real and the ideas that are there are ones I’m proud of. My school notes are scribbled in a rush, but they have the same information as those gorgeous ones you saw online. My life is hurried and chaotic but it’s still as happy and fulfilled as someone who has everything of theirs perfectly ordered.

It’s dangerous to see one picture online and think that we know exactly how that person’s life is. It is frustrating to see so many pictures online and think our work is lesser because of it.

So if you want your art to be a “representation of life”, you have to be willing to let it be ugly. Art does not have to be beautiful – art just has to make you feel things.

Always,

Your teenaged disaster