I have started many journals and abandoned all of them. This one has lasted two years, because it asks almost nothing: three lines a day, written at the kitchen table before bed.
One thing that happened. One thing someone said. One thing I want to remember. Some nights it takes a minute. Some nights it fills a page.
Reading it back is the surprise. The big events are there, of course, but it is the small ones that bring a whole day back: the smell of rain on the terrace, a joke at breakfast, a stranger's kindness.
