There’s something I’ve come to understand about life as I’ve gotten older.
It isn’t about having more.
It’s about keeping what is sacred.
For a long time, I thought journaling was about sorting through thoughts, processing emotions, figuring out next steps. And yes, sometimes it is. But lately I’ve realized it’s something else entirely.
It’s about preserving gold.
Let me explain.
There are moments in life that don’t shout.
They don’t announce themselves as important.
They don’t sparkle in obvious ways.
They’re quiet.
A child’s laugh from the next room.
Your son teasing his sister over lunch.
Your daughter-in-law’s eyes soft with happiness.
Your partner standing a little taller because he’s finding his footing again.
Sitting in the dark listening to music with someone you love, not saying much at all.
Those are the ones.
Those are the moments that make something inside you soften.
And I’ve started to think of them as filling a cup I carry inside me.
Not a physical cup; but something spiritual. Something internal.
A chalice, maybe.
That cup is not meant for stress.
It’s not meant for fear.
It’s not meant for the chaos we pivot through in life.
It’s meant only for the sacred.
Everything else?
I filter it.
I process it.
I survive it.
I learn from it.
But I do not store it there.
Only the gold goes into the cup.
When I was younger, I didn’t know how to do that. Life felt like survival. There were years of counting pennies, stretching groceries, making do. There were seasons of love and seasons of heartbreak. There were chapters where the ground didn’t feel steady.
But what I see now and what journaling has helped me understand, is that even inside the hardest seasons, there were moments of gold.
My children’s laughter when they were little.
A quiet night where everything felt safe.
A moment of connection that felt bigger than the struggle around it.
Those are the pieces I chose to keep.
And I think that’s what changes us over time.
Not the hardships.
Not even the successes.
But the moments we consciously decide to hold.
Journaling, for me, has become the act of saying:
“This is one of the ones.”
Writing it down seals it.
It makes it real.
It allows me to relive it later.
It protects it.
Because here’s the truth; life will always have noise. There will always be bills, responsibilities, misunderstandings, deadlines, uncertainty.
But if we’re paying attention, there are also golden threads woven through the ordinary days.
The smell of rain before the sun comes out.
Laughter at a birthday lunch.
Watching someone you love step into their confidence.
Feeling at peace without needing excitement or drama.
That is harmony.
And harmony is not boring.
It is strength without tension.
It is love without fear.
It is presence without bracing for impact.
That is the season I’m in now.
Not chasing.
Not proving.
Not surviving.
Gathering.
Gathering the moments that make my spirit feel full.
And I believe that when our lives are over; however that looks, wherever we go, it is those moments that travel with us.
The rest fades.
So maybe journaling isn’t about productivity or goals or self-improvement.
Maybe it’s about choosing what becomes part of who we are.
Maybe it’s about filling our cup with the right things.
If you journal this week, I want you to try something simple.
Don’t write about what’s wrong.
Don’t write about what needs fixing.
Instead, write one sentence:
“This is one of the ones.”
And describe it.
Seal it.
Place it in your cup.
Then wait for the next one.
They are everywhere if you’re paying attention.
And that, to me, is a life well lived.