Why I Don’t Keep a Travel Journal

Travel, Writing

I have a confession to make, dear diary.

Despite all my years of travelling to wonderful places, I have never onceĀ managed to keep a travel journal from beginning to end. I start off with a blank book and great intentions, then the entries fizzle off within days of leaving home.

My inability to journal (both daily journaling and travel journaling) has been a lifelong struggle–I love the catharsis of spilling my feelings onto the page, but once it feels like an obligation, I quit journaling with great haste.

I’ve kept a number of very sad, very incomplete journals since I started writing. My journal as an 8-year-old had probably 4 entries in it, one of which ended with “It was a grate day”. Exciting stuff. My dad is still amazed I learned to spell.

I think that entry from my childhood pretty much sums up why I don’t journal. I’m just not good at it. I try to remember all the details of my day, get bogged down and curt, and the result ends up being as exciting as corrugated cardboard. I’d like to get better at it–I’d like to be able to describe experiences as I go and draw on them later.

Experiences like swimming in a waterfall in Costa Rica. THAT WAS AWESOME. I have a picture to prove it (but no journal entry).

costa rica waterfall swimming

Maybe it’s time I change my journaling style. It’s not necessary to write down the chronology of one’s day, or anything else specific for that matter. To me, it would be an exercise in recording the events that might someday help me with creating my own pieces and remembering the places I’ve been.

For those of you who journal, what’s your style? Is it worth putting in the effort? How does it make you feel?


Auschwitz: The Art of Remembering



I’ve been thinking about this post for a long time, ever since I got back from Poland a month ago.

How do you write about Auschwitz?

How do you write about a place imbued with so much infamy, pain, and unreality?

My visit to the Auschwitz-Birkenau concentration camp was not my first trip to tragic sites of WWII.

I have stood in the shadow of the A-Bomb dome in Hiroshima and only days later gazed upon the beautiful crystal waters of Pearl Harbor. I have ridden through Los Alamos and contemplated the path the bombs took to the place I had visited years ago.

But Auschwitz is different.

Auschwitz represents a tyranny so unbelievable, that when you find yourself standing in the gravel-covered pathways, or making your way through the echoing halls of the blocks, you cannot quite believe what happened on the very ground you stand on.

Tour groups flock to the most grisly sites on the camp: the “Wall of Death”, the camp prison, and you see the odd person taking a selfie or smiling under the front gate. But if you delve into one of the smaller museum blocks or walk to the far end of the camp near the now-defunct electric fences, you can feel the chill.


Remembering is an art.

We want to believe we remember, and that in remembering, we can prevent genocide and tragedy, and unspeakable acts of people who looked into another human being’s eyes and decided to impart more evil on the world anyway.

We want to believe we can remember enough from just the books and stories we hear.

But walking through the crematoriums, seeing the peaceful groves of trees surrounding Birkenau, where doomed victims awaited the gas chambers, actually feeling the weight of what transpired–that is a whole different kind of remembering. And the art of remembering might be our only chance.



Don’t shy away. Remember.