CHAPTER 21
Reflections in a Diary
Cliff wasn’t exactly a stranger to journaling. He had toyed with it before, though it was less of a regular habit and more of an occasional escape hatch for his darker thoughts. It was like a private venting session, where he could unload his worries onto paper, knowing full well that no one would ever read them. Writing those entries felt like scribbling letters to a ghost—comforting in the moment, but not something he kept up with consistently.
It had been years since he’d picked up the practice. But something had changed on this journey, and the idea of journaling had started to appeal to him again. It was Pure who reignited his interest. She had her own style—a bullet journal, organized and methodical, just like her. But Cliff’s emotions couldn’t really be put into bullets and checkboxes; he needed a free-flowing, let-the-words-spill kind of journal. So he decided to get back into it, setting aside time every week to write.
He found the perfect spot in his own backyard, a little slice of tranquility complete with a blue glass roof, a cozy swing, and the gentle hum of peaceful music. Surrounded by brown rocks and green trees, it was a haven where nature’s earthy tones blended seamlessly with the soothing atmosphere. This was Cliff’s sanctuary. Every Friday morning, he’d finish his yoga, make his matcha, and retreat to this serene haven to write. Sometimes, he’d switch it up and head to a quiet café, but the routine was the same: find a peaceful spot, let the thoughts flow.
At first, it was just about recounting the week—what went well, what didn’t, the highs and lows, all the little moments that stuck with him. But as he continued, the practice started to take on a life of its own. Writing became less about the events and more about the conversation he was having with himself. As he wrote down his feelings, a little voice in his head would chime in with a counterpoint, sparking a back-and-forth dialogue that he hadn’t expected.
It was like sitting down with an old friend—one who didn’t interrupt, didn’t judge, and always had time to listen. And this friend? He was surprisingly insightful. He’d push back when Cliff was being too hard on himself, laugh with him when things got absurd, and even offer solutions to problems that had been nagging at him. It was as if there was a whole other side to Cliff’s mind, just waiting to be heard.
These sessions often ended with Cliff feeling lighter, like a weight had been lifted off his shoulders. Sometimes, he’d even jot down action points—decisions he’d made during his journaling that he wanted to follow through on. And when he took his journal with him to Mystictown, it added a whole new layer to his experience there. The reflection, the self-discovery—it was like peeling back layers he didn’t even know existed.
One of the most profound revelations came as he wrote about his daughters. In the quiet of the morning, with the world still asleep, he realized just how much he cherished them, how their presence was the most precious gift he’d ever received. But he also saw how easy it was to let the mundane, everyday chores chip away at that love, how the grind of daily life could make even the most beautiful things feel routine.
And so, Cliff’s journal became more than just a record of his thoughts—it was a tool for understanding himself, a way to reconnect with the things that really mattered. It was just the beginning of a journey that would take him to places he’d never imagined…
