The Journal

Technically, this part of my webpage is a blog. The platform I use treats it like one — but I call it a journal.

It took me some time to find that word. I started writing a little on Substack and thought I could also put my writings on my own webpage. There's a plugin for that, so it's easy to install. But I didn't want to call it a blog.

Blogs have been around for almost the last quarter of a century. They're well established. I've read many and regularly followed a few. There's nothing wrong with the word "blog." I just feel that what I want to write might not fit into that box. The word has come to mean a certain kind of writing, where you always know what to write when you start. It's often advice, content, and articles that provide clarity.

But I want to take another road. Another journey. I want the option to start writing without being sure where to end up, and sometimes to go somewhere I didn't expect. And I'd like the writing to show that rather than hide it.

That kind of writing already has a long tradition behind it. We call it "essays." Coming from Montaigne, who back in 1571began writing for himself and later in 1580 published his first book of essays. Over the next 20 years he had an ongoing conversation with himself until his death. The word in French (essai) means attempt, trial, or an experiment. I saw a video with Dan Koe (https://youtu.be/3rNqNvwNcrM?si=to4gsmeurdlKe2uZ) where he suggested it would be a good idea to write essays. He sees essays as one of the last forms to make sense of reality, because the modern information environment has lost the ability to think. I like that idea, and it could be a possibility to call the blog: Essays. But if I do, everything has to be an essay, and I'm not certain I can keep that promise. I want there to be room for half-baked ideas and notes that are quickly made.

Sometimes it will be loose ideas and thoughts that find a place here, and maybe one day I'll write an article. I thought about calling it field notes. Field notes from a creative journey.

Then one day I sat in my kitchen with a cup of coffee and noticed the words "journey" and "journal" share most of the same letters. I Googled it and found that the two words come from the same roots a couple of thousand years back. I also realised that the image I put up as a hero image on my frontpage — a bridge over a small river and a small boat with two people sailing on the river — shows a situation that says journey in itself.

So I decided "journal" would be a better fit than "blog," "essays," or "field notes."

The journal isn't only a place to drop ideas. It's how I'll find out what they are.

I was on a Zoom call a couple of years ago. I came in late and just listened and tried to figure out what the conversation was about when I entered the call. At the end I was asked if I had anything to contribute for that session. "I'm just listening," I said. "I'm listening into the future." And there on the spot I came up with the expression "listening into the future." I wrote it down later on a Post-it note and forgot about it for months. Then I discovered it again and started writing by hand on a piece of paper. Through these notes I began discovering what "listening into the future" could mean and become.

The journal is personal notes, but like Montaigne did with his essais, I share my notes with the world. He did with books and I with the internet. He would certainly have done that too if he had lived today.

Many modern blogs arrive with finished packages like "Here's 5 lessons," "Here's THE answer," or "Here's the magic framework." With inspiration from Montaigne, I hope to share the thought process. What happens if I follow this idea, why do we do these crazy things, what am I actually thinking and believing? And so on. I hope my readers become less a customer of receiving information and more of a companion walking alongside me in my journey. A fellow traveller.

Sometimes I might write or say something in one post and later change my thoughts. That makes me vulnerable in a culture that rewards certainty, authority, and speed. But it's actually very human, and in an age of AI that could matter more than we think.

There's a lot I don't fully know. But let's look together.