Likely it’s no surprise to you that when I think of traveling I think of all the manners with which to document the journey.

Well, I’ve been laboring over this thought for weeks… no… months and I’ve come to no firm conclusion. It’s the travel journal! A crux of sorts, no? Okay maybe it’s not… but I love a good journal. I don’t usually keep one from day to day but I always write one when I go away. There is something so beautiful about words on a page and a place to stow all that you’ve picked up from the days gallivant. I love the look of a well worn book just overflowing with silly adventures or telling a story of some cute server who you somehow managed to completely embarrass yourself in front of. They’re a place to store those little details only to be fully appreciated years later when you thought you couldn’t have lost a single tidbit only to discover that the season of life gone by was too full to be tucked in grey matter for too long. I want one that oozes of a person who walks the city in order to experience it, the French “Flaneur,” only a little less arrogant and a little more inquisitive. I’m torn between the haphazard look of bringing along a hole punch and a couple rings to tie items together or to have an orderly bound book or even still the lovely book, “I was here,” which encourages the writer to go off the beaten path and to see the unseen.

I’ve been scouring online trying to find that happy medium but the question remains… Do I make it? Do I buy it? Do I bring my hole punch and some rings and begin to gather??

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