Ida Lou Polcari, my grandmother, was a force to be reckoned with. A fervent educator, she channeled her zest, ambition, and intellect into decades of enhancing the lives of students in Maryland’s Montgomery County Public Schools. Each morning began with a lengthy stroll, she frequently hosted lively evenings of bridge or poker with friends, explored the globe, and continued to consult for the school system until the day she passed away. Her vitality never waned, and she was constantly seeking new challenges.
It comes as no surprise, then, that she possessed an unwavering mental resilience that seemed ageless. While numerous factors likely contributed to her strength (genetics, lifestyle, diet, and perhaps even her unyielding attitude towards aging), I believe one of her most crucial habits was journaling.
At the age of 14, I had the extraordinary chance to travel to Germany for three weeks. Grandma was overjoyed for me, especially given her own experiences abroad, and her primary piece of advice was to keep a daily journal. She emphasized how easily moments can slip by and promised that, even with just a few sentences each day, my memories would be rejuvenated each time I revisited my writings.
As anticipated, she was correct. Certain moments have left an indelible mark on me, in part because I also recall the act of writing about them. It’s akin to jotting down notes in class. The act of writing helps retain information in the mind for longer. Moreover, journaling is not only beneficial for brain health but also comes with the delightful hobby of collecting beautiful stationery and pens, markers, and notebooks—a habit she inadvertently passed on to me.
Grandma made lasting memories with my brother, Jonathon, and me by taking us on unique, once-in-a-lifetime trips. We were free to create our own experiences, an opportunity that Jonathon and I embraced wholeheartedly.
When Grandma and I traveled to China, I was 17 and had already dismissed her advice on journaling. I had kept a journal for a couple of years but eventually lost interest. Instead, I was deeply absorbed in photographing everything, believing it to be equally valuable as journaling. So, I never questioned the practice.
Decades later, Grandma still vividly recalled every detail of our trip, while I mainly remembered the major events. During our last conversation, she recounted details I could barely remember, and I felt a profound sense of loss, knowing that some of those memories were leaving with her.
It was only during the week of her funeral that I stumbled upon a scrapbook I had made for her, and I was able to relive the trip that I had somehow lost pieces of. Grandma saved everything—literally everything—and while that could be a burden (like when you’re discarding a 10-year-old, congealed bottle of coffee liqueur), it meant she never discarded these cherished keepsakes.
As I showed the scrapbook to my husband, Cameron, I came across a photo of me and Grandma standing in front of a Buddhist pagoda in China. I enthusiastically recounted the delicious vegetarian dishes we had sampled, extolling their excellence.
On the next page, there was a photo of the meal with my whimsical handwriting next to it, declaring, “The best meal ever!”). It transported me back to that moment when Grandma and I savored every dish the kitchen prepared, reveling in the novelty. It was a stark reminder that manually cataloging thoughts and experiences is indeed as powerful as Grandma had claimed.
Over the years, Grandma has imparted numerous lessons to me, whether I was ready to listen or not. But she lived by her words, and by the time I embraced her advice, she had already demonstrated its validity from the outset.
Frankly, I’m still not adept at journaling. It feels almost absurd to keep a diary as an adult, and there are countless other activities I’d prefer to engage in. Yet, as Grandma said, even a sentence or two can make a difference. I now understand that the mere five minutes it takes to write something down could be preserving irreplaceable moments that I might never recover otherwise.
I aspire to possess even a fraction of the sharpness Grandma maintained in her later years (and I purposefully omitted her age to honor her). Trust me when I say she was right: Journaling is one of the only guaranteed methods to prevent memories from fading with time. We should all occasionally step away from our screens and journal as Grandma did. She has shown that the effort is truly worthwhile in the long run.
