My Favorite Bullet Journal Page Isn’t a Tracker

Why I keep a wishlist in every journal—and why it has nothing to do with shopping.

Holidays in my childhood home were magic. My mom, a former first grade teacher, would decorate our doors with old bulletin board cutouts—think vintage Santas and glittered elves, hand-drawn on manila cardstock and covered in gorgeous glass glitter.

I remember sitting with my brother, poring over the Sears Christmas Wish Book, carefully marking pages and making lists for Santa. At Christmas, it felt like every wish was possible—until it wasn’t.

When I was seven, I had my heart set on a “big” present: a portable karaoke machine. I was beyond excited—until I showed my mom the list.

“You don’t really want a karaoke machine,” she said.
I stared at her, confused. “Yes, I do. It’s number one,” I said, pointing.
She laughed. “Why would you want that? You don’t even sing.”

My insides deflated. I tried to explain: I did sing. In my room. In the shower. I wanted it for putting on shows for Grandma and Grandpa. It would be fun.

But the back-and-forth continued. Me, growing more desperate and confused. Her, gently trying to talk me out of it.

Looking back, I realize her response probably came from fear. A karaoke machine was expensive. If my parents bought that—if they could pull it off—it likely meant no new clothes or stocking stuffers that year. She may have thought I’d be disappointed in the end.

Needless to say, Christmas morning, there was no karaoke machine under the tree.

What I learned that year: I don’t know what I really want.

It’s a lesson that stuck—and one that undermined my intuition throughout adolescence. It took me years to unlearn it.

One way I’ve started rebuilding that trust in myself is by making wishlists as an adult. Every one of my journals includes one, writtien on the pages at the front. I jot down anything that sparks joy: a tiny Illy espresso cup. That dress from Anthropologie. A roll of pink and gold washi tape.

Some things are extravagant. Some are small and silly. And honestly, it doesn’t matter if I ever get any of them.

What matters is what they point me toward.
What is the feeling I’m chasing in that item?
Do I want it enough to buy it for myself?
Or was it just a glimmer of light on a day when I needed to think about something beautiful?

It doesn’t matter.

The wishlist has become one of the most grounding, joyful parts of my journaling routine.

Here are a few wishlist-worthy finds from around the internet—little things that spark joy or help me reconnect with what I really want.

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