Spoiler: I once calculated my own happiness with an eigenvector calculator
If you'd told me in 2022 that I'd end up recommending a plain paper notebook for mental health, I'd have laughed in your face. I was a data guy. I had a spreadsheet for everything: my sleep, my calorie intake, even my daily reading speed. When I decided to "optimize my mental health," my first instinct was to measure it. So I did.
I found a grade average calculator online and treated my weekly mood scores like report cards. Then, because ordinary averages felt too simple, I leveled up to an eigenvector calculator to identify the "principal components" of my daily emotions. This is not a joke. I'd rate four feelings each evening—anxiety, energy, satisfaction, irritability—then run the numbers. The output was a chart that supposedly told me which mental dimensions explained the most variance in my mood. It was nonsense, but it felt scientific.
For three weeks, my "journal" looked like a math exam. I spent 40 minutes every night entering data, graphing trends, and writing meta-commentary about the graphs. The result? I felt worse. I was spending so much time analyzing my emotions that I had no time left to actually experience them. And the worst part—I knew I was doing it, but I couldn't stop.
The night the numbers finally failed me
One night in late August, I nearly fell asleep at my desk trying to finish the daily entry. I had a choice: push through the routine or admit that it was broken. With a half-conscious sigh, I grabbed the top notebook from my drawer—a Rhodia rhodiarama softcover notebook that I'd used for math notes the previous semester—and began to write whatever came into my head.
No scales. No vectors. Just messy, unfiltered sentences.
That was the moment everything changed. Five minutes into writing, I realized I was actually saying things that my data would never have captured. Things like "I'm tired of pretending to be okay" and "I miss working outdoors." These weren't numbers on a slider. They were real.
Rebuilding my practice with Rhodia (and a fountain pen)
After that night, I decided to stop using calculators for emotional tracking. Instead, I went all-in on analog journaling. I purchased a Rhodia webnotebook to complement my rhodiarama, and I switched from a ballpoint to a fountain pen (a Lamy Safari) because—as many fountain pen users know—it forces you to write a bit slower and more deliberately. It also glides beautifully on Rhodia's Clairefontaine paper.
Here's my fountain pen mini-review of the two models:
- Rhodiarama softcover: The cover collapses completely, so you can hold it like a pad while standing or write in bed. The paper is 80gsm, but it handles my wet TWSBI nib without feathering. It's great for journaling on the go.
- Webnotebook: This one has a hardcover, an elastic closure, and a slightly thicker feel (90gsm). It lies flat when open, which is perfect for long writing sessions at a desk. The fountain pen experience is superb; I've never seen bleed-through unless I really saturate the page with ink.
If you're torn between the two, my take: buy the rhodiarama for portability, and the webnotebook for home. Both are excellent, but they serve different moods.
What surprised me the most was the time efficiency. My old digital routine took 40 minutes. My handwritten entry now takes about 10 minutes. In other words, I'm writing more in less time, and I'm not setting up spreadsheets. That's the kind of efficiency I can get behind.
One practical detail for anyone who sends handwritten letters: the A5 size of both notebooks fits neatly in a standard USPS large envelope. According to usps.com, as of January 2025, a large envelope (up to 12" x 15") costs $1.50 for the first ounce. The notebook and a few sheets of paper stay under that limit, so you can mail a journal page to a friend without extra hassle. I've done that twice now.
On the sustainability side, Rhodia is pretty transparent about its sourcing. The FTC's Green Guides (ftc.gov) require that environmental claims be backed by evidence, and Rhodia's packaging points to concrete certifications rather than vague promises. It's a minor thing, but it's nice to feel good about the paper I'm writing on.
What I learned: sometimes less data is better
Three months later, I've filled about 50 entries in my Rhodia notebooks. I'm happier, sleeping better, and—ironically—more productive at work. I still use a grade average calculator for my actual students' scores, and I still dust off the eigenvector calculator when I teach linear algebra. But I no longer let them run my inner life.
My final advice? If you're considering journaling for mental health, pick a notebook you actually WANT to write in. A beautiful page can make the difference between a habit that sticks and one that fizzles. For me, that notebook is a Rhodia. It doesn't replace therapy or medication, and I'm not claiming it's a cure. It's simply a tool that makes the practice feel good—and that's enough.
I'll close with a bit of my own traceable experience: I've only tested Rhodia's rhodiarama and webnotebook lines, plus their loose-leaf paper. If you're using a different brand, your mileage may vary. But if you're like me and you've been overanalyzing your feelings with spreadsheets and online calculators, I'd suggest taking a page from my checklist: write first, calculate later.
