Morning. Evening.
Deep dive.
Three structured sessions. Same questions every time. The structure does the heavy lifting so the act of writing becomes furniture — not something you negotiate with yourself about each morning.
First 10 minutes of the day
- 01What is the one thing today actually requires?
- 02What is the smallest version of it I can ship before lunch?
- 03What am I avoiding, and why?
Before bed
- 01What worked today?
- 02What did I learn that I want to remember?
- 03What would I do differently tomorrow?
Once a week (Sunday)
- 01Looking at this week's streak — what pattern jumps out?
- 02Where am I lying to myself?
- 03What is the next bet worth making?
- 04What do I want next week to feel like?
A prompt to start. The rest is yours.
Open a session and the app gives you a question to write against, so you never face a blank page. Answer it in a line or a paragraph. On Pro, the prompts adapt to what you wrote the day before, so the reflection picks up where you left off.
Five seconds longer each day.
Each journal session enforces a minimum time. On day one, it is short. Each day after, the minimum grows by five seconds. Day 30 is two and a half minutes longer than day one. Day 100 is over eight minutes longer.
The point is not the time. The point is that you cannot perform the gesture of journaling — open the app, write a half-line, swipe away — and have it count. The timer forces real thinking by making the activation cost slightly higher every day.
If you skip a day, the timer does not reset. You pick up where you left off. That is on purpose.
The text never leaves your phone.
Journal content is stored on your device and never uploaded to our servers, because the app has no code that sends it. What you wrote and how long you wrote for stay on the phone too, with one exception: finishing a session fires an analytics event with none of the writing attached, so the server learns that a session happened and when. What syncs is the rest of your account: your daily wins and tasks, your onboarding answers, your points. The text itself we cannot read, recover, or train on.