I watched it happen over and over at Taft Federal Prison Camp: people arrived anxious, made a few calls home, got their commissary routine down, and then stopped paying attention. They thought their job was to get through it.

One man told me he was planning a reentry strategy but hadn’t written anything down. Another said he’d volunteer when he got out. Someone else said he was reading but couldn’t recall a single book title. No pattern. No discipline. No self-study.

Montaigne would have seen it for what it was: evasion.

When Sarah Bakewell describes Montaigne’s method in How to Live, she explains that he didn’t organize his thoughts to persuade. He wrote to observe. He believed the unexamined day was a wasted one. The same applies in federal prison.

Federal Prison Doesn’t Automatically Make You Reflective

It’s easy to assume that because you’re in prison, reflection will happen. You’re away from the noise. You have fewer distractions. You have time. But reflection isn’t passive. It takes effort. And if you don’t document it, it disappears.

Michael Santos taught me that within a few days of my arrival. I was talking too much and writing nothing. He gave me a prompt: write out your day, then underline anything that made you uncomfortable. That’s where the growth was. I kept doing it. I still have those notebooks.

Bakewell Describes Montaigne as Someone Who Couldn’t Stop Looking at Himself

Not out of vanity, but to understand why he thought and acted the way he did. That’s the same process you need in prison. Not just to plan your release. Not to script your next steps. But to watch who you are without your title, your calendar, or your audience.

You already know the answer to the question, “How are you spending your time?” If you’re not writing it down, you’re avoiding the truth of it.

You Don’t Need a Program to Begin

Some people wait for RDAP. Others wait for a case manager or a scheduled course. But you don’t need permission to start documenting how you think and behave.

If you have paper, you have everything Montaigne used: time, experience, and a mind that needs examining.

Ask yourself:

• Did I do anything today that would earn someone’s trust?
• Did I avoid something I promised to address?
• What assumptions did I make that went unchecked?

Write the answers. If you’re unsure, that’s worth writing, too. Track it for a week. See what patterns emerge.

Montaigne Didn’t Believe in Total Reinvention

Bakewell writes that Montaigne didn’t pursue transformation. He examined what was already there. Prison gives you time to project an image. But image is not substance. Self-awareness is.

The prison journal I hang in my office (between my two books) offers details I don’t feel the need to share with our community. That said, I can say they are honest reflections that reflect how I felt at that moment. Those notes are full of contradictions, inconsistencies about what I wanted while knowing that day or week I really did not want to do the work. I owned that I was avoiding doing the work. Then the next day I would applaud myself for “how hard I am working,” when the truth is I really did the bare minimum.

These daily reflections (I would not even call it journaling) are valuable to me now, as I can reflect back on my thinking and still identify with parts of it, “Oh, I work so hard!”. I can also see the growth. Examining my behavior was informative and humbling — and it still is. And I did it knowing it would not advance my release date. I did it to prepare for the hardest part, coming home with felony conviction.

Most Routines Numb You. A Good One Wakes You Up.

Every person in federal prison has a schedule. That schedule will either sharpen awareness or dull it.

Montaigne didn’t wait for dramatic moments to reflect. He found meaning in the repetition.

What does your routine reveal?

Are you using the repetition of chow and and count to see where your mind drifts? Or are you moving through it without noticing?

Most people don’t notice. Then the halfway house meeting happens. Supervised release begins. Someone asks, “What did you do with your time?” And the answer is a blank stare.

If you don’t know how to answer that today, you’re not ready to explain it tomorrow.

Montaigne Didn’t Write to Be Read. He Wrote to Stay Awake.

That’s your job in federal prison. Not to write a personal statement. Not to perform. Just to stay conscious. Prison doesn’t require that. You do.

If you’ve started documenting your days—or want help turning that writing into something credible—schedule a call. I’ll show you how others used consistent observation to build trust before they ever left prison.

Schedule a Call If Are Ready to Start Building

Justin Paperny