It’s that time of year again, when that hint of autumn starts to sneak onto summer’s stage, when crickets endeavor to outsing cicadas, when office supplies feature more prominently in stores than usual under the guise of “school” supplies. I love this time of year, especially since going to school has been but a memory for me for quite some time now.

(I had bought this notebook in hopes that it would make navigating crowded school hallways easier. You know, give me a little extra space, encourage others to keep their distance from me. Nothing works, however. I tried.)

Speaking of memories, one of my school memories concerns the ins and outs of pen borrowing, not that I think I ever had to borrow a pen from anyone in class. The trouble was that the borrowers always descended upon me. I was an easy target. My interests in art and writing meant I was never without pens and pencils: I had a decent stash of tools in my cavernous bag at all times. I was practically a walking stationery shop. And it’s far easier to leech pens from a walking stationery shop than go scrounging through rabid dust bunny-infested hallway floors in hopes of finding any sort of object that writes in the fleeting moments before class (as some of them confessed was their ritual).

Now, it’s normal enough to forget something now and then. But I’ll always be mystified by a specific breed of pen borrower: the one who never EVER had a writing implement for even two days in a row because they chronically lost whatever they owned. There was always one or two in each class. They often sat next to me. Or if they didn’t, they managed to sniff me out soon enough. It was because of these kids that I got in the habit of always having one or two junk pens on hand for loaners to keep their mitts off my favorite pens. This may have been a bad idea, as it clearly encouraged them.

*(A fine example of pens I would never loan out in a million years.)*

Sometimes these kids completely depleted me of my junk supply. And sometimes their borrowing methodologies reached outlandish proportions. Some wanted specific junk pens reserved “just for me, and just for this class, because I like THAT ONE and I can’t be trusted to keep it—but I know you won’t lose it!” (I kid you not.) This didn’t always work as they were multiple pen borrowers in my life (GASP—how SCANDALOUS), some of whom, predictably, forgot to return pens. Once, a hallway brawl ensued because one pen borrower neglected to return a pen that was coveted by another routine borrower. “How DARE you forget to return her pen!!!!” (How chivalrous. I guess.) Who knew pens could instigate such social complications?

I know these kids still exist, even in this digitally dominated world, because I like to hand out mechanical pencils, among other goodies, at Halloween. And I’ve seen enough trick-or-treaters light up and exclaim, “I needed a new pencil! I lost mine a month ago…” You’re welcome, kiddoes.

Which leads me to note-taking. Because you can’t take notes without a pen or pencil—typing doesn’t count in my book. I’ve read enough articles arguing that typing doesn’t help commit thoughts to memory nearly as well as longhand WRITING, even though typing may seem more efficient and convenient to some. There’s something about processing and condensing that information in your head in order to jot it down that is more effective than attempting to type it all down word for word. And I had a high enough GPA in college to prove that the old-school method works just fine. So THERE.

I’m still a diehard note-taker. You can remove me from the classroom, but you can never take the student out of me. When I learn things or hear things worth hearing, I don’t want to forget them: so I write them down. Some people make fun of me for it. “Why take notes when you know you’ll be provided with an outline?” Or “why write that down when you could just take a picture with your phone?”

The short answer: that’s simply how I roll. Let me do my thing in peace, or bug off.

But there are multiple levels to that.

1- My physical notes are more organized than any digital junk I possess. I’m more likely to lose something and forget about it if it’s hidden away on some cluttered digital platform.

2- As I said earlier, writing helps to commit things to memory. I really like to retain things in my head as much as possible. What you write, you learn twice!

3- It is a method of active listening and keeps me focused. Because I have an overactive mind, it is prone to wander. Taking notes helps me feel more grounded.

4- It’s therapeutic. It’s an act that calms me down because it forces me to slow down. Notebooks and pens are like security blankets for me.

Yes, I take notes when I find passages worth remembering in books. I also keep commonplace books that are filled with all sorts of random facts. And then there is my planner, an exhaustive record of everything, not to mention my most precious health tool. I’ve recently started either copying things down or journaling when stuck on hold on the phone—you know the sort of calls I mean. It helps a stressful wait become much more tolerable, and it passes the time quicker.

I write—therefore I can finally think straight.

In a world filled with such chaos and disarray, the least I can do is try to keep my thoughts in order. There is something about the freedom and versatility of paper that makes me feel so much more at ease. Plus, I value my brain and am determined to keep it sharp and in working order. AI dulls brains by making them grow lazy. You aren’t being archaic by using pen and paper. You’re strengthening your brain.

Back to School Edition: On Borrowing Pens and Taking Notes

The Typewriter