The Friction of the Pen

“In a world that seems to prioritize getting to the point, we’re now dangerously downplaying the significance of the in-between.”

I AM A child of the Trapper Keeper generation.

This was a time when notes – both those required for schoolwork and to share the deepest thoughts between friends – reigned supreme. We wrote them, we adorned them and, above all, we carried them in clunky but oh-so-cool vessels from point A to point B.

They were little hidden treasures, really. Personal. Reflective. Important.

A literal physical depiction of the insides of our brains.

So it’s probably no surprise that today, I’m still very much a documentarian. Since seeing my thought process is how I compute things, I need to get it out of my head.

But the tools for doing this now run the gamut. Whereas the color of the ink or type of paper used (always college ruled for this girl) were previously your only options, we can now type away in various apps specifically designed to organize our thoughts.

Heck, some don’t even require words. If you’re looking to optimize your productivity or mental health, you can lean on versions relying on emojis and the ever-satisfying check of a box.

But there’s something about digitizing our stream of consciousness that just feels off.

Like the fact that it robs the practice of its inherent messiness.

Because thinking is very rarely linear. Be it utilizing critical thinking or exploring complex emotions, the journey is typically more ping-pong-esque than neat and orderly list.

Yet this type of progression is lost when we can quickly hit the delete button. Or, in my case, just opt for a swipe of the eraser with my apple pencil across my iPad. We’re allowed to instantaneously start fresh when what came before was actually a critical step towards the conclusion.

Scribbled out words. Crossed out lines. Arrows indicating reordering.

This is the beauty of the original computer programming: Our own internal deductive reasoning.

In a world that seems to prioritize getting to the point, we’re now dangerously downplaying the significance of the in-between. The time when the answer is not yet known and more than one possibility still exists.

We’re settling for bulleted summaries when the truth is often much more nuanced and much less concise.

And as a result, we’re training our brains to think via inorganic, straight lines.

This isn’t just hyperbole, either. Science firmly points to handwriting as being superior to typing, specifically in its capacity to activate broader regions of the brain. The very fact that handwriting is slower (the exact characteristic that now makes it feel “old”) is precisely what improves conceptual understanding and retention.

Moral of the story? We may be getting faster, but this in no way equates to being more efficient.

Quite the contrary, it could be argued that we’re modeling ourselves after the very technology we fear may replace us.

Instead of embracing the humanity of the pen.

That’s why I’m personally making a deliberate shift to more friction. Perhaps not in the heft of a plastic binder (my 12-year-old back took the brunt of that weight), but in the physical contact of pen to paper.

Of earmarked pages.

Of notes in the margin.

Of handwriting that depicts my mood on any given day.

These are not easy edits to make – the convenience of digital documentation will always deem it a knee-jerk – but I’m realizing that the tangibility of being able to actually hold my thought process in between my fingers results in some self respect.

Because just like my 12-year-old self, I am still creating, forming, becoming.

And in embracing this, I feel less of a need to exist in a way that appears so succinct.

So here’s to putting pen to paper and leaving the trail of an incredible story.

One that could never be summed up in a simple, bulleted list.

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Coming Up Next Week: Beyond the Algorithm

Is the soundtrack of life really a curated playlist?