Handwriting

I love writing - I mean physically writing, with a pen and some paper.

Even with all of the amazing technology at my disposal - think about the iPhone, for example: I can almost do everything I do at my computer but in my car - I could never stop using pen and paper.

Part of my enjoyment are the tools themselves. I am never without a Field Notes notebook in my back pocket. And you will hardly ever find me without a pen. You just never know when you will need to write something down or, even better, when you'll have the desire to work out or write out an idea that's forming in your mind.

For me, sometimes it's a homily. Sometimes it's a quote from a book I'm reading. Most of the time it's something as simple as a phone number.

Yes, I could do all of this on my phone, but the simple act of putting ink on a page is, to me, relaxing and tends to help me think more clearly. Ideas that were vague in my mind are suddenly alive and understandable on a page.

A piece of paper can reflect my mind. It doesn't have to go in order; it doesn't have to look good. I can draw arrows, write things on the side, and even just abandon it all and go to the next page. What I wrote will still be there tomorrow, whether I need it or not.

There's such a big difference between a clean, orderly printed page and messy, imperfect writing - and, believe me, mine is messy.

When I look at something I've written, I encounter myself - not just in the content, but in the execution. Somewhere in the sometimes illegible cursive, the mistakes I've crossed out, and the doodles in the margins, I get a glimpse of my past. There's a little bit of soul there.