The Story of the Empty Notebooks

I have always loved pens and nice notebooks. I have a collection of pens (all still with their original boxes) and had several beautiful and interesting notebooks of different shapes and sizes gathered throughout my life—every page empty, every pen dried up. I never used them, I was saving them. For someday.

When I was preparing to move to the US, I gave most of the notebooks away, some of which I’d had since childhood. One particular one had three waves of liquid gel in three different colors with dolphins on them (I love dolphins). I gave this one to my friend’s little daughter hoping she would enjoy what I missed out on.

Why were the pages empty and the pens dried up? What was I saving them for?

Most of the notebooks were gifts, and although I didn’t grow up with much, I don’t think they were empty because I didn’t want to “use them up.” It wasn’t until this past year that I realized there was a deeper reason.

The pages were empty because I believed I didn’t have anything worth filling them with. I was saving it for the day my handwriting looked better, the day I had something worth writing, the day I could get it all perfect. I didn’t want to waste the fancy notebooks.

When I did write something, I would write in a plain generic notebook. One I could just scribble in without feeling like I was wasting something special. While there is nothing wrong with having a place to practice and make scrap notes in, I never forced myself out of the mindset of practicing—a never-ending pursuit of perfection. I would write snippets and random notes in my $3 notebook and never do anything with them. Subconsciously, I was constantly affirming my belief that I didn’t have anything worth writing down or worth crafting.

In a sense, I wasn’t summoning the value I had to share. Why do we only believe a finished product has value? Why was I so afraid of wasting the pages? There was value inside of me, but the only way to get it out was to put it on the pages—the fancy pages, where it belonged. Perfect or not.

After coming to this realization, I knew what I needed to do.

I had to start writing in my fancy pancy notebook. I had to change my posture and summon the deep—the stuff worth writing. By writing in my valuable notebook, I was telling myself that I have something of value worth writing, valuable enough to fill the empty pages.

On the very first page, I wrote I’ve always felt I had something to say, I’ve decided to find out what it is.

I understand now that the value I have to share is not somewhere in my future, but right here, right now. The notebook for me has become a reminder not to wait for the day where I know the perfect thing to say or the perfect way to say it, but to be constantly expectant. Because it’s in me.

I carry the notebook with me in expectation that the deep within me will answer the call.

On the very first page, I wrote I’ve always felt I had something to say, I’ve decided to find out what it is.