Thoughts On Filling a Notebook

Happy Monday, friends!

If you're anything like me, you have a billion notebooks scattered around your house or apartment, all in varying stages of completion. There are few simple pleasures that bring me as much joy as cracking open a notebook, the smell of the blank pages, the feel of ink being absorbed into the fibres for posterity. Making a mark, however small, that I was, in fact, here. I had thoughts.

As poetic as keeping a notebook may be, it is quite a challenge for me to fill them completely. However, when I do fill a notebook, I find myself in a state of bittersweet pride. Pride for having a completed, beautiful, and full notebook available for those nostalgic moments and "when did I..." musings. Sweet for having such a perfectly preserved glimpse into the enigma of existence, coffee stained pages, ink smears, and ticket stubs glued for preservation.

But then there's the bitter. The sort of melancholy acceptance of the fact that this wonderful little piece of paper and glue, ink and ribbon, will be archived and I will move on to a new one.

I recently finished a notebook that I had kept since November as my Bullet Journal. This particular notebook is a Berry Leuchtturm1917 notebook, A5 size, dot grid. Pretty standard. At first, I didn't like this notebook. I felt like I couldn't bond with it, and my pens kept bleeding through the pages and it was bulky... etc.

For a bit of backstory, I moved from my hometown of Denver, Colorado, USA to the North of France, a small town near Lille. Moving to a different country has been the experience of a lifetime, but it has been daunting and terrifying and lonely sometimes. So this notebook, a little pink block of paper, became more than a way for me to record my to-do lists and notes. It became a sort of catch-all for my brain and my life.

Everything went into this notebook. Quotes, musings, questions, notes. Ticket stubs, the addresses of my best friends to send letters, travel plans, travel notes. Snapshots of my days that my personal journal doesn't provide. Glimpses into those small things that are big things. Coffee. Wine. Tears. Parisian rain, Dutch sand. Crumbs from croissants.

All this to say that I love my notebooks, and maybe some people find it odd, but filling a notebook always makes me a bit sad. For a period of time, my notebook was an extension of my brain, an extra appendage, always in my bag if not glued to my hand. Filling a notebook is one of my greatest happinesses, and filling these pages with the authentic snapshots of a brief period of time is a pleasure that does not compare.

This notebook will be archived with joy and gratitude, and I am eager to start a new adventure with this happy yellow sunshine book by my side.