“Things you should throw away but can’t”
Over the last few years, I’ve accumulated a collection of notebooks. Some were gifted. Some I got from work. Some I bought while convincing myself that I needed a totally separate notebook for this project or that endeavour—because how could I use the same one for drafting blog posts as I did for job interview prep? Or for impromptu short stories?
Some live in a box. A couple of them live on the bookcase. There’s always one in my purse.
They’re an assortment of colours, shapes, and sizes. Some have gilded pages, some are plain. Some have lined pages, others dotted, and just a few, blank.
I guess what they do have in common, though—and what makes it so hard for me to get rid of them—is that they each hold little bits and pieces of me. I can’t help but write things down. Be it story ideas or random verses during a sudden bout of inspiration, research notes, or a speech, I always ground myself by writing them down before anything else.
Maybe I should go through the pile and condense it. Save the written pages in a box and work out of just one book.
I’m not sure I can, though. And more to the point, I’m not sure I want to.