I misplaced my beloved paper notebook. It is dark green and from Moleskine. It’s one of the most valuable items on this planet. For me.
I’ve been going through an intense grieving process. At this point of writing, I am entering the acceptance stage of grief. Writing this definitely helps me to get there.
(un)certainties
Yesterday, I noticed my notebook was gone. I was in shock and I panicked. I looked everywhere to find it. I turned every stone, every item in my apartment. Twice. No notebook there. I cried.
I have a theory that I left it in the hotel I stayed at during a trip last weekend. Holding it in my hands there is the last memory I have of seeing it.
I checked my car. I asked around. I wrote emails. I called the hotel. No notebook to be found. I am quite certain I left it in the hotel. But I am also not sure. Uncertainties.
I have exhausted all possibilities of finding it again - or have I? The one option I haven’t exercised - I considered it; deeply - is to take the car ride (3h+ one way) and go through the locations I have been at during the trip. It would probably be a fun adventure. Who knows. I discarded this idea for practical reasons, though. Very unromantic, I know. Uncertainties.
The one certainty I have is that it’s not with me anymore. The book is gone.
where do lost items go?
I have some ideas about where people could be going after they took their last breath on planet Earth. Maybe they are enjoying their sweet afterlife on some far away sphere of joy, or maybe they’re going on another rollercoaster ride in a different universe.
But where do lost items go? Is there a paradise for lost notebooks, phones, photographs; memories? Maybe there is. How do items end up there? Is there an entrance fee, are there other requirements?
I’m sure my notebook did everything right in its lifetime. I can vouch for it.
I like to imagine that somewhere in the limbo between all the universes, there is a room full of lost items, just waiting for their owner to come pick them up. Maybe it has an archive full of file cabinets and a gigantic index as well.
And should you raise your voice - sparked by the joy of the moment when re-uniting with your long-lost beloved item - you’ll garner stern looks by the resident librarian who’s tapping the sign “Silence Please” three times. You give them an apologetic nod while pursing your lips, as you tightly squeeze your item of choice and go about your way.
physical and emotional value
Wherever my notebook is residing at in this very moment, it’s a funny thought for me that physically, it exists somewhere in this world right now. I just don’t know where.
It consists of pages made from paper (probably recyclable?), a hard cover and a lot of ink. There is also an enclosed Pilot G2-7 pen I bought in New York. It’s my favorite pen.
Physically, the notebook would be valued at about 20€ if it was brand-new. But who values a used & half-filled notebook? Written by someone else, of course. I do value my notebook at a couple orders of magnitude higher. Actually, it does sounds like an interesting target for an elaborate kidnapping scheme.
Whenever I struggle with something emotionally, I chuckle at the thought of how incredibly mundane things seem to be on the physical level.
Can’t muster up the courage to talk to a stranger on the street or in a café? Physically, it’s just sound and light waves you’re emitting.
Getting nervous before an important presentation at work? Physically, it’s just pixels you’re sharing.
I think the fact that we as humans are capable of putting so much emotions into atoms (or whatever particle theory is in vogue these days) speaks to the spirituality inherent in our being.
what do notebooks mean to me?
For humanity, writing unlocked the ability to preserve knowledge and culture for millenia. We can connect to the thoughts and expressions of humans from centuries ago through their writing. No other known species has unlocked this incredible technology.
As a child, some of my biggest traumatic experiences as well as the deepest bonding experiences are related to writing and reading.
I started to read around the age of 4. To this day, it is a big joy to simply walk through a new area and read everything I come across, like street signs, license plates and newspaper covers.
Writing was harder to come by. For most of my life, I was insecure about my handwriting. In school, I got points deducted from my score for the “disorderly appearance” of my writing.
Nevertheless, notebooks have always had a tremendous significance in my life. Embracing writing paved my way towards freedom and self-expression. Writing provided an unlimited safe space for me, before I could establish that in myself. In writing, there were no (meaningful) boundaries for space or time. Give me a pen and some paper, or a stick and some sand, and I’ll write my heart out.
For the past 5 years or so, I have been with a notebook in arm’s reach at almost all times. I’ve filled plenty; and they have become life companions for me. None of my creative endeavours would have been possible without starting this habit.
My workflows have transitioned heavily from physical towards digital in the recent years.
However, most of the time, the first spark, the first connection, starts through my physical notebook. Only at irregular intervals, will I move things onto digital spaces, where I go through all my writings and catalog and archive it for further reference or continued writing.
I obtained this notebook in March this year. And I estimate that I have transferred about half of its contents into some digital form already. So I am looking at a loss of about 4 months in terms of content.
All things considered, this is fine. I’ll move on.
parting words
I do believe that a loss of this magnitude would have crushed me a couple of years ago. Today, while I still feel very emotional and, ultimately, bummed out, I do feel a steady and lovely connection to my notebook.
It represents parts of me that I can immediately feel within myself. The notebook is no longer needed as a crutch for self-expression, freedom or safety. I am living those qualities.
Maybe whatever notes and poems, affirmations and sketches I’ve put in there are really not more than their physical combination of paper and ink. Emotionally, everything I wrote down is still in me. It’s impossible to lose that.
I am grateful for my notebook and for what it allowed me to feel and experience. And while physically I cannot locate it anymore, I can always connect to it through my heart. Through space and time, across any dimensions possible.
Thanks for reminding me of that. Thank you for everything. I’ll write to you soon.
Appendix: More Than a Book
One of my early poems is called “More Than a Book” and it basically summarizes this article. I published it in my first poem collection GROWING UP. Here it is.
More Than a Book
(June 13th 2020)
What I hold here in my hands
is more than a book,
more than it tends
to seem when you only look.
When I feel its cover with my finger tip
I can feel its depth, its meaning, it
is way more than paper, pages, ink,
more than a cheeky wink,
a heartfelt sob.
It's more than I can say -
you'd have to stop
me while I explain
all the ways
this book has saved me time and time again.
It lifts me up, it makes me see,
it listens, guides and reprimands,
it never judges or demands
a certain way, a certain word,
it loves me and it means the world
to me.
More than a book that rests on the shelf,
it is a companion to me.
It's what I feel, it's what I see,
it's an extension of myself.