I love notebooks.
I love the ritual of pulling out my Leuchtturm Bullet Journal and pretending—for a few minutes each day—that I’m a nineteenth-century poet in a French cage, writing up my deep and progound thoughts. Most of the time, it’s my work list and reminders for my kids’ homework. But still.
I like that I can carry a physical artifact of my thoughts. That I can plan my day in a truly analog fashion. That I can step away from screens and write things down, slowly, by hand.
In a world where it’s normal to carry around a supercomputer in your pocket, a notebook starts to feel like an extravagance. A tiny luxury. Which is strange when you think about it. The iPhone is a thousand dollars. But it’s the twelve-dollar notebook that feels indulgent.
That’s why I was so excited to stumble across The Notebook: A History of Thinking on Paper by Roland Allen.
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