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| Shiny Loyola folder with shiny pens. |
I made dinner last night. Just a simple lentil, garbanzo bean, kale, tomato, and asparagus salad. No big. Then Sarah left for class, Elizabeth went for a run, and Kevin was still at work. Of course, I wanted to test out my new shiny pens. They were just crying to be written with! I made myself a nice cocktail of Two James gin, homemade ginger simple syrup, and tonic water. I curled up in the comfiest chair in the house and I wrote. I don't think I journaled like I did last night in a long while. I wrote pages of nonsense, life, romance, and of course pens.
There's something about pens. I think I narrowed it down to a few things. One, I'm kind of vain. I like details about how I carry myself. I think it's partly the Catholic school upbringing. We had a class about etiquette and appearance yearly for crying out loud. We talked about being presentable and respectable at all times. Surprisingly, I took it seriously. Now, I'm neurotic and OCD about certain things. Pens, like shoes or watches, are one of those personal flourishes and touches that make me smile. So pens are an extravagance I like to indulge in (actually just shiny things in general). Sue me for being vain.
Most importantly though, I wrote about the romance of pens and words. I moved to the United States when I was 12 and had 5 months off of school. Of course I had no friends. You expect me to be outside, all whatever my weight was, all pre-teen awkwardness and all of my discomfort with English? Heck no! I had internet, but my friends from home were asleep when I was awake and vice versa. My friends were Raistlin Majere, Tasslehoff Burrfoot, Aragorn Elassar, Bilbo Baggins, Harry Potter, and Hermione Granger. I probably re-read the Dragonlance, Lord of the Rings, and Harry Potter books several times over that summer. The written word allowed my childhood self to have a safe haven away from the confusion, discomfort, awkwardness, and angst of pre-teen all-over crappiness.
I think we're all magical and our magic is in words. The written word allows thinkers and artists like Plato, Flaubert, Yeats, Tolkien, McCarthy, Martin, Rowling, Cronin, and Keegan to transmit their words and thoughts through space and time, life and death. It allows people to be inspired with thoughts of morality and progress, children to dream about being wizards and time lords, adults to cry over lost friends and missed potentials, and for all to share their insecurities and vulnerabilities. I've read friends' blogs that make me smile and chuckle. I've read stories of Harry Potter, Frodo Baggins, and the Stark family that frustrated and excited me. I've read the words of Dr. Paul Farmer and Dr. Atul Gawande that have inspired me to do and be better.
I believe in the magic of words because they transport us and allow us to imagine a better world and our better selves. They allow us to communicate and to feel things from those that have passed, those that are far away, and those that we would not meet in our daily lives. Our words can become our legacy for the children that will come after we are long gone. As long as we write and communicate, we are magical creatures.
Harry Potter has his 11" holly wand with a Phoenix feather core. The Doctor has his blue police box TARDIS of wibbly wobbly timey wimey stuff. I have two stainless steel pens powered by a pressurized black ink tube. To me, a pen is as magical as a wand and as powerful as a TARDIS (what began as the oral tradition became written became published and is now the digital word, but I find pen and paper to be my instruments of choice - I know the irony of saying that as I type so shush!) because it allows all of us to share in what makes us, well, us. In the end, what's your magic wand made of or what shape does your TARDIS take? Well, whatever. We're all wizards and time lords.
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