I love handwriting. I love looking at handwriting and I love the act of writing by hand. I also admittedly love school supplies and go gaga in the pen aisle. I have cups of pens scattered throughout the house. I’m that mom who hid away my favorite pens to stash them away from my sons. It’s highly likely they would steal them to do their homework and then act as if said pens had been in their backpacks all along. There is a bevy of writing implements in each of my purses. Pens roll off my nightstand. Pens clutter my kitchen junk drawer. Pens knock about against the TV remotes in the lacquered box atop the coffee table. I keep pens in my glove compartment and carry a notebook with me almost everywhere I go.
My brain works better when I write. I’ve heard scientific evidence to back up this claim, but I don’t need science to validate what I know about myself. I like the sensation of pen to paper or even pencil to paper (but not the erasing!). It is a literal connection to the words that connects not just my medium but my thoughts. I love the new Bic Fight for your Write initiative. I’m not being paid to say this. Bic probably doesn’t even have me on its radar. I don’t really care that Bic is a pen company with a goal to sell pens in the midst of this high technology age. Truly, that does not matter to me. What matters to me is the message behind the campaign. Despite the benefits of technology (after all, I am typing this on my laptop), surely we still need to write, no?
Technology can only take you so far. Take for example when we traveled abroad and did not have access to Wi-Fi so we could not use GPS on our phones. We resorted to using a good old-fashioned map. There are plenty of times technology fails us that requires we have a backup plan. Ala, I do not consider handwriting a backup. I find it to be more powerful than striking a key. There is satisfaction in the flourish of a pen that no keystroke can emulate.
Since I first found out I was pregnant with each of my sons, I’ve kept a journal for both of them. Admittedly, I maintained it mostly during their first couple years of life where I hand wrote messages to them and chronicled their milestones. When they are grownups they will treasure not just the stories, but my words and the writing behind them. It’s the sensation of reading someone’s words, the physical relationship of pen to paper that somehow strikes a more meaningful connection to a story. I hope one day my sons will treasure those words, my words, as I have come to treasure the letters and notes and words from my own life.
For example, I love to see the evolution of my children’s handwriting. I love their handwritten notes and messages and letters and cards. Somehow it wouldn’t be the same if it were simply a typed letter to me. There is a fluidity to writing, a dance on paper. A personality unfolds in each stroke. There is a sensation of hand to pen to paper that is comforting and leaves behind a sense of accomplishment — ah, to see the letters and scratches and strikeouts peppering the page. I am not suggesting that technology is not vital to our lives these days. But it would be foolish to consider that handwriting is not vital as well. Besides, when I was a kid I spent a whole a lot of time practicing my autograph because I was sure I was going to be famous one day. I am still waiting for that one day to come but when it does, rest assure I will whip out a pen and give you my John Hancock.