I enjoy notebooks. They’re such a simple pleasure. There’s just something about putting pen to paper and recording your thoughts. The feel of the paper, the scratch of the pen—it just works for me. Writing is a more tangible feeling than tapping on a screen. My problem is that I have more notebooks than I know what to do with.
I’ve got Field Notes (some with fancy covers, others plain but unafraid), bullet journals (shoutout to the Leuchtturm1917—those things are the Cadillacs of journaling), a few leather-bound beauties that make me feel like a professional thinker, and, of course, the humble grade-school classic: the black-and-white composition book. Then there are the tiny notebooks I stash in bags and jacket pockets for when pocket space is at a premium. At this point, I could probably open a small stationery store.
Why so many notebooks? I’m not entirely sure. Maybe it’s an obsession. Because it doesn’t stop there—I’ve got pens, pencils, markers, highlighters, rulers, and erasers in quantities that suggest I’m preparing for an apocalypse where the only currency is office supplies. And yes, I pair specific pens with specific notebooks. It’s a whole system.
But here’s the thing—I forget stuff. We all do. Science backs me up—our brains are great at living in the moment and terrible at remembering most of what we would like to remember. That’s why I take notes. And why you should too. Even bad notes help. Good notes? They’re like little time machines that remind you of what you were thinking before your head wandered off leaving that thought in some dusty corner of your brain.
Notebooks aren’t just tools—they’re lifesavers. They’re part of my everyday carry (EDC). I refer to them as my “written brain.” I use mine to track everything from garden plans to book quotes to those random 3 a.m. ideas that might be my next personal breakthrough. Ideas are fleeting. As quickly as they pop into your head, they pop out. Note-taking preserves them for later reflection.
On my bookshelf, there’s a section dedicated entirely to my completed notebooks. I wouldn’t call it hypergraphia—it’s more like a comprehensive memory bank, stacked neatly one on top of another. Entrepreneur and author Tim Ferriss once said, “I trust the weakest pen more than the strongest memory.” I couldn’t agree more.
If you want to get into the habit, start by scheduling a little time to write. Once a week is fine. Nothing fancy—just you, a notebook, and your thoughts. Write down anything: things you want to remember, cool stuff you read, something funny your dog did. Use colored pens if that’s your thing. Or keep it classic with a minimalistic plain black ink. No rules here so do what feels right for you.
Start with one notebook. That’s how I began—one turned into two, then three… and eventually, an accidental stationery store. But don’t worry about that part yet. It’s not about the number. It’s about the practice—the act of writing, the act of remembering. Thinking on paper. Capturing the chaos before it flies away.
And hey, starting is cheap. All you need is a notebook and something to write with. Though fair warning: today it’s one notebook, tomorrow you’re browsing fountain pens at 2 a.m. Welcome to the club.
