Today I started writing with a new pen because my pal Mr. Green Pen has passed away. He ran out of ink pretty fast, and I’m wondering if Ms. Aqua will be the same.
Green had been running low on his juices for some time now, but every time he’d start sputtering out, just when I would think that he didn’t have anything left in him, he’d spit back to life.
Except yesterday, when he sputtered out, he stayed down. What happened, I thought? Maybe he just needs some time. So I even gave him a break. Some rest and he’ll be back surely.
But he rested and
rested and
rested,
and never returned or awoke.
It was sad. I took a moment or a few, actually.
I couldn’t persist knowing that his ink had come to an end. I couldn’t finish my morning pages as I mourned his loss. But, what’s done is done. What to do?
Such is the nature of life and death. Try as we may and try as we might, all of us will dry out of ink at some point. They’ll come and find us. They’ll perform CPR — aggressively running us like a pen back and forth on a piece of paper.
“Come on”, they’ll say. “Don’t give out on me now.”
We’ll release a single breath — a slight dash of ink from their efforts — and they’ll feel hopeful. But no. There’s no returning. No resuscitation.
…best to just take care of our pens then, I guess.
Love them. Worship them. But most of all, notice them. Notice when they write really smooth, or precise, or brilliant. Notice how much you’ve written in your lifetime. Not written in the sense that you’re a writer. But just the number of times you’ve put pen to paper.
When you were young, you’d write at school. You’d write to annotate a book or to take a test.
To write a note to your dad when he wakes up, because he’ll leave for the office before you rise.
To write your crush a birthday card that is secretly a love letter.
To draw.
And now, to take meeting notes.
To keep track of your weekly to-do’s.
To make lists.
To understand how these fine movements of your hand can transfer ink from the well of a pen onto paper, forming shapes that can allow you to share what you’re thinking and how you’re feeling.
As we get older, the instances of putting pen to paper become increasingly classified as “dead time” — times that you’re going out and not paying attention to the ink that gracefully dances onto the page. Times when you’re not present, just waiting for the next thing to happen. Times when you’re on autopilot.
But it wasn’t always like that.
In our young age, there were more instances of “alive time” — times when you are present. Fully and absolutely. When you’re in tune, when you won’t just settle for a blue ink pen. You want Aqua.
Aspire for the as much alive time as possible. Notice the color of your pen, the richness of her ink.
This is no different than each day of your life.
Shiv
Ode to a Dead Pen
Wonderful piece. The insight you just shared would colour up many a Life. Keep going strong girl...wish you best.