Forgive me, as this blog is entirely
off-topic, but I think it's time for some lighter material.
Currently, my mind is on paper – both
literally and figuratively. I just spent several hours pouring my
heart into my journal. When I was finished filling 13 pages, I stuck
the journal back into my bag, where it is currently keeping the
company of a second journal, three paperback books, an NIV Bible, and
my planner. Also in my immediate possession are one laptop, one
iPhone, and one iPod touch – devices capable of storing and
accessing infinitely more information than these 7 items contain, in
a fraction of the space. In fact, most of what I have in paper format
I also have in digital format – right here, at this precise moment.
So why do I bother to bring anything besides my electronics with me? Why do I insist on reading a paper
Bible, instead of reading from my Bible app, or even reading the
Bible online? Why do I refuse to buy kindle copies of new books, and
instead insist on the paperback? Why do I insist on journaling in a paper journal, instead of typing my words into a Word document? And why, oh why, do I even possess a
paper copy of my calendar, when exactly the same information is
contained in my iPhone calendar?
I cannot adequately explain the need for a paper planner. My life has suddenly gotten much busier (because God provided a full-time job for me), and I have a kajillion things to keep straight. I guess I'm so busy that the iPhone calendar provides an insufficient visual image of just how busy I am. I like to be able to glimpse my whole crazy week in a single moment, as opposed to <swipe><swipe><swipe>. That, and I don't trust technology with something so critical as my schedule.
As for journaling, well that part makes sense. There is just something so wholesome –
so real – about putting a pen to paper and creating words where there were never words before. There is something so freeing in seeing a
literary work of art – or even just a simple letter to a friend –
in one's own handwriting. There is magic in using my own hand to
design the curvature of the letters that frame my inmost thoughts –
for that is how I learned to love to write.
The natural human desire for tangible
permanency leaks into my passion for paper books. I like to feel the
paper that contains these words – words some author spent sleepless
nights and frustrated hours perfecting just for me. I like to see the
thick stack of pages I've already consumed, and the hopefully smaller
stack of pages I have ahead of me. I
like to flip easily back a few pages, to where I used a physical pen
to make a personal note, without fearing I'll lose my spot. And that
act of using my own hand to comment on another's work and mark the
parts I absolutely adore makes me feel more alive than
<menu><highlight><yellow><note><yes><"I wish this were made of paper">.
And
then you've the issue of distraction. I can give my whole attention
to this book without fearing it will start vibrating or flashing
memos across the top. Don't get me wrong – I am tethered to my
phone because of its practical necessity. But I am not fond of this necessity. I am ever so fond of reading. And there are times when I
want to forget the world that is contained in my little Apple task
master and immerse myself in literature without being reminded of the
meeting tomorrow or the likability of my most recent facebook status.
And there's something so final – so permanent – about reading a paper Bible. The words on page 972 will still be there tomorrow, and they will be exactly the same. I need not rely on internet connectivity or the whimsy of an Apple device in order to know beyond a shadow of a doubt that God loved me so much that He sent His only son to save me. It's right there, on page 972. And it will be there, rain or shine, winter and summer, blackout or zombie apocalypse... though in a blackout I would have to use the light from my iPhone to read it.
So I
shall continue carrying my giant bag with my laptop and several
books. Life is just better with paper in it. So, all in all, I guess
I'm thankful for trees.
