Rhythm: With the Pen Scratching Sound
Straying Thoughts, 1913, Painting by Edmund Blair Leighton
As I opened my storage cabinet, a pile of paper scattered pell-mell on the ground and they probably heard my weird screech during their fortune fall. They were pretty famous during my graduation days. I moved the brass candle stand and the glass jug from the dining table. I laid the papers on the long surface of the dining table to fix their destiny—whether they would stay or leave. They were my short-term planners; some note takers, and some vocabulary charts—honestly, most of them had no specifications. They picked up almost everything in those three years. I took some files to put them into similar categories. Most of the papers lost their relevance; they were showing off some miscellaneous stuff.
I saw on one page I wrote, “Holiday arrangements”, “Take gifts for cousins” and on another page “The library staff misbehaved...with an asterisk mark didn’t give books... talk to the librarian”. And the other reminded, “Class timing changed from 11.30 to 12.30.” I saw them and sighed. I put them in the trashcan. I moved towards the other papers; they also accumulated ifs or buts. And finally I could select some apropos papers for two files. I took some markers and labelled them, “Graduation Vocabulary Charts” and “My Short Story Drafts”, where most of the papers were small, edgy with some jotted ideas and few were well written. After sorting out the important stuff from the unorganized, dumpy, scattered paper-planet, I really felt like my past-self had appointed my present-self for an unpaid work schedule where I got nothing but some tiring hours. I made a glass of cold coffee and started writing about these two new files in my bullet journal. I named this section ‘Past Priorities’ and added dates.
I truly feel that I am not incompetent at integrating my thoughts or my day-to-day items. No doubt, I can call myself pretty much organized. I even got the name ‘Monica Geller’ from different people for my pet peeve. But that day, when I looked at my past three years in that pile, I really needed a shelter to change the relationship between my past and present selves. I would not be surprised if I saw thousands of note entries on my phone as well, although I did not touch my phone that day.
We often jumble our thoughts in a pretty insensitive way. Perhaps we underestimate the value of our own thoughts. We keep them hidden, or we write them in a way that would never come back to us. They are not even missed, like “My Short Story Drafts” pile probably kept hidden or misplaced. If on that day I had not sorted the papers out, it would have been buried in any trashcan. But this insane process of managing some years in one day cannot go on forever. Last December, fortunately, I read Ryder Carroll’s book The Bullet Journal Method: Track the Past, Order the Present, Design the Future and indeed, I discovered a thoughtful system to deal with my frequently buzzing mind. In one section, Carroll mentioned, “The Bullet Journal method will help you accomplish more by working on less. It helps you identify and focus on what is meaningful by stripping away what is meaningless.”
It changed my perspective. I grabbed this opportunity and spent the holiday time creating my own pattern with the help of Carroll’s book. Bullet Journal is our own guidebook for self-reflection. It is a meaningful opportunity to build positive connectivity between the daily-clumsy self and the tranquil-spiritual self. This method creates the rhythm to see the past, present, and anticipated future at a glance. Sitting down for a few minutes, ticking off the ‘done works’, mentioning the undone, and writing down the goals and next plans –the pen scratching sound becomes the healing spot in our bustling days. I call this meditative power Ina* .
Our days definitely need that ‘productive pause’. The perception should meet reality and when that is organised we are free to make new creative collaborations, and that never looks like a burden, neither in the present nor in the future.
(*In Sanskrit, Ina (इन).—a. means determined or anything that is powerful.)