The fan in my room feels really nice. I’m eating toast and drinking iced tea.
This mini break feels kinda lovely. The research has lead me to a realization about writing things by hand (which is what I am doing), the realization is this:
I am in love with using a pen on paper. The way my handwriting looks, the feel of the pen flowing across the paper, the way my mind focuses on correctly copying and annotating the words in front of me. (Suddenly startled to realize I just wrote annotating without knowing I even knew the word or the proper way to use it in a sentence….apparently I do. How strange) I think writing, pen to paper, is a type of meditation that calls to me. I have grown addicted to it. It calms me in ways I never anticipated. It just feels really good.
Then there is the subject matter. Learning, piece-by-piece, things that confirm and steady me. Opening my awareness and seeking understanding of the deepest parts of something that I didn’t know I didn’t properly understand before.
Per my dyslexia, I have always been encouraged to read aloud and also to write what I am learning down, helping myself to retain information. My instructor suggested flash cards, and as time has gone by, I have discovered I am much more drawn to journaling my learning in notebooks instead of index cards.
It is only recently that I have ventured into writing more than bullet points or memory triggers though. It’s like an amazing gift. I like the idea that I can open an old journal and refresh my memory of some small cherished bit of learning, in my own handwriting.
They are no longer teaching cursive writing in schools. My heart is very sad at this because, there is more to cursive writing than just recording thoughts onto paper. It’s a haptic experience. A connecting of mind, paper, and thought. I feel something beautiful has been lost to mankind.