I have been writing, but if you follow me online there’s no way you could have seen it. In December, as part of my quest to cultivate one habit per month, I journaled every day: quietly, consistently, prolifically. I didn’t mean for it to be a secret, but the deeper I got the further I drifted from the Internet. My tumblr went stale. Old articles of mine resurfaced on Medium, but I didn’t pick up the conversation. I disengaged from industry conversations I normally would have participated in. I didn’t tweet once in three whole weeks. Online, it looked like I didn’t exist. (Or perhaps was on vacation.)
To the Internet, Something Was Up! And I confess?—?something was up. The truth is, I was writing: I was writing by hand. Writing with ink, pen and paper (not the app). And it felt?—?and “felt” is precisely the right word here?—?it felt great.
Beautiful read. And it’s not just about the joys and benefits of writing on paper but also reading as well. This part especially resonated with me:
Writing?—?by hand?—?makes me a better writer. And reading?—?on paper— that makes me a better reader, too.