Let’s be honest: I have a problem, and it’s bound in cardboard, linen, and leather. I am a journal hoarder. You know the feeling, don’t you? That unparalleled joy of walking into a stationery shop and seeing an immaculate stack of Moleskines. The perfectly rounded corners, the elastic closure, the beckoning potential of those fresh, crisp, pristine pages. Since Moleskine notebooks aren’t readily available where I live, every trip abroad turns into a frantic ‘stock up’ mission. I return home with a suitcase full of clothes and a carry-on full of empty, expensive notebooks.

The tragedy isn’t the cost; it’s the idleness. These beautiful books sit, waiting for some momentous occasion or perfect thought that will justify their use. The result? I have a library of empty journals, each one a silent monument to a future I haven’t quite started yet.

But the hoarding extends beyond the paper. I also possess a veritable plethora of beautiful pens and inks. They are tiny, glistening treasures: fountain pens, rollerballs, bottles of shimmering ink in shades like ‘Oxblood’ and ‘Emerald of Chivor’. And yet, for the longest time, I’d ignore the gleaming collection, habitually reaching for my one trusted, workaday gel pen. It was reliable, but deeply uninspiring. It’s safe to say I was giving these magnificent writing tools the ‘special occasion’ treatment, which, of course, meant they never saw the light of day.

Recently, however, something shifted. I decided enough was enough. I dug out the dust covers, cleaned out the dried ink, and started using my fancy ink pens. This simple change has been revelatory. The moment the nib hits the paper and the gorgeous ink flows, writing, already one of my most favourite things to do, transforms into a genuinely luxurious experience. The tactile feedback, the saturated colour, the sheer pleasure of it all has motivated me to write even more. I am finally enjoying the tools I love!

This newfound passion, however, introduced a comical snag: the ink cartridges run out! Naturally, a person who hoards entire notebooks is entirely unprepared for a simple consumable like a spare cartridge. The first time it happened mid-flow, I felt as deflated as a birthday balloon left out overnight. Consequently, I now have a small, very sensible pouch in my handbag dedicated entirely to spare ink cartridges. You wouldn’t believe the relief I feel knowing I can sustain my habit. I’ve become a mobile writing unit, ready for any spontaneous bout of creative expression. I’m essentially a one-woman stationery shop, except nothing is for sale.

So, here’s my challenge to myself, and to you, my fellow stationery accumulator: use the good stuff! The notebooks are meant to be filled, the pens are meant to write, and the inks are meant to flow. Don’t save them for a mythical “perfect time.”

Scribble a shopping list in that leather-bound ledger. Write a rambling thought in the silk-covered journal. Start today. After all, the only thing better than a pristine Moleskine is a filled Moleskine that tells the story of its journey.

Let’s stop preserving and start creating.