1685 words
Sunday mornings hold a very special place in the hearts of the civilians within a sprawling metropolis. Regardless of the weather, the air itself has a sharp and refined crispness resulting from not having to travel through numerous lungs within the span of a few minutes before entering yours. The calm of Sunday mornings has remained resilient as cities grow, for as their populations grow more secular in their activities, the streets stay clear for early risers. It remains a refuge for those simply seeking a moment of peace ahead of yet another muddled work week where every matter is treated with the utmost urgency.
Sunday mornings in large cities, I am told by exhausted parents, resemble a toddler as they wake up. Sweet, kind, gentle, and a little confused. Their primary goal is to snuggle and to squeeze out a little more bedtime before becoming the high-energy, and at times, bane of their parents’ existence. In New York, Boston, Chicago, and Toronto, every city is the same on Sunday mornings. Cyclists, car collecting clubs, and solitary mothers meeting their peers for an early morning coffee all meet to take in the precious couple of hours they can call their own.
It was this serene setting which hosted a large flock of pen and stationery enthusiasts as they lined up at Toronto’s Reference Public Library for Toronto’s annual pen show, Scriptus. We lined up in hopes to see exhibitors, vendors, to attend workshops, and most importantly, to meet other like-minded people. As the second person in line, the mood around me was jovial. I saw adults bouncing on the balls of their feet in one spot, like children waiting for their turn to reach for their gift under the Christmas tree. Laughter, giggles, and personal stories were shared amongst strangers who would bump into each other within the library hours later, only to embrace with smiles as wide as society’s wealth gap.
As I saw the resilient faces of those around me maintain their level of enthusiasm, mine started to wane as the day drew to a close. My sense of ease and joy seemed to be tied to the city waking up and the magical atmosphere of Sunday mornings disintegrating before my very eyes. This was not the case, for I immediately recognized why this was, and I had experienced it in other hobbies. My slight dejection was centred around the fact that I had genuinely reached the end of one of the primary aspects of why a lot of us got together on that day – to buy items centring around what brings us joy, and to share our experiences with the new acquisitions.
I had set out to purchase a new pen at the show, not because I needed one, but because I wanted to join the group activity of buying one. As I made the rounds around the tables, I realized that I had my core five fountain pens that I use for a few hours every day, and that any new purchase would simply be a waste. I came upon this realization when I noticed myself drifting towards derivatives of what I already owned. Not everyone there was in my position. A lot of my friends use their pens for creative work, art, and for their planners, which are stunning when seen in person. I just write with my pens. Sadly, my small and precise writing also limits which pens I can buy, leaving only a couple of brands from Japan and a relatively small selection of products due to the lack of demand for ultra-thin nibs. Thus, regardless of how much I wanted to join in the group activity of buying a writing instrument, my options were not only limited, but exhausted. After lunch, we returned to the show, and still determined, I made another two laps around the show to return to my friends empty-handed.
It was then that I simply sat back and absorbed the joy which others had felt in their recent acquisitions. I basked in their eyes as they darted between their new pens, inks, and paper, as their brilliant and highly inventive minds started racing between new projects and revised approaches to existing ones. I saw different aspects of the pens I enjoyed using being utilized in ways I never imagined. I beamed with happiness as a group shared their elated experience in making a mess with their ink, something I would never do. I listened to people share how they applied their love for stationery into every aspect of their lives, in ways that I never would, but instantly appreciated.
My subconscious, however, started forecasting no longer being able to share in the joy of a new set of tools, pens, washi tapes, and planners, but the dejection did not return. I had experienced a similar potential end to the act of sharing a hobby with others with items such as cameras, sports cars, watches and keyboards. Unlike those hobbies, this group that was brought together for their love of stationery was there, for they loved the act of using their analogue planners, pens, and various forms of stationery. These were not hoarders simply grasping at products which they could afford as their station in life and purchasing power progressed.
I returned home energized and with a focus that filled me with delight as I looked forward to the next morning when I would reach for those familiar pens and start my day by taking notes on relevant articles in journals. I also looked forward to sitting quietly and listening to others in future gatherings explain to me their own brand of happiness derived from the same items I treasured.
A lot of our interactions with others, in person or online, revolve around what we can bring to the discussion. In many other enthusiast gatherings, I had listened to people say that they no longer attended such gatherings, for they themselves had bought nothing and had nothing to show. They had no interest in simply meeting others and learning about what brought them joy. In the week since Scriptus, I spoke to a few old friends who used to attend enthusiast gatherings and shows, and they mentioned how they simply preferred to learn about their hobby online. Besides it simply being easier to watch a video about an industry’s new releases while on the toilet, they knowingly accepted to losing touch with a community simply because they did not value what they brought to them. Each time I heard this, my dominant eyebrow furled, revealing the trouble felt inside.
So much of life can pass us by when we are looking to impose our views, opinions, and findings on others. We only have to offer one perspective, and for those who feel that this is enough and all that there is to experience, I feel sorry for them. I have watched too many grown adults have their hearts and grey matter harden because the centre of gravity for their realities only revolves around themselves. Having the fortunate opportunity to write about these topics, and to interview those working in the spaces which garner devoted enthusiasts, I have learned that the personal and private joys which fill my heart on a matter pale in comparison to those of others. Unfortunately, within those interviews, I saw people at different stages of becoming more isolated with the field of their enthusiasm and professions, and this was heartbreaking every single time. Most of those I have had the fortune of speaking to and interviewing expressed some view of becoming disillusioned, and that they no longer had any interest in hearing about the experiences of others. In almost every case, save for one, they had expressed that they had experienced everything that there is, and there was no value in what anyone else had to say on their field.
Being engrossed in a field can become just as numbing as living in a large city. Often, those who live within large metropolises start losing their ability to see the individuals amongst the crowd – an apt analogy would be those no longer having the capacity for seeing the individual trees amongst the dense forest. Just as residents in a dense urban setting start judging everyone around them based on the actions of poor drivers or the few who lack etiquette, those in enthusiast spaces tend to hold on to negative experiences and hold everyone else accountable for the actions of others. Those whom I had spoken to who stopped meeting other new enthusiasts were guilty of this, and I personally have to fight this instinct at every event. Unlike those mentioned above, my efforts in fighting this urge to fold within myself have been incredibly rewarding, for the unexpected friendships I have gained over the last decade greatly surpass any fulfillment any hobby has ever given me.
Hobbies offer a unique window into the inner workings of those around us. They give us a view into how their mind works. They present us with a roadmap of how their values have been reached and matured over the course of their rich lives.
If you ever find yourself in a setting filled with people whose hearts, minds, values, and interests even mildly align with yours, hold on to that group and keep up with them. Do not let life drift you away from those who rush towards you with the energy of a child on Christmas morning, only to share something that they alone find exciting. Do not let the opportunity of luxuriating in the refined and focused delight of an adult in love with an aspect of life pass you by. Learn to love life through the lens of others, not just those of your children or those closest to you. The resolution of your life will amplify as your years on this planet progress. Not doing so has the opposite effect, and I cannot think of many things sadder than having one’s life grow smaller, only to collapse into itself as the twilight of one’s life approaches.
– Time of writing: November 1st, 2025