Four
people asked me what I wanted for my birthday last week and I gave each
of them the same answer, “A new Filofax.” All four of them said the
same thing. “No, you don’t. Nobody wants a Filofax any more. It’s so
old-fashioned. Don’t be ridiculous. iPhone.” My daughter Maia was the
harshest. She simply said, “Oh, Mom! iPhone.” It made me feel
old-fashioned. It made me feel old.
For the record, I have an iPhone but despite the fact that four assistants over the
last three years have religiously promised to transfer all my names and phone
numbers into my computer and my iPhone, it hasn’t quite happened yet. And I never seem to have the time.
But I like my Filofax (even though it does sort of look like a truck
ran over it.) It feels like a friend. I like it that it has names and
addresses and phone numbers hand-printed into it. (Arguably, a few of
them are dead, but I’ve learned not to notice. And I can’t quite bring
myself to cross the names out. That would seem too final.) I use it in
meetings to take notes. Sometimes, I’ll have a thought in the car or a
random sentence for something I’m working on and I’ll pull over and jot
it down into my Filofax. There are a few haikus that will probably
never be printed anywhere else. I can gauge from them how sad I was on
a given day. (Haikus are usually sad. The more comedic ones have found
their way into my
computer.)