When I was in fourth grade, I drew my own comic books. They were mostly stick figures — still the only thing I can really draw — but they were full-fledged characters with their own roles. Before the joy of making up the story for these characters as I go, I’d take my sweet time picking out the notebook and the pencil. The paper had to be thick enough and the texture smooth enough. The pencil had to be the right grade — not too light, because I wanted every line to be well defined, but not too dark, because then it could smudge. It needed to glide just right, with a steady, reliable feel. Together, every stroke and shade I made would feel exactly as it should.
I haven’t drawn comic books or drawn for fun in a long, long time. It’s not that I stopped enjoying it. Life just filled up with other things, and it sort of faded into the background. But the ritual of choosing the right tools — of feeling the surface of the page — never really left me. It’s just taken a new shape.
Today, pen and paper are still very much a part of my life, though in more practical ways. Sketching layouts, mapping ideas, breaking down problems — everything starts with some black ink and a blank piece of dot-grid paper. I started this practice when I first broke into digital design, often trying to make sense of problems I didn’t have the language to tackle yet. Over time, it became a discipline and a tool I count on every day. Now, the truth is, a blank page can be intimidating. It sometimes makes me feel like an imposter, demanding an answer I don’t have or don’t even know how to begin yet. Then I remember how I used to draw my comics — how I’d just start making things, not worrying about where they would go. So I let go of the pressure to get it right and give myself permission to explore and play. (Sometimes I forget this is precisely one of the reasons I became a designer.)
There’s something oddly satisfying about pairing the right pen with the right paper, and seeing the way the ink settles just so. My current favorites are the Sakura Pigma Micron 02 and the Uni Pin Fine Line 0.2. They’re smooth, precise, and a pleasure to sketch and write with. I’m particular about how they feel on paper. The whole experience feels much more organic and present compared to drawing with a marker on a whiteboard — and definitely more intimate and grounded than any digital canvas. I don’t need to perform. It’s a space to think, to scribble, and to get a little messy.
For all the apps, task boards, and productivity systems I’ve tried and still use for work, I often find myself returning to pen and paper. Whether I’m stuck, trying to make sense of something, or simply jotting down closing thoughts for the day, reaching for my favorite drawing pen and a sheet of paper just works. It helps me cut through the noise, slow down, and move things forward — by starting. And sometimes, that’s all you need.