Today when I arrived at Starbucks, I ordered my coffee, I fired up my iPad, and I reached into my knapsack for my journal. It wasn’t there. I immediately told myself, “o.k., there is nothing to panic about here. You have your iPad. It’s an $800.00 journal. You can type into your iPad notes, like you often do.” Except, that I couldn’t. I needed my journal. I needed to open it up, put my pen in my hand, place it on the semi-glossy parchment, and write in it. It really didn’t matter what I wrote. But it was the act of writing in that very physical, sensual and intimate way that made sense to me.