The Great Migration of Pens

Where do they all go, and what are they trying to tell us?

Remember when you bought that 12-pack of black pens? The ones you were absolutely certain would last you through the year?

Three weeks later, you can find exactly one of them. It's hiding in the side pocket of a bag you rarely use, and it only works if you scribble aggressively on a scrap paper for 30 seconds first, coaxing the ink back to life like a reluctant conversation at a high school reunion.

We've all lived this peculiar phenomenon: the mysterious disappearance of pens. They vanish from desks, kitchen drawers, and jacket pockets—embarking on some secret pilgrimage to a destination none of us will ever discover.

"I just had it a minute ago," we mutter, patting pockets and rifling through papers. The pen was literally just in our hand, and now it's gone, leaving not even the faintest trail of ink to follow.

When I was a child, I was convinced there must be a hidden realm where all missing pens gathered—a place filled with single socks, hair ties, and guitar picks that slipped through the cracks of our reality. Now, I wonder if the migration of pens is trying to teach us something more significant.

Pens are temporary visitors in our lives. They move among us, serving their purpose of transferring thoughts from mind to matter, and then they depart—often without a proper goodbye. Their impermanence mirrors so many other fleeting things: ideas that flash brilliantly then fade, conversations that linger in the air then dissipate, people who enter our story for a chapter or two before turning to a different page.

Perhaps the disappearing pen is nature's small reminder that nothing stays. That we must use what we have while we have it. That being held too tightly often leads to slipping away faster.

The next time you find yourself searching for that pen you just had, pause for a moment. Consider that maybe—just maybe—it's not lost but rather continuing its journey elsewhere. And maybe its absence is actually a tiny gift: a chance to reach for something new, to make different marks, to begin again.

After all, isn't that what we're all doing? Moving through others' lives, leaving small traces of ourselves behind, and hoping that our brief presence mattered?

—Everett

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