They do make me happy. Which is not strictly speaking Kondo’s concept. She would no doubt have me weeding through them to pick out only the ones I really love and use all the time. She would theorize that I would get more joy from the simplicity of having fewer.
Which may be true. Yet it is not exactly true for me. At least, not right now. I have to follow my own path there.
It is true that I am not a real collector. I will not buy every single Safari ever made. That’s not me. And too many other things bring me joy for me to devote those resources to Safaris.
But I’m willing to buy all the Safaris that are current, and all the special editions that I like. Over the years I’ve been buying Safaris, that has added up to a decent (or indecent) number.
And owning my Safaris — that really does bring me joy. I get a little spark of happiness and appreciation when I open a pen drawer and see a row of Safaris. I have been a Safari person from the date they were first released. I like them. I like my multitude. I like the rainbows in each drawer.
Before Kondo, actually, I had severely cut down my pen hoard. Because I had too many fountain pens, for me, and that was not a joyful experience. I did like them all. But there’s a difference between pens you like and pens that bring you joy. My favorites brought me joy. And having many pens that were not favorites meant I was not enjoying my real favorites enough.
So I winnowed. I got rid of all the flex and semi-flex nibs. I got rid of the vintage Sheaffers — great pens, all. I got rid of all the Pilots except the Preras I carry in my purse. I got rid of the smaller Sailors, and I kept only the one that was the perfect size. I got rid of most of my broad nib pens. I even got rid of some of my vintage Parkers and Pelikans that I didn’t love.
I decided to concentrate on a few types. Vintage Parkers, modern Pelikans, modern Montblancs, modern Auroras and modern Lamys, mostly Safaris and Al-Stars. I have a strong sentimental connection to both Lamy Safaris and vintage Parkers.
I’m going to admit that most of the pens I got rid of were better by any objective measure than the Safaris I kept. But the Safaris make me happy. As do the other pens I kept. That was my selection criteria, too, same as Marie Kondo.
And what makes me happy doesn’t make everyone happy. Many knowledgeable fountain pen users, with nicer handwriting and better collections than I, don’t like modern Pelikans and Montblancs nearly as much as the vintage versions I sold. Many prefer flex to the stiff modern nibs that I like. Many would be bored to have multiples of the same pen.
And that’s okay. If you want to find what brings you joy, you have to listen to others and consider their opinions, and you have to explore the range of options. It helps to look at what everybody else likes. But in the end, after all that is done, you have to listen to only yourself. Does it bring you joy?
Write with the pen. Or hold it, if you don’t write with it. Does it make you happy? To use the pen? Perhaps just to see it in the drawer? Or, unlike me, to collect every variant extant, and to hunt for rarities?
Whatever it is, if it brings you joy, then it’s right. Enjoy the pens, enjoy the journey. That’s what they are for.
Fountain Pen Follies 
Dear Laura,
I stumbled upon your article on fountain pens, which I found to be delightful. Thank you for posting it.
I was also intrigued by your reference to Kon Marie and her approach to owning items. I have always had a natural inclination to clean but her point on sparking joy helped me push that little bit further and remove what is essentially unecessary junk which is only stifling.
My challenge now lies with fountain pens. I have arbitrarily set myself a limit of 6 quality pens that really spark joy. In the process I have also settled on one brand ‘Montblanc’, not because I am ‘brand’ person but the first and subsequent ones I have bought just work perfectly from the start, unlike many other lauded pens which I have bought and subsequently disposed off.
Anyway, the limit of six helps me deal with ‘boy in a sweet shop’ syndrome which I experience frequently when read pen blogs online, or passing shops. It also appeals to my innate ‘Kon mari’ approach because if I get too many i start to feel the clutter sensation. I have not reached my six (4 to date) but my arbitrary limit helps me make very careful choices and ensures the new pen ‘really sparks joy’.
Anyway, this is a very long winded way of saying thank you for sharing and it’s great to know there are other like minded souls out there. Regards nigel
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Thank you so much, Nigel. That is really inspiring to me I would love to be able to limit myself to six fountain pens, or even just six outside the ones with sentimental value. I’m not there yet.
I am also a Montblanc pen fan for the same reason. In fact, I decided that if I ever wanted to keep only one fountain pen, it would be my LeGrand with extra-fine nib. Solid, reliable and just a great tool.
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Thanks for responding Laura and good luck with setting a limit. It’s a challenge!
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Lovely, really thoughtful! I’m liking the rhythm with these introspective posts in between the more factual ones. I can see why
I’ve heard of this book; her attitude sounds so clear-eyed and human in a field that’s pretty saturated with judgmental aphorisms and overly complicated advice 🙂
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Well, I do like her, but I’ll admit that she can be on the judgy side and she may take it a little far sometimes. Like anything, you have to pick and choose and adapt her system to your own circumstances. 🙂
But she has some great insights. She focuses on your feelings about your objects and your living space in a way that I found insightful and very helpful.
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An eloquent explanation of the heart of fountain pen use. If we merely wanted a tool for communication, we could be paper less and send everything electronically.
But we don’t. We connect with the pen as it lays ink upon the paperWe seek a deeper experience than simply conveying words.
I, too, have discovered the joy of having fewer pens loved well — though my “fewer” is someone else’s abundance.
Kondo calls that sweet spot of “just enough” your “click point,” and the only way to find it is to listen to what your own heart says as you handle each one.
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