First off:

There’s 26 new Bebe Fountain pens in the shop – the bulk of The Purple Drop. I have a few that didn’t get finished by the deadline that will trickle in over the next few months, but for the most part, this is it. Before anyone asks again: no, this is not the last time I’ll make purple pens. It will just be the last time for a while where I’ll do an entire pen drop where every single pen started with a foundation color of purple. (They all did, too. You might have to look for it, but they all started with a shade of purple.)

Also, because I’ve been asked this often lately as well: Yes, I do cast all of my own pen resin material. ALL of it. I don’t buy it. It means my work takes a little longer, but it also means that it’s all one of a kind. 

And that said, off we go.

A few weeks ago, after months of rehearsal and practice and preparation, the chorale I’m a member of had our sole spring concert. We’d had weekly rehearsals for months, and while short and informal, they were the best part of the entire season – including the concert. We’d work through parts, we’d work together to make music out of noise, we’d laugh and joke and make fun of ourselves, and enjoy learning to sing something together. We enjoyed just being there, singing; the concert often felt like it was just an excuse to get this season’s music right on a deadline before we started over for next season.

This is an example what it means to love the process. The final result is a by-product of doing something you love doing. When you love the process, the focus isn’t on whether or not something is perfect, or what accolades or awards you win. You’d do it without all those things. You just want to be doing this thing you love to do. 

Loving the process is difficult to explain to a world that prioritizes choosing the things you do based on what end product you want. The focus tends to be more on if it checks the boxes of what you think you want instead of whether or not you enjoy the process of getting there.

I run into some interesting communication challenges around my work as a result. People often assume that I am a perfectionist because of the hours I’ll willingly spend refining a skill or technique, the way I’ll go over details until I’m satisfied. What seems to go missing in translation of why I do this is that I’d do this even if I never actually finished the item – be it a pen, concert, or painting. The process of developing a skill I love using, for the experience of  trying to make an idea real, is deeply satisfying to me. It gives meaning to the hours – a meaning that does not depend on anything but my own internal compass and indulging my seemingly-endless curiosity. It’s work I do willingly because I love the experience of doing that work, and I love who I am when I am engaged in that work. I would choose to spend time doing that work when tired, frustrated, hurting, angry, confused, after a day when everything else went wrong because I love doing that work. 

I love the process for its own sake, and I love it because I love who I am and the way I exist in the world when I am immersed in that process. 

The by-product of almost anything loved that way – deeply and unconditionally – is going to eventually be something of beauty. 

(Yes, that’s a metaphor for quite a few other things, too.)

A. Markov