On Notes: Taking and Giving

I recently had the opportunity to review a book I read six months ago; I took it off the shelf prepared to read it again. Then to my surprise I found an envelope inside, covered in notes! A moment of pleasure and relief. What is it about taking notes that seems to be so helpful?

            Notes, of course, may be mere lists: shopping lists, appointments, the music teacher’s notes on which scales to practice this week. These are notes on things too frequently encountered to be worthy of memorising, because they’re going to change next time around. They might be long (the shopping) or succinct (the dentist). You don’t want to miss anything out, however, forgetting the eggs or the day of the week.

            Then there are study notes: since my book for review was neither my study nor my profession, I was surprised that I’d gone to the trouble to take notes. Study notes are usually about things we ought to remember but know quite well we can’t — at least not without a lot of revision — and even about knowing which things we ought to know. Sometimes also about where to find them. Study notes are typically about things that lack an emotional charge that might help us remember without notes.

            Some moments are easy to remember, like the time the guy blasted his horn and jammed his tank in front of me on St. Kilda Road, giving the finger as he did so. He was then stuck in traffic for the next ten minutes with the satisfaction of being in front of me instead of behind me, until he made it to the parking station that was his ardent destination. Remembering his rego number was instinctive, as such moments of hot resentment tend to stay with you, as do those when you let yourself down, or let other people down, and though you might like to forget them, you often don’t need notes to remind you of your mistakes.

            If note-taking is truly helpful, perhaps taking notes would serve to remind us of the good memories that tend to slip away if we don’t watch them. For some years I’ve kept what used to be called a Commoplace Book, a collection of quotations and references in this case on spiritual topics, all together in one place: notes on my readings. For example, this from Lao Tzu: “Act; don’t compete.” Or this, on discernment: “Obstacles, for Ignatius, were often a sign of the correctness of the undertaking … His conviction was that a great thing awakens contradiction.” (Lambert noted that). Or this, from the Commonplace Book of W. H. Auden (citing a Welsh poet): “Virginal exquisite queen, of long gentle thinking, the colour of breaking day on a deserted sea.” Such notes will surely help recall matters well to return to contemplation.

            Perhaps notes written at the end of the day could reawaken the appearance of grace, even of beauty, in our immediate past. It seems unbalanced to remember our anger, grief, or shame so readily and to forget so easily peace, inspiration, or comfort. God, after all, can forgive: how can we forget all the giving?