I've recently been struggling very hard to keep my mechanical pencil operational, and it's got me thinking about our attachments to inanimate objects.
This pencil has been with me for about twelve years. Not bad for the $2.99 I probably spent on it at the college book store. It is the first, and last to date, refillable mechanical pencil I've ever bought and used. It's a transparent blue Pentel PD345, the line known as the "quicker clicker." I couldn't even estimate the number of sticks of 0.5mm I've put through this thing, not to mention the eraser refills.
Business classes, drafting classes, engineering curriculum, love letters, business propositions, even through my military service - this pencil has been my trusty companion. Always ready to jot a note or derive a formula.
I must now start thinking about what will happen when this pencil is no longer with me. It just doesn't click like it used to. The plastic parts have worn, and the spring is not quite as responsive as it once was. Sometimes the tip pops out when you try to advance the lead and I know it doesn't mean to, but, it frustrates me. I love my pencil. I swear I won't abandon it while it still has the ability to write. It's just so hard to think about what must come next.
Succession planning is difficult for many reasons. We don't want to admit that things have to change. We feel like we are betraying those who have dedicated so much by discussing who could be their equal, or their better. Is this pencil more than a compilation of plastic and metal, an arrangement of molecules into a functioning entity? No. It's a damn pencil, but that doesn't stop me from feeling attached to it. Maybe I would feel better if I told myself it was going to a better place.
