A part of my kind of design and inspiration ethos is that I carry

“A part of my kind of design and inspiration ethos is that I carry around a leather notebook and I sketch in it, doodle in it, write notes in it, and I put pictures in it.” Thus spoke John Varvatos, a craftsman of both fashion and thought, whose words reveal not only the habit of an artist but the creed of a philosopher. In his leather notebook, he carries not merely paper and ink, but the living pulse of imagination itself. For within the humble act of sketching, writing, and collecting, there lies a truth older than civilization: that all creation begins first in the silent communion between the hand, the mind, and the heart.

The ancients, too, understood this. They did not yet have the factories or the glass towers that touch the clouds, but they carried their tablets, scrolls, and codices as sacred vessels of memory and vision. The philosopher filled his parchment with ideas that outlived empires; the artist traced with charcoal the first lines of beauty; the poet pressed his soul between the pages of time. So too does Varvatos, in his notebook, keep a private temple for his musings. He teaches us that the truest innovation is not found in the machines that surround us, but in the courage to capture the fleeting spark of thought before it disappears into the wind.

For inspiration, like a wild bird, lands softly and departs quickly. The wise man, therefore, learns to listen and record. Each doodle, sketch, and scribbled note becomes a doorway into the divine conversation between thought and form. In a world that moves with haste, where ideas vanish amid noise and haste, the notebook becomes a sanctuary—a stillness in which creation may breathe. To carry such a book is to walk hand in hand with one’s own imagination, to keep alive the dialogue between what is seen and what is dreamed.

Consider the story of Leonardo da Vinci, who carried his own notebooks wherever he went. In them, he drew machines that would not be built for centuries, faces that spoke before they were painted, and questions that the world still ponders. Those fragile pages—filled with doodles and sketches—became the soil from which genius grew. Without his notebooks, there would be no “Mona Lisa,” no visions of flight, no whisper of his enduring brilliance. Leonardo knew, as Varvatos knows, that the act of writing and sketching is the act of remembering one’s own divinity.

There is a kind of heroism in this devotion to the notebook. It is not the heroism of battle or conquest, but of persistence and presence. To carry it daily is to honor the unseen, to prepare for the moment when inspiration chooses to visit. The leather-bound book becomes a companion of destiny, holding not just ideas, but fragments of the soul. In its pages, the creator learns humility—for he sees how many of his thoughts fail to bloom—and also faith, for he knows that from even one seed, greatness can rise.

The lesson is simple, yet profound. If you would live a life of meaning—if you would design, write, build, or dream—then carry your own notebook of the spirit. Record what moves you. Sketch what you love. Write even what confuses you. For in the act of gathering, you will begin to see the pattern of your own becoming. Inspiration is not a lightning strike; it is a garden, tended one line at a time.

Let each of us, then, become keepers of our own books of becoming. Do not wait for grand ideas—catch the small ones as they pass. The melody that hums in your mind, the shape of a cloud that reminds you of courage, the phrase that makes your heart tremble—place them in your notebook. Someday, they will speak back to you, and you will see that every page has been leading you toward your purpose.

And so, remember Varvatos’s creed: that the truest design begins in the hand that dares to record the invisible. Carry your notebook as the ancients carried their wisdom. Fill it not only with words, but with wonder. For in the end, the pages you fill will not merely contain your thoughts—they will become the map of your soul.