In the two and a half hours we hung out, Michael and I talked about everything under the sun: work, blockchain, productivity, parenting, self-care, writing, creativity, and on and on. One particularly noteworthy topic? Note-taking.

Michael uses Obsidian, an advanced way to organize and link your thoughts. When he asked how I organize my ideas, I admitted my system was quite rudimentary. Apple Notes for administrative stuff and a basic structure, Evernote to save everything without immediate use, and then, well, a lot of writing drafts filled with notes. I did, however, explain my reason for never bothering to formalize my notes more: I believe the brain is the perfect filter.

When I write an already-long story, I don’t want to comb through every idea I’ve ever had to pick a few relevant examples to include. I’d rather just use what my brain comes up with in that moment. Sure, there’ll always be some recency bias, but often, when you think about a movie you watched last week, you’ll remember a similar one you watched many years ago. Your brain is already full of links. Why not trust them? It is very much imperfect, but this imperfection gives your creations a unique twist. An imprint only you could have made, thanks to whatever your mind delivered in that moment—and that’s beautiful.

Case in point: On the way home from my conversation with Michael, my brain was buzzing with inspiration. Had I taken notes during our conversation, I probably could have drafted a dozen blog posts on the spot. But I didn’t. I let everything simmer in my head, then picked one question from Michael that stood out to me. That became the next day’s post—and that, in turn, led me to this one. No elaborate system needed.

No matter what you do, your net will never be wide enough to catch all idea butterflies. Not all the great and extra shiny ones. Not all the normal ones. And not even all the small swarmers which you could release quickly and go watch them be on their way.

Don’t worry. That’s life. Catch what you can, and enjoy the rest as it flies by. You’ve already got the perfect, imperfect filter—all you have to do is trust it.

We were sipping on preposterous, eight-euro tea in the Four Seasons lobby when my friend Michael walked me through his daily journaling prompts.

“So there’s, gratitude, self-reflection, some emotional check-ins, and of course a few productivity ones, too. ‘What do you want to do today?’ That sort of thing.” His next one jumped out at me: “Oh, and I also recently added one: ‘What do you not want to do today?’ You know, to avoid distractions.” It’s always the seemingly obvious things that hit you the most. “Wow! That’s a great question,” I said. “Brilliant!”

It makes sense to write a to-do list in the morning, of course. To ask, “What needs doing today?” But with it, for most of us, comes the assumption that, naturally, we’ll then work on those items to the exclusion of all else—yet when do we ever? From fun but non-urgent tasks to the completely irrelevant, a million distractions regularly usurp the more important outcomes in our plans. What if we started paying attention to those instead of pretending we can magically keep them at bay by ignoring them?

“Let me not spend a whole hour watching movie trailers on Youtube again today.” “Finishing my drawing will have to wait until tomorrow.” “I know the boss asked me for it, but it didn’t seem like the competitor analysis was urgent. I think I can skip it for now.” Perhaps these insights are worth just as much as knowing where your time and effort should go to begin with.

What do you not want to do today? Try this question. See where it leads. Oh, and even if the prices are outrageous, having tea at the Four Seasons from time to time should not be the answer—because sometimes, new environments lead to new questions, and that’s always worth more than dollars.

Despite recently descaling our electric kettle, its filter kept clogging up. After each boil, the hot water would only drizzle out in spurts. “What’s with this thing?” I thought, “I just cleaned it!” I took out the filter at the spout, rubbed it, shook it, and put it back.

The situation improved slightly, yet two days later, I was back where I started. “Does it have to do with the steam that remains after each boil?” I wondered. “Have we been closing the lid, trapping the steam, and that calcifies the filter?” For days, I couldn’t figure it out.

I was just about to descale the whole device again out of desperation when, suddenly, it hit me: “What if it’s the water?” I checked our other filter—the one we run our water through before we boil it in the kettle—and sure enough, we hadn’t changed the cartridge in weeks. It was way past due. I switched it, tried again, and voilà! Who knew? You boil limescale-free water in your kettle, and your kettle stays limescale-free.

Our inclination is to blame first the tool, then ourselves—but when the raw material is tainted, the result can never be clean. Keep your inputs tidy, and all machines will run smoothly until the end.

“Maybe we are both idiots?” The words were staring back at me from a postcard. The paper was printed in Italy, but it was written on in German—by a guy in Poland, naturally. My friend Robert—aka Multithink—truly lives up to his online alias.

Robert has sent postcards in Italian, German, English, Russian, Vietnamese, Czech, Persian, Japanese, Turkish, and Arabic. I told him what a brilliant idea and tradition that was, and, well, two weeks later, I check my mailbox, and…

Some of Robert’s postcards go to friends. Others to strangers halfway around the world. And whether it’s thinking through his words in another language or merely great effort on his part, he always manages to share a deeply personal message with the recipient.

In my case, Robert decided to discuss ideas. “Do you sometimes ask yourself where good ideas come from? Maybe, they appear from the void. Or you can only think of them in the shower, as the internet would have you believe. I believe good ideas are born when we come together.”

This is, of course, how Robert’s postcard habit was born, too. He wanted to connect with an online friend. His mom, rather, for she sent him good thoughts in a tough time. But she only spoke Italian. So Robert studied, scribbled, and hoped for the best—and his friend’s mom kept his letter for many years.

But it takes more than two people coming together for a good idea to blossom, Robert believes. “If we want crazy good ideas, we need at least one crazy person. Hence the million-dollar question: Who is the crazy one? You or me? Maybe we are both idiots?”

Most of my letters these days come from entities demanding money. Those usually don’t make me laugh out loud. Robert’s postcard, however, very much did. That ironic, innocent question, echoing into eternity—or perhaps it was simply the genius of his initiative.

Write more letters. Think multi. If you’re feeling a little crazy, maybe you’ll even try writing to someone in their own language—but most of all, write the kind of letter you, too, would actually want to receive.

The word “engaged” means a lot of things. For one, it means “busy.” “Occupied.” “Already in use.” By the time you agree to marry someone, that sure will be the case. You’ll already have seen your fair share of love. With each other. With the others. But now, you agree to hold out for someone special, and, in the meantime, no one else shall take that special place.

To engage also means to attract. To hire. To enter into combat with an enemy, even. Marriage will also be all of those. Sometimes, you’ll feel attracted to one another. At other times, you’ll be fighting. In any case, you’ve hired each other. “I want you to be my partner for life. No one else can do that job.” It’s a decision that needs settling into, but not one to take lightly.

There are, however, more interesting definitions still. Architecturally speaking, an engaged column is one attached to a wall. Ideally, that’s what your partner will be, won’t they? A forever-supporter to have your back so that, even if you crumble, you won’t fall completely.

In any well-oiled machine, meanwhile, all parts must be engaged. If the gears don’t interlock, the bearings don’t move, the screws don’t hold, the engine won’t go. The clutch must connect to the driveshaft. If it doesn’t, your horsepower will never make it onto the road. That, too, is engagement. To become two parts of one whole, a team that is better and can, ultimately, only function together.

In some ways, etymologically, we’ve come full circle. The original stem of the word “engagement” meant “to pawn,” “to pledge” something or, well, someone—usually oneself. Now, we live in a world where engagement is most commonly associated with large companies trying to hold our attention just long enough until they can sell it to the highest bidder. It’s a different kind of pawning, but pawned we are at the end—and we pay dearly to cover the interest.

In that sense, perhaps my favorite interpretation of the word is “involved.” To consistently give your partner the gift of your presence is, after all, a much more lasting commitment—and sometimes sacrifice—than however much money one might cough up for a ring. “Yes.” That’s the answer we’re all hoping for. But not just, “Yes, I want to do the ceremony, have the party, wear the suit.” It’s “Yes, I want to be involved. Supporter or connector, entertainer or sparring partner, I’ll be here every day.” That’s worth a lot more than all the jewelry, process, and outward appearances. In fact, it might be the only thing that lasts—and to me, that’s what it means to be engaged.

Weeb Jail is something else. It’s as if 13-year-old me had moved to Japan and started a Youtube channel. So, whenever the unnamed but self-proclaimed “King of Weeaboos” returns, I press play. This time it took nine months, but, as usual, WJ did not disappoint.

Until today, I had never heard of karuta before. 30 minutes later, I feel the incessant urge to learn and master the game. That’s because, as WJ explains in his mini-documentary about an anime, a competitive card game, and his own experience with both: “Passion is contagious. It doesn’t even matter what you’re passionate about. What matters is that you are. And sometimes, if that passion is great enough, it won’t even matter to you, either. What matters is it’s there.”

Weeb Jail, for example, was the only one passionate enough about Steins;Gate, one of my all-time favorite anime shows, to make a video analysis for every single episode. That’s how I found him and why I stuck with him. But he’s clearly also passionate about making videos, because whereas he usually sits in his room, this time, he filmed himself, the karuta players at a local club, even a whole music clip for the intro of his video. That, too, is contagious.

Passion seeps through, and while it’s inspiring when it rubs off enough to cause real change, even just witnessing it makes us feel alive. Get your dose of passion every day.

I used to regret not writing down ideas for posts that came to me at night. I wanted to hold on to every flash of insight. Even back then, rationally, I knew most of my ideas wouldn’t be great, but I thought, “Hey, if I don’t ship all of them, how will I ever find out which ones resonate with people?”

There is one problem with that approach: Trying to realize all of your ideas is exhausting. Even in an arena like writing blog posts, where you can ship a lot and do it quickly, you’ll never be able to do everything, so no matter how hard you try, you’ll always come up short. And if you’re a designer, video maker, or data analyst? Forget about it. You’ll have to choose carefully from the start.

Once I accepted that I’d never be able to publish everything, most individual ideas seemed to matter a lot less. Now, it doesn’t matter whether I post this draft or that one. What matters is that posts go out every day. Ironically, this turned out to be a better filter for good ideas than hoping the market would decide for me. Whatever I can’t publish for a while, will I come back to it organically? Does it pop into my head again unannounced? If I forgot the idea as soon as I woke up the next morning, it can’t have been that important, can it?

Will I lose some good, perhaps even some great ideas by not scribbling every stray thought onto a piece of paper? Probably. But I will skip a lot more bad ones I’ll never have to think about again, let alone turn them into paper planes which’ll never take flight.

Don’t be afraid to let go of the unassessed. Important ideas will come back to you—and the ones you’re truly meant to share won’t leave you alone until destiny is satisfied.

On some days, you’ll need it. Sure, you can sit there, moping, hoping your headache might disappear or that your metabolism will somehow magically kick into gear. Or, you can treat yourself when you need it the most and move on with your day.

There’s the timeline you’d like to be on and the one life chooses for you. Know when to pause your diet, and remember: Every now and then, it’s okay to put pleasure before work.

I’ve been surprised at my own observations since taking a full-time job. Having been self-employed for a decade before, I guessed my views would be different than most people’s, and they are, but not in the way I expected.

Everything is still new, sure, yet I barely feel “stuck in the everyday humdrum,” even when attending lots of meetings. I seem to have more energy, not less, and even the additional work of writing in the mornings comes surprisingly naturally. I also barely spend time on company politics or industry news, and, so far, it doesn’t affect my work negatively at all.

It’s also been funny to observe my friends’ observations. “That sounds hellish,” one commented on my schedule. If you had told me about it before the job, I probably would have thought the same. But now that I’m in it, it actually feels fine.

“It must not light your inner fire, but at least it pays the bills,” another said. It’s true that the subject matter is not the end-all, be-all for me, but I do find every day at work interesting, and, ironically, I spend more time on my next book than I did before.

“I hope you’re getting the coffee orders right!” Okay, that one was mostly a joke, but again: To my own surprise as much as anyone else’s, I’ve been working on important projects from day one. I’ve even got my own major initiative to carry.

The inside view is always different. You’ll never see life from the exact same vantage point as anyone else, and even the most common of sense often doesn’t apply. The best you can do? Withhold judgment where you’re able, and offer it loosely held where you can’t. Turn opinions into questions, allow yourself to frequently update your perspective, and wherever you’re the one seeing what no one else can see, be grateful for the inside view.

In July 2010, someone on the BitcoinTalk forum challenged Satoshi Nakamoto on the scalability of his experimental, peer-to-peer payment network. After several users discussed the issue, Satoshi eventually weighed in, addressing some assumptions and pointing to a prior post for more of his thoughts on the topic. He ended his entry with a line that has been making the rounds in the crypto community ever since: “If you don’t believe me or don’t get it, I don’t have time to try to convince you, sorry.”

You are on your own journey. At times, you, too, won’t have time to explain yourself to everyone. The people who are meant to get it will, and of those who don’t, plenty will accept it without blinking twice. The rest? They’ll have to come to their own conclusions.

Having good answers ready is useful and worth working for. But at a number of crossroads, the only way forward is to be okay with leaving some questions unanswered. Sometimes, there’s just no time to explain.