Being a Creator, Not a Lurker, Brings Unreachable Joy to Anyone Accustomed to Thinking Deeply

  • I was recently asked how I revisit my handwritten notes—the very ones that fill numerous pages of notebooks, ranging in size from A5 to A6. These notebooks contain daily observations and evolving ideas I continue to refine.
    • The person who asked me this mirrors some of my habits—he also writes with pen and paper but rarely revisits what he has written.
    • Perhaps he’s hesitant to confront his own thoughts. Perhaps it’s imposter syndrome—the belief that our ideas are inadequate and unworthy of expression. This is an interesting topic worth exploring further.
  • I explained that I return to my notebooks daily. I leaf through them, add new thoughts, and expand upon ideas I hadn’t fully formed when I first wrote them down. I enjoy engaging with my ideas, refining them continuously.
    • Each time I open my notebook and transfer its contents into Obsidian, I actively engage with concepts—transforming something simple into something at once clearer and more nuanced. The simplicity lies in capturing the essence of the idea. The complexity unfolds when I interconnect that idea with others in my vault—this process happens after I’ve completed the note, reflected on its message, and carefully reviewed it. I do all of this manually. I believe in deliberate, thoughtful work. A knowledge worker should resist the urge to over-optimize or mechanize their process.
      • A diligent note-taker should grasp how insights from books evolve into personal understanding—an intuitive process, not merely a technical one.
    • This process of refining and playing with ideas brings joy. The method I’ve developed is modest in form but profound in impact.
  • Many of us love reading and treat information consumption as the primary role of a knowledge worker. Fair enough—consume.
    • But each time I revisit my handwritten notes, I treat them as if they were authored by someone else. My approach mirrors how I engage with books I don’t finish: I pick up a highlighter and begin reading, marking, and annotating directly on the page.
    • I quite literally relive the concepts and reconsider them. This brings immense satisfaction. It’s a mindset I’ve cultivated over time, and though it demands patience, the results are tangible: two books, four courses, plans for two more books, and numerous other projects.
    • The ideas born in these notebooks are mine alone. They belong to no one else. Witnessing their development is as gratifying as watching a tree mature in your garden. It is a unique kind of joy—unmatched by anything else I know.
  • I enjoy conversing with my notes. And it is exactly this—dialogue with notes—that matters. My notes embody earlier versions of myself. In that sense, it’s a conversation with one’s former self—a rare, introspective experience not easily achieved through mere thinking.
    • There is deep pleasure in spending uninterrupted time with your own thoughts. Too often we avoid this. I’ve done it—turning up loud music in the car, scrolling endlessly through social feeds, or binge-reading instead of pausing to reflect.
    • But this shift—from passive intake to active thought—leads to a powerful outcome: the creation of ideas that take form as essays, conference talks, timely project completions, and, ultimately, personal growth. Becoming a better person, father, husband, child, and professional—all because you allowed yourself time to think more deeply.
  • In essence, this is what draws me back to my notes time and time again: the desire—and the delight—of evolving both alongside and within them.

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