Anticipation is powerful. We wait for things. For our whole lives, we go from doing something to waiting on something else. It’s neither good nor bad, but neutral. How we react to the wait is up to us. 

Recently, I sat in a lobby waiting for someone. I was nervous for no good reason. I felt a slight anxiety even though it was something I’d done many times before. Realizing I was nervous helped. 

Before flying, I’m always nervous. Nothing bad has ever happened—unless you count motion sickness, which is a curse in itself—but still, I anticipate something; likely the unknown. In those moments, it helps to recognize my nervousness and allow it to some extent. 

Then there’s the waiting for good things. A fun vacation is a good thing to wait for, despite it usually requiring getting on an airplane. We wait to meet with friends, we wait to watch an anticipated movie, we wait to hear back if we got accepted for that job, we wait to see if that other person will say yes. All these things require anticipation, and in the moments where we’re waiting, it’s easy to be eaten up by the unknown. 

Whether it’s something I want or don’t want, I’m always at a point of waiting, of anticipation, of uncertainty. That’s life. 

One way I’ve handled it is spending less time preparing. I used to spend days and hours preparing for tests in school, when less time would have sufficed. I used to over-prepare for airplane travel when the night before is fine. I’ve spent so much time preparing for so many things that my life has felt like short periods of things I enjoy surrounded by the stress leading up to it. 

This is why I like running. There is no before, no after, just the thing. Me, a wooded trail, my shoes, and the sound of my breath. That’s it. I don’t know what will come before, I don’t know what will come after. Of course, this isn’t entirely true. I still wonder what’s around the next corner, what I’ll eat for dinner, how to navigate that walker with a dog off leash in front of me. But still, it’s about the purest form of living I know. For those moments, I’m alive, doing a thing, and in it. 

I want more of that, more of being in a thing and present with it. More of just playing with my kids, more of sitting and hanging out with my wife, more of talking with a friend without technology to distract. I’m slowly getting better at that, but still being kind to myself to sometimes stress out and sometimes relax. 

Recently, I went on a long car ride with two other people over a weekend. We were in the car for fourteen hours round trip. Sometimes that can be stressful, spending hours alone with someone for awkward silence or disjoined conversation. 

All three of us have known each other for over a decade, and our lives and intersected on many occasions in church and in life. We know each other by name, know each other’s families, and have been involved in just living life on parallel tracks. We’ve talked for short bursts here and there, but never for long periods of time. 

It could have been a stressful ride, and I was a little unsure going into it if we’d hit it off with our conversation. It could have gone bad, but that’s not what happened. We talked the entire time. It was amazing. It felt like a microcosm of life. We talked about so many topics, from our local community to politics to growing up to how we like to work. We had time to move through things and digest them. And because of the nature of driving, we were absent our smartphones; we were present in the moment. 

At the end, one of my driving companions mentioned that they too were surprised at the great conversations we’d had, and that it wasn’t something they expected. 

I want life to be more like that, present in the moment with friends, spending time being and living and building connections. 

Of course, there are still things that are stressful; we need to provide for our families, be part of a community with all the good and bad that comes from it, and do many things that aren’t necessarily our favorite. But through all that, we can embrace and look for the moments where we can be present, and there are more of those than I would have suspected. Even in a tiny moment waiting in a lobby, we can pause and just exist. 

Over the last few weeks, I’ve been taking a break from infinity wells.

I’m off social media, Reddit, gaming, or movies. If it’s something I could do forever, I’m holding off on it.

There’s just no stop to these things.

You can’t reach the end of Reels. Reddit always has something you can check out. And Threads/Bluesky/Mastodon/Twitter/X go on forever. It’s to the point where it’s easy to refresh every few seconds throughout our lives.

It’s insanity.

That’s not to say there is no value at all in these things. They’re mixed. And for many of us, it’s hard to separate value from rubbish.

So, in taking a month-long break from this, I’ve developed something interesting. Maybe it’s withdrawals, although I’m uncertain if we can truly call this an addiction, but regardless, I’ve found myself wanting to check my phone for something, anything, that can give me something new.

When you’ve got a politically fueled argument happening online, or something news-related on the other end of the world, or in-depth discussions on a specific niche topic that you care about; frankly, it’s hard to spend time on something slower.

Why would I read a book when I could watch or read something shorter, more stimulating, and that cuts straight to the punch?

This is part of the reason I’ve struggled with reading. My attention span is limited.

Audio has been the great saver for me here. I can still do something while listening.

There’s probably some negatives to multi-tasking, but I’m grateful for podcasting and audiobooks. All that said, I’ve found something unusual these past days. Despite all that’s going on in my life, many wonderful and chaotic and amazing things, I find moments throughout the day where I’m bored.

Maybe it’s just a few seconds, or a few minutes, but still, those moments arrive.

Because I don’t have any apps on my phone, I tend to go to Safari and, through habit, start typing in the name of a social media app. I usually catch myself a few seconds later. The next attempt my brain makes is to find something new in the existing apps.

The one app I’ve allowed is Reeder, an RSS feed.

If I were watching myself from a distance, it’d probably look hilarious. I open the app dozens of times throughout the day, and because of the small amount of feeds I’m following, I tend to see something new only a few times an hour at most. And in those cases, it’s usually an article by an author I follow, not the short bits that I’m used to on social media.

And therein lies the beauty.

Because of the opportunity for boredom, of not having an instant answer for my twitchy fingers to refresh Threads or watch something on YouTube, I’m resorting to other things.

It’s not that these things are better, but they’re calmer, they’re quieter, they allow time to build up.

Because of all this, I’ve been reading a book in the evenings on my Kindle.

It’s been a long time since I did that.

Instead of lying in bed doom scrolling, I either listen to a podcast or audiobook, or grab my Kindle and start reading a novel. The novel, in my opinion, is amazing. But it’s also calmer. It has periods of quiet, time to build up, and payoffs that take chapters to happen. Minutes and hours in real time, not seconds.

I like this.

My life is less driven by instant gratification and more by calmer, slower means of reward. I’m no psychologist, but based on what I’ve read, I have to imagine this is helping.

What will happen at the end of the month? Who knows, but I’m thankful for it. Thankful for the chance to slow down and pause, even when life is continuing as normal.

I still have my job, my amazing family, and social activity in my community. None of those have stopped, so from the outside, it would seem life is as busy as before. But in those seconds and moments, there’s a calmness. Instead of grabbing my phone to read something new, I have the chance to do things that are creative, calmer.

Another outlet I’ve found is iMessage. I’ve spent more time texting friends. Maybe too much in their opinion, but the energy has to go somewhere. Experiments like this aren’t about shaming myself to improve, at least not anymore. They are more about exploring ways to have a peaceful, meaningful, beautiful life. 

Also, I’m writing more. So that’s a plus.

It starts early. You’re a kid. You show up and do a thing. Maybe it’s something you said funny without knowing the proper way to use the word. Maybe it’s not being able to throw a ball well and getting teased for it. Maybe it goes back further with family where it wasn’t safe to experiment and be you. 

Insecurity builds up. 

You start to question your value as a person. 

This carries on through adolescence and into adulthood, and you find yourself holding up a cardboard cutout of yourself in front of the world. 

Look at this, not me. The cutout is perfect, flawless. It shows a catered outward expression exactly as the world wants to see. They’re happy with it, or at the very least seem to accept it. Nobody teases the cardboard. 

For a time this is great. You’ve avoided the ridicule. You can breathe, you can find time to improve the cutout. Maybe you paint on a face, maybe it becomes funnier, witty, or; and this is where things start to really deteriorate, it becomes an attempt at being the smartest cardboard in the room to the detriment of others. It becomes the one that teases those who didn’t know they were supposed to hide. 

I don’t want that cardboard. Maybe some people do, but I don’t. And I’ll bet there are more people out there like me. 

Show me the real you. I’m not talking about a real you that’s harmful to others, that’s a whole other topic entirely and one where professional help comes in. 

What I want to see is the odd you, the awkward version that tries stuff out and fails, the version that is imperfect. I don’t want to see the cardboard cutout. It looks just like the millions of others walking around the world, all perfect, all fragile, all unable to exist in the world in anything but an imperfect impression of what the real thing could be. 

That’s not the world we were meant to live in, it’s not the place you and I want to really create together. 

Now, sometimes the cardboard needs to pop back up to keep us safe. Sometimes you’re in a room with a bunch of other cardboard and being the only one to let it down could be dangerous for your job, for your personal safety, or for numerous other reasons. In those situations, consider your options. Look for someone else who is peeking a tiny bit around the edge of their cutout, someone giving you a glimpse of them; the real them. 

When you see that, let them know that you’re open to the same; maybe the two of you could start something new. 

A world, a room, a business, a community, any place where there’s less cardboard and more people has the opportunity to become something uniquely human. We’re all weird. Every single one of us. We’re awkward, stumble over our words, unsure of so many things. 

The people who have it all figured out are pretending. 

If you’ve let down your cardboard, be kind to those still holding it up. They’re scared, not sure if it’s safe, and in some cases, they don’t even know that they’re doing it. They learned too young the importance of a protective shield. Be kind to them, hand out a helping hand, and drop hints that it’s okay to have their protection up or down; either is safe. 

But know that a world where a few of us are brave enough to let down our cardboard opens the chance for others to do the same. 

I’ve had the privilege of working with so many great team members of the last two decades. Sometimes I saw glimpses of the real person behind the cardboard, sometimes I could never break through, and sometimes the weirdness of someone came out in a delightful, unique way. Through each situation, I was able to see that I was holding up a protection and slowly, sometimes not fully, I’ve been able to let it go. 

This means you’ll miss out on some things. Some places aren’t safe to be you. Decide in each situation what you’ll do and be kind to yourself. There’s no right or wrong answer here, but there is a beautiful path forward if enough of us can see it or are willing to take it. 

I had a realization years ago that there is no standard person. There isn’t a single human on this planet that represents the average human. We’re all different and odd and unique in different ways. When we let the cardboard down, we offer others the chance to see our realness, and that’s beautiful. 

Many of us want to help. It’s natural to look at someone struggling and see the obvious solution that they’re missing. 

Coming from a software background I often perceive ways that others could improve their workflow for using an application or navigating through a process. I want to jump in and just tell them the better way. 

But not everyone learns the same way. And not every way is right or wrong.

Years ago I had a colleague who was a self-proclaimed slower learner. He spent time digesting things at a deeper level, across a broad swathe of knowledge, and over time developed enough of an understanding of a subject to finally step out of the weeds and feel ownership. 

When he’d grasped enough of a topic I could be certain that he’d thought through nearly every aspect and understood it deeply. I then trusted him and often came to him for help on those topics. 

But on new topics, when we’d have to dive into something quickly and absorb it and see how it might apply to us without a lot of thought, he’d often come to me and ask for my gut check on something.

The balance then, of someone who likes deep and thorough learning, contrasted with another who may prefer shallow and quick learning, helped teach me that people have different styles of learning. And it’s not even the same per person. In some subjects I love to go deep, in others I want to learn just enough to be proficient. 

In Alchemy, Rory calls this satisficing vs maximizing. Learn where you need to pickup just enough information or should explore deeply. Understanding which of these two fits a given situation is a helpful key in navigating through all the unlimited data thrown on us every day. 

So coming back to helping. When we’re looking to give someone a guiding hand, it’s important to understand how they learn. 

Once I took a ukulele lesson. It was a group lesson, and the instructor understood the topic at hand and was doing a great job of helping novices improve their skills. During the course of the lesson several of my fellow classmates were able to jump forward in their understanding. 

For myself, though, nothing was coming through. The instructor was patient with me and, to the extent possible in a classroom setting, spent time explaining the basics. But it wasn’t basic enough. 

I’d strummed cords for years on guitar; just for fun. But only knew a handful of cords and could never get the rhythm lined up enough to play anything meanigful. 

At this class I was hoping to take the leap from cords to rhythm. But the teacher started asking questions and explaining concepts that were completely foreign to me. My understanding was so basic that I didn’t know any of the musical terms, the definitions of music theory, or anything at all beyond where to place my fingers to make a pleasant sound.

At one point I realized my dilemma and backed out of the lesson as gracefully as possible. The gap between where I was and what he could offer given the constraints was too great. It was nothing on him at all, he did a fanstatic job with the class. But I couldn’t learn that way. 

In yesterday’s episode of Sharp Tech, Ben shared an example of teaching that resonated with me.

If you explain to someone how to make a smoothie, you might need to be more detailed on your steps depending on where they are at. If you’re helping out a kid, you might have to explain how to use a butter knife to scoop peanut butter out of the jar and show why that’s superior to using a spoon which is of course the messiest and worst way to extract substance from a jar. Having two young kids I’ve seen this first hand. When I write down a few tablespoons of peanut butter fro a recipe, there’s so much data involved in that.

A kid’s knowledge may be more limited, and it’s on me as the teacher to make sure I meet them where they’re at. 

Telling someone a thing doesn’t mean they heard it. 

Learning was hard for me growing up. I didn’t process things as easily as other kids, and often needed to sit with a subject for a while until it clicked. Even now in meetings with clients and colleagues I will write down what’s described, then look at what I’ve written before I’m able to understand it. I don’t process auditory as well as written when it comes to tasks I need to perform (unless it’s pre-recorded; then I’m fine, I can backup and re-listen). Knowing that about myself, and the struggle I had with basic concepts growing up, I try to remember patience with others I’m helping and to extend grace to make sure they learn something at the speed that makes sense for them. 

Sometimes a person just has to figure it out and sometimes they need a hand.

We grow up hearing that we should just show up. Be present, be eager, be hungry. Make yourself available, and good things will happen. That’s the message we tell young people.

This way of thinking is troublesome. Not because it’s entirely wrong, but because it assumes if you aren’t successful, it’s because you didn’t show up.

I’ve known people who hand out advice like it’s candy (of which I’m just as guilty), letting others know that they just didn’t try hard enough, didn’t have the right mentality; presuming if they had, they’d be just as successful.

The nugget of truth here is that many successful people did show up.

But even in that, there is almost always a story of hidden helping hands boosting them up, supporting them. That part of the story is rarely shared.

I’ve had an amazing career, far better than I could have hoped for. I’ve gotten to work in a field that is ever challenging and pushing me to learn and grow and solve fun problems.

But I’m under no delusions that I got here on my own. I had help. People saw that I was trying (and often failing) with sincerity and offered hands to pull me up. I’ll ever be grateful to them, to their kindness and support in times when I really needed it.

I understand that I tried hard and got rewarded as a result, but other times it was simply because someone saw the humanity in me and wanted to help.

I just said that many who show up get success.

But many others who also showed up don’t see success. In this context, I’m defining success as getting noticed, seeing monetary gains, seeing career progression, being able to build a life of independence for yourself.

The problem, at least from my anecdotal experience and from reading about the world these last few decades, is that when people become successful, they tend to think others didn’t make it because of laziness or their lack of a cheerful disposition.

The truth is far more mixed.

You might have the right energy, the right attitude, show up, be willing to help wherever needed, and never see the success as defined by worldly metrics. On the other hand, some are rewarded, so it’s a self-fulfilling loop.

When I try to mentor others, especially those younger than me, I don’t focus on energy output. I don’t suggest that they burn the candle at both ends.

It’s true there’s an element of being willing to put energy into the task to get something started. But, especially in creative fields, there isn’t a direct connection between time spent and problems solved.

Instead, I suggest focusing on what they’re good at, what they know, doubling down on that, and finding space to think, to rest, to contemplate, to be creative.

You can’t brute force everything; in fact, being rushed just leads to more problems.

When I worked more with my hands, building houses or doing yard work, the lessons still applied.

The others I worked watched me rush back and forth, throwing my energy to every task with speed and haste. They smiled and showed me a better way. They taught me that leverage applied matters more than brute force. They showed me that rest breaks were important for longevity, taking naps mattered, sitting down at the end of the day and relaxing together mattered.

They were in it for the long haul to a purpose, to care for their families and get the things they needed.

The point wasn’t to just exert energy for no reason, but rather toward a goal.

This is a lesson I’ve learned repeatedly over the years.

Instead of throwing energy at a problem, I’ll often pause, think, take a walk, pace; and above all, follow my way to where my subconscious is calling.

My job involves creating things, and in creating, we are merely repeating patterns we’ve seen with remixes.

There is a final element here that can’t be ignored.

Not everyone starts on an equal footing. Some people I’ve tried to help have come from struggling homes lacking the basics of life. Others had loss in their childhood. Still others never truly felt safe because of circumstances outside their control.

These elements change a person.

So when trying to lend a helping hand, I look to see where they’re at and how much help I can offer.

Looking back, I can see the hands offered to me came at different stages. Sometimes a kind person recognized I wasn’t ready for certain advice, but they could share building blocks that would lead to growth in other areas before I’d be ready for the next lesson.

This is another way of saying that just because some people seize on opportunity doesn’t make them inherently better than the ones that ignored it.

Maybe those who ignored it were struggling with deeper hurts and just weren’t ready yet.

I hope I’ll always be empahtic to that and see people for what they are, beautiful, amazing, and human. 

I’m trying to be more thankful as I age, appreciating the blue sky, the sunshine, colorful leaves on the ground, the smile of a friend, the hug of my kids. Each day is a gift, and I hope to lend gifts to help others. 

Something about Gruber’s latest post resonated with me. He felt compelled to write a detailed treatise about a single letter at the end of an iPhone model’s name. He then suggested to Apple how they could improve things going forward by changing out a CSS class. As the founder of Markdown, this makes sense; he’s built a living on small details that are important for sharing text on the web. 

This is both incredibly meticulous and delightful at the same time. I love when someone shows up and cares, when the little details matter, when they pour their thoughts out to try and understand how the world works and could be better. 

A while back, a friend asked me for a recommendation on a monitor. I want a very specific monitor, and I have a bunch of reasons, special to me, why I’d choose one model over another. I’ve spent time learning about the details of this monitor and why it’d fit into my life. For reference, I’m talking about the Apple Studio Display with a 5k resolution. It’s been suggested to me that I should go with a 4k display or an ultra-wide display. Because of my eyesight, which, thanks to a 2020 surgery, is better than 20/20, pixels matter. I can see quite well, and the details on the screen are important. Having a 4k display means I’ll see the pixels more so than if I have a 5k display. I’ve held off for years buying a cheaper monitor because I want one that matches the details that matter to me. Sometimes being too perfectionist has its costs. 

In my work, I have to switch between two mindsets. When I sit down to design an app screen, I start with the high level, understanding how this screen will matter and fit into the wider picture for the app, and ultimately the business and its users. Toward the end of the project, I start to hone in on the details. I spend time thinking about pixels, spacing, fonts, and colors. 

But I stop myself at a certain point. Coming from a graphic design background, I could spend forever on these levels of details. And in the past, I did, so much so in fact that I rarely shipped on time or at all. Too much time at that level means I often don’t have enough time to spend at the higher levels, where the impact matters the most for the types of apps I’ve needed to build recently. 

This isn’t to say that the small details don’t matter, but there’s a time and place for those. I appreciate, for instance, how some of my favorite indie app developers pour over these small details. I think there’s a place for them, and the artisanal nature of designing apps will hopefully always continue, but in the type of work I do, we’re more focused on understanding markets and users at a high level.  

That aside, I love to read the thoughts of people who show up to understand how things tick, why they matter, and why you should care. Yesterday, I wrote about why I use a specific watch band. 

Over the years, I’ve kept lists of things I’m interested in. Whether it’s some new gadget I want to buy, or an accessory for a computer, or even a larger purchase, it’s fun to try and understand how it will fit into my life and whether one version is better than another. On one hand, this could simply be a result of the consumerist world I live in. But I don’t think that’s entirely it. I think for some of us, we enjoy the time spent in understanding, in seeing, in appreciating. 

I’m currently on the hunt for a new backpack. I’ve had a long journey with backpacks. 

Recently, I’ve switched to two backpacks from Patagonia, one a 20L and the other a 26L. The 20L is great for everyday carry, can hold two laptops and their accessories when needed, and meets all my needs for working out of a coffee shop. However, I have a trip coming up, and the 26L, intended for such purposes, is no longer working for me; mainly because of a too-large side pocket where my water bottle falls out and a too-low zipper opening on the front where my wallet and other small items fall out. On the one hand, it can be time-consuming and maddening to spend so much time on such things. On the other hand, it can open up a world of dreams and possibilities to care about the size of a compartment on a backpack. 

Raising loved children is the only consistent and lasting healing some will know. For me, it has been enough.

Beautiful words by Zeldman on the challenges we face in this world and how we can turn it around with supporting kids in having something better. 

My whole life I’ve wanted to wear watches. They are small, techy, and carry a world of possibilty inside a compact space. The problem, though, has been the bands. I have small wrists, and as a teen they were even thinner. I could never find the right distance between the lug holes (yes I had to look that up) on the band. The watch either felt too tight or too loose. 

When I was sixteen I was gited a casio watch with a bunch of cool functionality, including the ability to take a few short notes. It was fun. I felt like Inspector Gadget. Later I tried various Fitbit devices and loved fiddling with them.

But it wasn’t until the Apple Watch that I finally landed with something I could stand to wear for months (now years) on end. Its the band. Having an elastic loop on the Apple Watch that can be adjusted in tiny bits to just the right comfort level is amazing. 

My current wear is the Apple Watch Ultra with trail loop. It’s great.

After a year its beginning to show some wear around the points where it comes in contact with the watch, but overall I’ve been very happy with it. 

A few months ago I purchased a milanese loop band from Apple (the cheap one, not the expensive one) for a wedding. I wanted something a little nicer, a bit more formal to go with my suit. The adjustability is fantastic. I can tweak it and find just the right fit, not too snug and not too lose. 

However, and this seems to be a problem with all metal bands I’ve tried so far, it pulls at my wrist hairs. While wearing the metal band I feel the tug against my skin a few times a day. Just once would be fine, but it happens at odd intervals and its painful.

I even trimmed my arm hairs to see if it would help. Nothing, it still pulls. Frankly I don’t know how people manage to wear these types of bands. It’s unfortunate because I really like the look. 

With that said, I’m glad I can wear the trail loop and move on. 

A friend recently sent me a package in the mail and included a handwritten note. First off, the handwriting was perfect. Second, it carried meaning and felt more special than a quick text or email.

As a kid, before any of us had computers, I learned to write letters and send them in the mail with a stamp. It was fun to think up what you wanted to say, and wait for days or weeks to hear a response. 

I’ve often thought about picking up this practice again, without any expectation of getting a handwritten response. It’s delightful, its memorable, and it feels tangible in a special way. 

The creative act isn’t magical. Thought it can appear like magic at times, the idea that we make something from nothing is fantastical at best. 

When a designer sets out to create they’re building on what they’ve seen before, what has inspired them, what feels broken, what works. 

In art classes my professor had the students copy the great artists of old. We spent hours meticiulously tracing ever pen stroke, making as close a replica as possible. 

As a child I sketched out and drew things on paper, copied things, and tried to understand how beautiful pictures had been created, how they worked. Around 13 I discovered Macromedia Flash 4 and realized I could use it to recreate some of my favorite art. To this day the line drawing tool on Flash is still my favorite. You could draw a line, then drag around on its length to manipulate it into the perfect curves. Illustrator’s pen tool if fantastic and precise, and I’ve used it for many years, but the Flash line tool was delightful and easy.

There’s this old game online, called Neopets, and me and my brothers absolutely loved to play it. We ranked pretty high in the game (top 50 as I recall) at one point and enjoyed the community and gaming aspects of it. I was in particular a fan of the art style for the creatures that you cared for. So much so that I still use the online gaming tag of one of my favorite pets (and it happens to be my license plate for my car). 

At one point something clicked and I put my love of the game, my desire to create art, and my newfound obsession with Macromedia Flash together. 

Over the next few months I started to recreate the neopet creatures inside Flash. I’d drag a jpg of a pet into the artboard, and use the vector tools to trace over every single line. I replicated the brush strokes, the gradients, everything. 

When I was done, after many hours on each individual piece of art, I’d call my brothers over to try and figure out which was the original and which was my recreation. When they couldn’t tell the difference I knew I was onto something. A spark clicked inside me, this would be the thing I’d do forever, if I could figure out a way to make any kind of money from it. That led to trying out my own types of creatures, my own types of weapons; branching away from the original into variations on what I’d seen. 

The money part was slow to start, including getting ripped off by my first client (always get a down payment my dear designers!). 

But in copying my favorite art I realized something, later reinforced by my art professor and Austin Kleon. The creative act isn’t a magical mystery. 

To make something beautiful, something original, first spend time studying and stealing from the great artists and inventors that have come before you. 

Once you understand what can be done, you’ll start to branch out into other ways of expressing what you’ve learned. The new stuff you create isn’t really new, but it’s a remix. And those remixes, as you improve and grow and iterate further and further, will one day feel like magic. 

That’s where it starts. Look around, take in inspiration, think on it, play with it, re-arrange, and then start to see something new appear. 

It’s the same with writing. I love to read fiction and non-fiction in all forms from other authors. 

With graphic or product design I spend time looking at other ideas, then remix the dozens of things I’ve seen into something new for the project I’m tackling. 

When I’ve taught classes on sketching as a practice, I focus on the simplicity of conveying ideas. Using arrows, words, boxes and circles you can do a lot (far more than words alone) to get whats in your head onto paper, and by extension share that with others. 

In Understanding Comics, Scott McCloud walks through the history of visual media, starting with hieroglyphs and pictorial stories. 

If you aren’t artistic, or come from a design background, just know that you can use the simplest tools at your disposure to share ideas. If you are unsure how to start just look to others that you find inspiration from and spend time copying them. See something beautiful? Take a picture of it, save it, and use that as the starting point of your new creation. 

Sometimes it feels like a shame, other times it’s a blessing. There’s only one version of me. I don’t have a duplicating machine, a time machine, or a teleporting machine. The version of me that’s available has to choose where to be, when to be, and who to be with. The forced constraints are frustrating and beautiful at the same time. 

Embrace it, lean into it, be present where you are. 

I’m back into some longform writing, and have been looking at the best editor to work through a manuscript. In searching I stumbled across a solution to a problem I struggled with for years. 

Sometimes, while typing on the Mac in Ulysses, my cursor inserter would magically jump up the page and new words would appear in unexpected places. It happened without any explanation and I could never quite replicate it. 

Apparently I’m not the only one! This threads seems to solve it. I’m so excited.

In the past I’ve taken breaks from infinity wells. It’s time to take another break. I’m committing to myself to take a pause from the infinity wells that draw me in most and distract me from doing the things that I care about. 

So, until Dec 7 I’m planning to stay off Reddit, Facebook, linkedIn, Mastodon, Threads, and Instagram. Hopefully that means I’ll be on here more writing. 

Feel free to reach out and connect. 

A friend recently asked me for tips on illustrating. He’s writing content for a specific topic, and wants to include visuals to explain the ideas. 

A few tips I suggested to him:

1. Just start sketching – If you can draw a stick figure with arrows and labels, you can use those to illustrate an idea. Messy is fine. In fact its encouraged. Don’t try to be perfect, just sketch out an idea, show it to a few friends for feedback and ship it. I like to sketch with an iPad + Apple Pencil in Freeform, but all you need to start is a napkin and pen. Draw out that idea and show it to a friend. 

2. Worry about style later – Right now your focus should be on conveying your idea. If you write a thousand word article and want to include an illustration alongside it, that illustrations goal is to help summarize some key point of the article. Don’t worry about if it’s not perfect. In fact, A List Apart made a game of its illustrations being incredibly abstract and not really on point with the article. They’re amazing. 

3. Copy the masters – When you’re ready to figure out your style, spend time straight up copying illustrations that you like. This is entirely optional and only if you want to to get closer to a specific style you love. In college my professor encouraged us to trace out drawings from Leonardo Da Vinci or Michaelangelo, copying stroke by stroke to understand they did things. For me it was a lot of fun to start to figure out what type of lines I wanted to create, what types of shading I wanted, etc. 

4. Iterate on the fly – Your first sketch will be messy, at least I hope so. If it feels too perfect you probably spent too much time on it. Just doodle out an idea and ship it, then move on. You’ll improve on future sketches, not this one. 

For inspiration I recommend looking at some of the visuals from Ben Thompson, the beautifully simple and elegant drawings of from Randall, and consider grabbing The Shape of Ideas by Grant Snider.  

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Above all else, you’ve got this. You don’t have to be an artist to convey an idea. In fact I did a whole talk on this years ago. Just sketch out your idea and ship it, learn from it, ask others if they understood it, and keep tweaking in future iterations, not in the current one. 

Also, if you’re tempted to use AI I’d say go for it, try it out, see if you like it. The challenge I’ve seen with AI is that it takes the median of all ideas and creates a rather generic concept. That may be useful if you don’t trust your skills at all. But I’d suggest that the time spent flexing your drawing muscle may in fact help with your writing.

Thank you to Arlen for the inspiration to write this.

Sometimes I find myself in a state of incompleteness. There’s so much to be done and not enough energy left. When life includes many important things, it seems impossible to do them all. Sometimes days feel like Hal changing a lightbulb. 

Today I sat down and played with something that had been bothering me for a few weeks. We bought a new bookshelf for my office, and the middle shelf keeps falling down. I thought I’d lost a screw, and finally sat down today to investigate with my iPhone’s flashlight as a camera. 

After some testing I realized the slot for the screw is somehow designed wrong and the screw can’t go in. The problem was much easier to solve once I thought about it for a minute. Instead of forcing the screw to fit I just moved the entire shelf down a notch. There are, after all, several other heights for the shelf. 

Problem solved, and now I can move onto the next thing.