Yearly Archives: 2013

The Shelf Life Of Notes

Flipping through an old notebook is a special and treasured pleasure of mine. Not only for reviving the memory of a time, person, or place, but also because I find they improve with time. The critical self dialog of the now is gone and the true nature of what I captured can now stand apart from such noise.

I have found that the longer my used notebooks sit on a shelf, the more valuable they become to me. That I often do not — can not — recognize the full worth of a thought, idea, or conversation I have captured until it has gone long forgotten on a shelf or in past pages. Only when I stumble upon it with eyes anew does the true importance shine through.

So, what I capture and where and how does not matter as much to me for most things. What is important is that I regularly take the time to go back to these places, flip through the pages, and allow those pasts to speak to me in the present.

Getting Things Done Elsewhere

I found the intersection of the following two posts that popped up on my radar interesting. Both should be of interest to "knowledge workers" and those who work at home.

The first, Things I’ve quit doing at my desk, offers some great tips for making your desk a workspace of purpose by employing some basic ground rules. All of the ideas are great but I found this one resonates with my own thinking and other things I’ve recently read:

If you’re like me, your best thinking happens when you’re not at your desk: taking a walk, going and asking another person for help, drinking a coffee, in the shower. Your desk is for executing; do your thinking elsewhere.

Then, shortly thereafter, I read this post from Randy Murray that aligns with my personal experience as well:

Having difficulty focusing and getting your work done? Pack up and move to somewhere new to work.

I have found that even moving to a different place in my house has the same effect for me.

Sometimes, the best way to get things done can be found by getting away from where you normally do them.

Fragments

I see the signs. They are every where and no where. Concealed and in plain sight. Hidden to those that wish deception. For the fiction is pleasantry. Yet, for those of us who can see, we beg for blindness. For the truth is everything we fear.

I wrote this almost a year ago. I don’t know why. It is not a part of anything. Nor, do I feel that it is the start or ending to anything just yet. It just came out and, now, exists.

Sometimes, I write little snippets of things — fragments. Sometimes sentences. Sometimes paragraphs. Sometimes a whole page or two. Sometimes a single word.

I had a creative writing teacher when I was a teenager tell me this was not uncommon. That sometimes a writer’s brain does not work in linear wholes. That, sometimes a fragment will appear suddenly and have no place. Then, someday later, you might stumble across it and build upon it or find a place where it belongs.

She told me to set these aside and revisit them from time to time. That eventually their place may come along.

I have found this a helpful lesson for much of life. Not everything has to have a place right away. Sometimes we find a place. Sometimes a place comes along.