This week I kept circling one question: why do so many note systems feel dead, even when they look perfectly organized?

Two weeks ago, I wrote about the “filing cabinet model” - tidy, structured, and static.
Last week was about slowing down, giving notes the time they need to grow.

Now I’m taking another step:

Stop treating your notes system like storage. Start treating it like a creative lab. Move from filing cabinet to creative lab that move changes everything.

I know this trap well. For years my system looked impressive on the surface. Notes were tagged neatly, dashboards clean, folders balanced.

But here’s what I noticed: the tidier it became, the less I used it. I would capture, sort, and file… then never come back. It was like maintaining a museum of unfinished ideas.

The problem isn’t the effort. It’s the mindset. Filing makes a note feel finished. Development makes it feel alive.

When I picture a lab bench, it’s never spotless.
There are old experiments left half-finished, scribbled notes taped to the wall, test tubes waiting to be reused.

It looks messy, but the mess is where discovery happens.

That’s the change I’ve been leaning into:

Move from storage to experimentation.
Move from tidiness to liveliness.
Move from archives to collisions.

In a lab, you don’t just file materials away. You mix them. You test them. Even failed trials carry lessons forward.

Your notes system can work the same way.

When you make this change, the whole experience shifts.

A half-formed thought stops being a weakness. It becomes raw material to return to later.
Unrelated notes collide and create angles you didn’t expect.
You circle back, not to tidy, but to test again.

Ideas don’t stay sealed inside folders, they move outward into writing, teaching, or creative projects.

A lab-based notes system feels like a workshop. A place where things happen, not just where things are kept.

The biggest breakthrough for me was giving myself permission to be messy.

I started keeping a scratch zone where incomplete thoughts could live without pressure. I linked notes that didn’t obviously belong together. I wrote a quick reflection instead of saving another highlight.

The surprising result wasn’t chaos. It was momentum.

Some of my strongest pieces of writing began this way: two fragments colliding in the scratch zone, or an old half-draft resurfacing just when I needed it. Even my templates and products- the Knowledge Vault, Layered Thinking Notes - grew out of experiments that began as small trials inside my own system.

It reminded me of an artist’s studio. Walk into any studio and you’ll see sketches taped to the wall, rough drafts piled on a desk, canvases leaning against each other. None of it is wasted. Each fragment is part of the process.

That’s how I want my notes system to feel. Less like a library, more like a studio bench.

This week a few experiments stood out.

I pulled an old note on digital gardens and linked it with a trading journal entry. On the surface, they had nothing in common. But the collision sparked a fresh thought about feedback loops in knowledge work.

I took a half-draft that had been sitting untouched for months and rewrote it as a list of questions. It suddenly opened up again, something I could build on instead of avoid.

And I’ve been keeping an open bench where fragments live freely. No folders, no pressure. It’s become the part of my system I return to most often, because it feels alive.

The lab approach keeps slipping into other corners of my work.

When I’m reading, I don’t just save quotes anymore. I’ll write a short reflection about how two passages contradict each other. That clash becomes the seed for later writing.

When I’m drafting a newsletter or post, I keep fragments nearby. Returning after a few days, I often find two drafts suddenly connect, and that connection becomes the heart of the piece.

Before a call, I’ll skim clusters of notes. Not to recite facts, but to bring questions to the table. The conversation feels sharper as a result.

Even outside PKM, I notice it. On a long run, I’ll think about a messy idea I left in my scratchpad. By the time I’m back, it’s already shifted shape. The lab is always running in the background.

Each of these moments is small. But together, they remind me: my notes system isn’t a cabinet. It’s a place where work happens.

Move from protecting and preserving to testing and discovering.

That move may sound small, but it changes everything. One mindset values order. The other values growth.

Ask yourself: does your notes system look finished but rarely spark new work? Or does it feel alive, like something is always in motion?

The system you want is a lab, messy enough to make discovery inevitable.

Because nothing original grows inside a filing cabinet. Growth happens when you treat your notes as experiments, not storage.

That’s where I am this week.

I hope this week’s letter inspires you to rethink your notes system and note-taking approach. How do you keep your notes alive? Hit me a reply, I’d love to know.

Until next time,

Gav.