Hey there, welcome to Gav’s Note.

The end of the year usually brings a specific kind of pressure.
There is a loud collective urge to summarize, wrap up, and set ambitious goals for January. I felt that pull this week. I looked at my notes system and felt the immediate instinct to tidy it up.

I wanted to scrub the messy folders and archive the abandoned projects.
I wanted it to look like a fresh notebook for the new year.
But as I sat with that urge, I realized I was trying to hide the evidence of how I actually worked this year.

I decided to stop cleaning.
Instead, I spent the week just looking. I wanted to understand what my system did to me over the last twelve months, and whether it still served the work I care about now.

I spent the past week auditing my notes system. This wasn't a technical review of plugins or folder structures. It was an honest look at where my attention actually went versus where I thought it went.

As I scrolled through months of daily notes and project files, I noticed three distinct categories of information.

The first category was the work that felt alive.
These were the notes I returned to often. Ideas here seemed to have their own momentum; they got picked up, developed, and folded back into essays or projects naturally. I realized these spaces don't need more organization or complex tagging. They just need stability. They need me to get out of the way and let the connection happen.

The second category was the stalled projects.
This was harder to look at. These were the ambitious outlines from March or the research deep-dives from August that simply stopped.
My initial reaction was guilt. I felt I had failed to execute. But looking closer, I saw that the season had simply changed. The interest that fueled those notes had evaporated, or the problem they were trying to solve had shifted. Forcing them back to life now would be wasteful.

The third category was dead weight.
These were notes that made perfect sense when I captured them but felt completely alien to me now. They represented a version of myself or my interests that no longer exists. Keeping them felt like holding onto clothes that don't fit. They weren't neutral; they added friction. Every time I searched for something relevant, I had to wade through these echoes of past intentions.

A few uncomfortable patterns emerged during this process.

I realized that capture is incredibly easy. I have become very efficient at saving things. But recycling those ideas is much harder. Bringing them back into active circulation is the real challenge. My system is biased toward intake.

I also saw that structure scales quickly, but my attention does not. I can add infinite folders and tags, but I cannot add more hours to the day to manage them. A "productive" notes system can build an immense amount of pressure if everything moves in one direction: inward.

This audit shifted my perspective on what maintenance means.
I used to think it was about hygiene. I thought it meant keeping things tidy. Now I see it as a seasonal reset. It is about alignment.

I found myself asking different questions.
Instead of "Where does this file go?", I asked, "What is quietly pulling my attention without adding value?" and "What stands between me and the ideas that matter right now?"

The outcome wasn't a perfectly organized notes system. If anything, it looks a bit emptier. But the system feels lighter. It feels more honest. It aligns with the work I want to do next, rather than the work I thought I should have done last year.

The hesitation to delete I found a note from February about a book I intended to write. It had a rough outline and some character sketches. I haven't touched it since. Hovering over the delete button felt physical. It felt like admitting defeat. I realized I wasn't keeping the note because the idea was good; I was keeping it to protect my ego. I moved it to the archive. The relief was immediate.

Searching with less noise Yesterday, I went looking for a quote I saved about "slow productivity." In the past, my search results would have been flooded with half-baked related notes. Because I had pruned the dead weight, the search felt surgical. I found exactly what I needed in seconds. It was a small moment, but it proved that less volume often means more access.

The morning log When I opened my daily note this morning, I felt less pressure to fill it. The system didn't feel like a demanding boss anymore. It felt like a clean workbench. I wrote two sentences and closed it. That was all I needed.

The audit didn't result in a pristine database. There are still messy corners and unnamed files. But the heaviness is gone. I stopped trying to build a library for a future audience and started accepting the messy reality of my current thinking.

This week’s deep dive is on Range by David Epstein.
I’ve been thinking about his idea that the best work often comes from detours rather than clear plans. Looking back at this year, that felt true. Many of the useful skills and insights were the ones picked up quietly along the way.

In the deep dive, I explore how Epstein frames generalists, match quality, and nonlinear growth.
It goes up this weekend. Follow me on Meta Threads @gavin.create.

That feels enough for now.

Would you reply and let me know if you do a year-end review of your notes? I’d love to hear what you decide to cut.

Until next time,
From the desk of Gav.