Hey there,
Welcome to another issue of Gav’s Note.
Every few months, I notice the same thing:
I scroll through my notes system, skim a hundred notes, and somehow end up back at the same handful.
They’re not the most complete. Not the most linked. But they pull me back.
They remind me why I started building this system:
to keep what matters close.
Main note
There’s a quiet pattern beneath every well-used vault: return.
The notes you return to most are rarely the most beautiful.
They’re the ones that anchor you.
I used to chase neatness. Every note had to be tagged, linked, formatted, and cross-referenced. I thought clarity came from order.
But over time, I learned clarity often comes from gravity, certain notes simply hold weight.
When I trace my most-visited notes, they fall into three groups:
The grounding questions.
“What am I really trying to learn here?”
“Where have I seen this pattern before?”
“Is this idea useful to me, or just interesting?”
These are the reset buttons. They slow me down when I start moving faster than I can think.
The long companions.
Phrases or passages I’ve copied from thinkers I respect — Kahneman, Greene, Sertillanges, Murakami. They act like quiet teachers.
I don’t quote them often, but I live with their words long enough that they start shaping how I see the world.The system mirrors.
Notes that describe why I built my system the way I did. They evolve with me. Every time I reread them, I add a small edit, a clearer line, a humbler truth.
They’ve become portraits of how I think, rough, layered, unfinished.
Each of these notes holds more than information. They hold a feeling of calm, of direction, of returning home after getting lost in my own noise.
When I open them, I’m not searching for knowledge. I’m looking for orientation.
Lab log
This week I spent time tracing my own returns.
I opened my Obsidian, sorted by “last opened,” and noticed the pattern. The same notes from 2023 still top the list.
It surprised me. I’ve added hundreds of new entries since then, literature notes, fleeting ideas, review logs, but the ones that stay in orbit are the same: the vault anchors.
One, titled “On Useful Ideas”, starts with a single line:
“A note isn’t useful because it’s new. It’s useful because it reappears.”
Another, “Return Over Capture,” reminds me to measure value by reuse, not volume.
Every time I drift into collecting mode reading too fast, capturing too much, that note pulls me back.
I think of these as gravitational notes. They’re small, dense, and quietly powerful. They don’t demand attention, but when I lose direction, I end up near them again.
They remind me who I was when I wrote them and who I still want to be.
Everyday scenarios
When I’m designing a new Notion template, I reopen a note called “Design for Daily Use.” It’s a short paragraph from last year, written after a week of over-building.
It reminds me: “If it doesn’t survive an ordinary day, it won’t survive at all.”
When I write a newsletter draft that feels off, I revisit a note titled “The Builder’s Voice.”
It’s not a writing guide, it’s a reflection written after rereading Murakami.
The line says:
“Write like you’re returning to a friend’s workshop, not performing on stage.”
That line alone resets my tone every time.
Even in trading, I have an anchor note called “One Good Trade.”
Not a setup or strategy, just a reflection on restraint. It keeps my decisions human.
These small returns don’t just stabilize my workflow; they steady my state of mind.
They remind me that my vault isn’t a warehouse, it’s a workshop.
A place where ideas earn their keep through repeated use.
Your notes system probably has its own quiet companions - notes you didn’t plan to keep revisiting, but somehow do. Those are the real architecture of your system.
Before I go
Every notes system drifts with time. You add, you forget, you reorganize. But a few notes always remain magnetic.
They’re not there because you decided to keep them, but they kept you.
Each time I return to mine, I remember why I started all this - to stay close to what moves me, not to manage information better.
So the next time your notes system feels heavy, don’t add more.
Scroll through your “last opened” list.
See which notes keep calling you back.
That’s your foundation.
The quiet proof that your system already knows what matters most.
Creator block
This week’s deep dive looks at Clear and Simple as the Truth by Francis-Noël Thomas and Mark Turner. It is a book about writing, but really about seeing.
It’s a reminder that style isn’t decoration; it’s thought made visible.
When we write clearly, we’re not showing off precision — we’re revealing how clearly we understand what we mean.
I’ll unpack how this idea connects to note-making, how to move from notes that describe ideas to ones that express them with quiet truth.
Follow me on Threads @gavin.create for the full deep dive this coming Saturday.
That’s it from me today.
Until next time,
From the desk of Gav.
(If there’s a note you always return to - one that quietly centers your work, hit reply and tell me about it. I’d love to hear what keeps your system steady.)
