Don’t impress the room. Invite the room. Say it simply. Say it clearly. Say it like you would to a five-year-old. Then watch the work move forward.

My handwriting wasn’t born. It was built — from architects, artists, and animators I admired, one borrowed detail at a time.

The marks of wear aren’t damage — they’re proof of use, of care, of craft. Every defect gets respect.

Those who’ve seen the most of the world often have the dirtiest shoes. Watch your step — but don’t forget to look up.

You can’t control how people respond to your work. But with AI, you can practice hearing feedback — at the pace you’re ready for. That’s what this experiment is all about.

I used AI to generate a podcast where two hosts talked about me and my writing. Not just summarized — talked. Awkward. Humbling. The feedback wasn’t real, but the self-reflection was.

That awful swirl of excitement, embarrassment, and regret after you share something? That's the Cringe. It sucks. But, it means you showed up. You did the thing. Keep going.

Go fast by getting rid of what slows you down. Not by rushing — by refining.

CODE. Capture. Organize. Distill. Express. It’s a note-taking system I loosely follow — but ultimately, it’s less about the method and more about making it yours. Doing what works, for you.

Expression isn’t about being loud. It’s about making what’s inside you clearer, so you can see what matters — and shape your voice along the way.

Distilling your thoughts isn’t complicated. You already do it—when you make dinner or pack a bag. Open your notes like your fridge: see what’s there, see what fits, make something yours.

Ideas only matter if you can find them. Organizing isn’t just filing them away — it’s turning scattered thoughts into something useful and ready when you need them.

Capturing matters. Make it easy, so you’ll actually do it. Not just to remember, but to express. To practice. To let passing thoughts grow into something more — your own words, your own voice.

Off days happen. When they do, don’t perform. Don’t force. Just ask: what do I genuinely want right now? Then do that — your version of it, for today.

I’ve written every day for 21 days. The biggest lesson? Stop overthinking. Just start. Do the whole thing. Do it your way.