I recognize that a lot of my daily routines—my organization habits, my silicone bands, the meeting notes I take, the personal notes I make, the photos I snap—might seem intense and perhaps strange to most people.
The volume of notes I capture. The extent I go to in labeling and sorting things. The endless stream of seemingly random photos—badly framed, poorly lit—that never leave my iCloud.
I do all these things, yes, because they make me more mindful, more expressive, more intentional. But ultimately, I do them for one reason:
I don’t want to forget.
Jim Kwik once said:
“The two most expensive words in business are: I forgot.”
I’ve taken those words to heart. And ironically, I’ll never forget them.
The monotony
For me, seeing, feeling, and knowing the value of everything I do—every day I experience—makes enduring the monotony, and sometimes the annoyance, of capturing, documenting, processing, and archiving worth it.
In the end, all of these small things are cheap to do—and priceless for what they enable: helping me do more, become better, and not forget the important parts of it all.
Compulsion
This compulsion to capture. Where did it come from?
- To scribble some random idea on a piece of paper—or, if there’s no paper, on my hand.
- To take ten seconds after my partner mentions a sale at Costco to snap a photo—and capture the brand, the product, the price, and, if applicable, when the sale ends. (Every time.)
- To snap a candid picture—not of someone posing, but of the storefront of a grocery store, kind of far away, because that’s where we parked.
Walmart's frozen dark sweet pitted cherries are $4.44 for 600g (apparently).
Is it about needing order? Control? Collection? Maybe.
But for me, it came when I experienced severe memory issues—and all I did was forget. When I literally could not remember what happened the day before.
Taking notes
It was because of this affliction that I started researching, developing, and practicing all kinds of rituals and routines to help me not forget.
This was when I started taking notes. A lot of notes. (And pictures too.)
Some people find it shocking, but even just four years ago, I barely took any notes at all. And if I did, they were sporadic, chaotic, unorganized.
That style didn’t cut it anymore. I needed to be more intentional. I needed to be more proactive. I needed to be more disciplined.
Every evening, I would review my notes and photos. What I did that day. What interesting or important thing happened. What I might need to do tomorrow. The next morning, I'd review them again.
This daily review—this ritual of looking backward before looking forward—became my way of retraining my memory. A way to rehabilitate and rebuilding my mind. (At least, I think it did.)
Function
These daily captures and reflections show up in a lot of productivity and mindfulness routines. But for me, it wasn’t about feeling more grateful or present.
The need to remember wasn’t necessarily about feeling good. It was about functioning.
Better now
Thankfully, I’ve recovered. I can remember things again. But honestly? My memory still isn’t as quick or sharp as it used to be. And that’s okay.
The systems I built out of necessity have become a kind of superpower.
Even if the memory loss had never happened, I know this much: Taking notes, reflecting on them, and building upon them has helped me do more—and become more—than I would have been otherwise.
And hopefully, everything I’ve done, and everything I’ve felt, from then until now—those are things I won’t forget.
And if I do? I can always check my notes.