Yesterday, in my post “Remember,” I shared a bit about my archiving methods — how I preserve thoughts, notes, and pieces of memory.
That post nudged something deeper.
It made me reflect on the things I put away. Not just the tools and the tasks — but the ideas. The sparks. The fragments of thought that brought something to life.
I call them "Idea Machines" — A little "brand" I've cultivated for myself. Something that you can usually see on a lot of my stuff in some way.
And Idea Machines get put away a little differently than a spare water bottle or a box of toothpaste.
Organization
It’s not about organizing things in the “I know where it goes” kind of way. It’s not just “everything has a home,” or “out of sight, out of mind.” Those things do happen — but as a side effect.
The practice feels more like curation than cleaning. It’s less about tidying up and more about treating these pieces — these objects — like artifacts from a life of making.
Things I want to preserve, not just because they’re useful, but because they say something about who I was when I made them.
Origin
I can trace this practice back to late December, 2021. The tail end of the winter holidays.
I was still recovering from severe memory issues that had lasted for several months. I was tidying up my home office, preparing for a new year, a new chapter — and a new job at Webflow, which I had joined earlier that May.
As I cleaned, I found a stack of messy handwritten notes and scribbles from my time at Automattic.
Undated. Unorganized. But somehow full of energy.
Scribbles
One piece stood out.
A newspaper I had grabbed at the airport on the way to Barcelona in 2019, heading to a team meetup.
Back then, I wasn’t a note-taker. Not at all. I didn’t carry a thoughtfully curated collection of stationery with me.
But I had a marker. Somehow. And that newspaper had to do.
So I scribbled — ideas I was working through, sparks of a system that would eventually contribute to WordPress’s global styles and theme.json.
It was raw. It was unfiltered. But it was me.
Realization
I kept digging. More notes surfaced.
Little time capsules. Half-thoughts. Loose ends. Fragments of a working mind I had almost forgotten were mine.
And then I felt it — this quiet, overwhelming moment of recognition.
“This is who I am.”
“Someone who expresses themselves through scribbling.”
“...“
“...Why did I stop doing this?”
Resolution
And I had. I’d stopped for several years.
Maybe it was because other things became more important. Maybe it was because I was too tired to remember what it gave back. Maybe it was because I forgot it was allowed.
That’s when I made a decision. In 2022, I would start again. I would scribble again. And I would do so relentlessly.
But this time, I would timestamp everything. I would organize everything. I would keep every piece of it — the tools, the scraps, the sketches — anything that helped bring something to life. Anything that helped me express something real.
Because sometimes, I don’t need more time. Or clarity. Or advice.
Sometimes, I just need a reminder. Of who I already am.