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There is a quiet magic in tracking the mundane. Over two years, I captured 248 daily notes in my Obsidian vault, documenting tasks, moods, and reflections. By reviewing this data systematically, a fascinating portrait of the mind emerges. I discovered a beautiful paradox where periods of lowest consistency produced my deepest writing. This is a look into the patterns of a generalist journaler and how the simple rhythm of daily writing shapes exactly who we are becoming.

I asked AI to make a video showing how the Chronodex visualizes time. The animations were stunning, but the accuracy was total chaos! It’s a perfect reminder that while machines can mimic aesthetics, they lack the spatial logic of the human mind. Let’s leave time management to the humans. Start the second half of 2026 with conscious time visualization. The July-December 2026 Chronodex Digital Download for Traveler's Notebook is available now. See how it actually works on my s

Many of you have asked how I torched my stainless steel Kaweco Liliput into a vibrant Fireblue, and I'm here to tell you: it is surprisingly easy. Watching the bare metal transform into rich purple and bright blue in a flash is absolutely mesmerising. Whether you want a smooth, flawless blue or a rugged, mottled patina, here is exactly how you can safely recreate this beautiful finish at your own workbench!

Through a serendipitous series of events, I found myself in Tokyo for a packed three-day trip. Between giving a talk at Keio University and attending events, it was incredibly difficult to quiet my racing mind. Yet, amidst the rush, I found unexpected moments of inner peace—an hour at a local tea shop, Sunday mass at a nearby church, and a perfect bowl of cold udon. None of this was planned. I’ve found that the simple desire to be quiet, combined with letting things happen, s

Heading to Tokyo for 3 days: Day 1 at the Traveler’s Notebook 20th event. Day 2 speaking at Keio University on brand ethos (their crossed fountain pen logo is perfect). Day 3 Brompton cycling in rural Tokyo. This serendipity tells me things are good. A secondary bestie abroad shared his feelings on song lyrics and we clicked again, just like that. It reminds me to be quiet in appreciation. With such a full itinerary, there’s only one blank page left in this notebook I wish I

When your mind is bruised, momentum dies. Actually making progress meant excavating the foundation all over again, just to remember where the beams were placed the last time I sat down. That repetition is a unique kind of fatigue. To survive it, you need a tether; a reliable system that remembers the shape of your work when you cannot. I built a quiet room for my thoughts using Obsidian, away from the noise. The system is simple, but it requires you to show up. Let it hold th

I’ve migrated to Obsidian for true data sovereignty. Unlike platforms that hold notes hostage in proprietary formats, Obsidian uses local Markdown files—future-proof and private. I’m now using a local LLM to chat with my data without exposing it to external training. My "vault" currently links 21 years of salvaged Typepad posts, a year of curated AI insights, and 23 years of work history. It’s an evolving map of my life’s work, built on a foundation of total ownership.

They say the "Second Brain" was coined by Tiago Forte in 2017, but my quest to externalise my thoughts started 21 years ago. If I could summarise two decades of trial, error, and hardware graveyards in 21 seconds, it’s a frantic evolution from plastic styluses to local AI.

Embossing machine, laser machine, engraving machine and the factory green brass pen.

Saluting the students of Cäcilienschule, a Catholic secondary school in Wilhelmshaven, Germany 🇩🇪 Year after year, they show up for science — launching weather balloons, running experiments, and competing with heart. Captain Astro-Alex is honoured to have made his 4th voyage to the stratosphere, returning to Earth despite a lost stabilising wing and a parachute that never opened. 🐻🎈 Honestly? We’re this close to the Artemis II mission. 🚀 May God bless the school, the tea

Once you stop forcing it, your senses lead you forward.

Brutal patina, texture and love

What does drawing skeletons have to do with love? More than you think.

Hard to start journaling? Pick up a pencil. Not a pen. Not an app. A pencil. It’s the most forgiving tool you’ll ever hold. It lets you say the wrong thing first, then gently take it back. No shame. No permanence. Just the quiet invitation to try again.

Most people look at Chronodex and think — that’s complicated. It isn’t. It’s a grid diary wrapped into a circle. Time lives in the center. The rest of the page is yours. Every appointment gets shaded by priority, so at a glance you see not just your schedule — but your energy map for the day. You only have so much energy. Chronodex helps you spend it wisely.

Living with intention, yet letting the spirit lead — the path appears as we walk, quietly. Kuala Lumpur began as impulse and turned into reflection. Through A Quiet Desk, fourteen stories became mirrors of my own journey. A temple at dawn, a cathedral bathed in light — two faiths, one peace. In stillness I learned: trust intention, follow spirit, and let each step unfold in divine rhythm.

I brought my bike to Tokyo in early February — part work, part wandering. Mornings began with cold air and empty streets, wheels tracing lines through neighborhoods still waking. I rode to quiet churches where sunlight spilled through high windows. I never took a train, not once. Everything lived within reach. There’s a peace in traveling by rhythm rather than schedule.

The Planned Day and the Lived Day will never fully match. The world will always try to rush you into its mood. This post is about a different kind of revenge: staying calm, staying analog, and refusing to become like a chaotic day.

The plan is perfect. Then the day happens. Hegel argued that contradiction is the root of vitality. We feel this tension every time our ideal schedule meets messy reality. Don’t hide the mess in your notebook. The crossed-out lines and the unexpected arrows? That’s not failure. That’s the conversation between the optimist who planned and the realist who lived. The friction isn’t a bug. It’s the fuel.

A friend finished a three-month meditation retreat and told me about it. I’ve wanted to go for years but couldn’t. Now I’m meditating at home, struggling with noise, thoughts, and emotions I can’t calm. Jung said solitude is a fount of healing—I’m seeking that silence, at least inside my own mind. Two distant friends reached out unexpectedly and gave me refuge. So I’m returning to pen and paper, journaling again, writing my way back to stillness.