For years I tried to organise my life using systems that were far more sophisticated than the way my mind actually works. Task apps, project boards, habit trackers, dashboards — each one felt promising at the beginning. Most of them turned into friction. They looked structured on the surface, but they rarely helped me think more clearly.
The only system I consistently returned to was the one that didn’t look like a system at all.
A single text file. One long running log. No categories, no clever mechanics — just days, notes, tasks, thoughts, and scraps of life written one after another, like footprints on a path.
A File That Grew With Me
I didn’t design it. I drifted into it.
Whenever something crossed my mind during the day — something to remember, something to do, a link, an idea, a half-finished thought — I wrote it into that file. Some days were tidy. Others were scattered and messy. But the file kept growing, and I kept returning to it.
It didn’t feel like productivity. It felt like somewhere to put things so I didn’t have to hold them in my head.
Later I came across Jeff Huang’s idea of the never-ending text file — a daily log that quietly absorbs the moving parts of life. His description didn’t feel clever or technical. It felt familiar. It matched what real work often looks like when planning and thinking are intertwined rather than neatly separated.
Why a Continuous Log Works
A single running file removes a certain kind of pressure.
There’s no decision about which tool a thought belongs in, or which list a task should live on. There is only the day in front of you, and whatever happens inside it. Tasks, notes, reflections, interruptions, false starts, progress — all of it flows forward in the same direction.
Over time, the file becomes more than a list. It turns into a quiet record of how you actually move through your days.
You see patterns slowly. You see the work you circle back to, the ideas that fade, the projects that keep resurfacing. You also see drift, distraction, and the weeks where life crowded out plans. None of it is curated. It simply sits there as evidence.
That honesty is useful.
Memory, Context, and Continuity
There is also a practical benefit. A running log lowers the cost of returning to something mid-day or mid-week. The thread of thought is still there in the rough notes you left for yourself. You don’t have to reconstruct your own mind from memory.
It isn’t tidy, but it’s alive — and aliveness matters more than elegance.
Tools that promise structure often invite you to manage your life at the same time as you’re trying to live it. A continuous log does the opposite. It absorbs complexity instead of amplifying it.
The goal isn’t efficiency. The goal is continuity.
A System That Ages Well
Eventually I stopped thinking of the file as a temporary solution. I began to see it as something durable — a companion that could last years, while apps and frameworks come and go.
Software changes quickly. Personal rhythms change slowly.
This approach won’t suit everyone. Some people thrive inside precise systems and tight categories. But if your thinking unfolds through exploration, or your work depends on momentum rather than strict structure, a running log can become something steady to lean on.
It doesn’t try to impose order from the outside. It gives you a place where your own kind of order can emerge, line by line, at human speed.
Closing Thought
I don’t think of my file as a productivity method anymore. It feels more like a long conversation with my past selves — useful on some days, messy on others, but always real.
And for me, that has turned out to be enough.
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