Welcome to Verstreuen—meaning “to scatter”—where I unpack the ideas I’ve collected this week in my 🗃️ Zettelkasten, “note box,” personal knowledge management system. Here, I’ll share the highlights, insights, and stories I find interesting—and think you will too!

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🗃️ This Week’s Highlights

This week's notes come from 48 new additions to the Zettelkasten—here’s the three that stood out most to share with you:

🟨 You’re Not Perfecting Your Craft—You’re Shielding Yourself from Vulnerability

🟦 How Stand-Up Comics Mastered the Art of Staying Power

🟥 Your “Safe” Bet Might Be the Riskiest Move You Make

Over the last few years, I’ve been trying to default to action—especially with side projects. Starting more. Shipping faster. Getting ideas out of my head and into the world.

But I’ve started to question that instinct. Because not all action equals progress.

For the past few months, I’ve been quietly building a set of Notion templates. Testing, tweaking, refining. It feels productive—but I haven’t shown them to anyone. No feedback. No launch plan. And the excuse keeps creeping in:
“It’s not quite ready yet.”

It’s a pattern I know too well.

A few years ago, I built a booking tool for photographers. Clean UI, lightweight features—nothing fancy, but something I believed in. I was learning React from scratch, grinding through YouTube tutorials, coding deep into the night.

Every day, I made updates.
Every week, I polished.
But I never showed it to a single user.

Eventually, I mustered up enough courage and brought it to a local photographer meetup. Excited to finally demo the thing I’d poured months into.

And… nothing.

No one got it. No one wanted it. I had built a beautiful tool for a problem no one had.

I didn’t build a product.
I built a fortress.

It gave me control. It kept me comfortable. But it also kept me alone. And isolation, for a builder, is dangerous.

With the Notion templates, I see the same pattern: endless refinement as a shield. It feels like progress—but really, it’s busywork. It’s effort without exposure.

So here’s the shift I’m making:
I still believe in action—but only if it leads to feedback, learning, and momentum.

A new mantra has been echoing in my head:
Done is the engine of more.

Done creates clarity.
Done lets you learn.
Done gives you permission to stop.

So build. Ship. Share.
And if what you’re building starts to feel a little too isolated—ask:

Is this a product, or a fortress?

So here’s to done.
🔗 Check out the updated Zettelkasten template

—🗃️—

I know—I just wrote about how isolation is dangerous.
How refining ideas in private can feel productive, but often stunts growth.
Nothing evolves without exposure.

But here’s the flip side:
Sharing everything too soon can be just as risky.

That’s where the Lindy Effect comes in. Popularized in the book Antifragile, it suggests the longer something had lasted, the more likely it is to endure. We apply it to books, ideas, habits. But its origin? Not academic—comedic.

Back in the 1960s, New York comics gathered at Lindy’s Deli. Sharing insights from each others sets they noticed a pattern:
The more a comedian appeared on TV, the faster their career burned out.

Why? Their material was finite. Burn through the good stuff too quickly, and the audience tunes out.

Overexposure kills staying power. 

The smart comics? They rationed. Specials. Guest spots. Strategic silence.

That’s the real Lindy lesson:
Durability often comes from pacing, not just quality.

It’s uncommon advice in a culture that worships output. But the ones who last don’t just share early—they share intentionally.

Comedians understand this tension better than anyone.
They need audience feedback to refine their work—but they also need to protect their best material.

The answer isn’t to pick between hiding or oversharing.
It’s to develop your work openly, but in smaller circles.
Comedians test everything in small clubs, revise relentlessly, and bring it all together when the spotlight hits.

Full effort goes into the process, but the presentation is timed for maximum impact.

That’s the move: Prepare your best work in small rooms.
Not by hiding it, but by shaping it.
Sharpening. Adapting. Sensing what resonates.

Lasting work isn’t built by sharing everything—it’s built by sharing wisely.
Test quietly. Improve constantly.
Then release with intention.

Because what lasts doesn’t need to be loud—
it just needs to be built to endure.

—🗃️—

The barbell strategy comes from investing:

Put 80% of your portfolio in ultra-safe assets.
Put the remaining 20% in high-risk, high-reward bets.
Avoid the middle—where things seem safe but hide hidden downside.

It’s not just a financial principle though.
It’s a life principle.

Lately I’ve been asking: what’s the “middle” in my own work?
The project that’s too vague to succeed, but too familiar to kill.
The “safe” client that drains energy but doesn’t help you grow.
The comfortable habit that doesn't hurt—but also doesn’t help.

The middle is sneaky because it wears the mask of productivity.
But it often delivers the worst returns:
not bad enough to abandon, not good enough to grow.
The trap is comfort without payoff.

Instead, think in extremes—intentional polarity:

• On one end: strong, stable foundations (your health, income, routines).

• On the other: bold, creative bets (side projects, risky ideas).

• In between: the danger zone—where effort goes to survive, not thrive.

This isn’t recklessness. It’s risk design.
Resilience on one end. Upside on the other.
Nothing wasted in the middle.

Because the goal isn’t to avoid risk—it’s to avoid uncompensated risk.

The “middle” feels like safety.
But it’s often where momentum goes to die.

So start asking yourself:

• Is this a foundation—or a placeholder?

• Is this a bet—or just busyness?

Barbell thinking gives you the permission to stop chasing “balance”
and start designing for longevity and luck.

Live on the edges.
Build the base strong.
Take asymmetric shots.

Nothing heavy in the middle.

—🗃️—

Closing Thoughts

These three ideas may seem like separate mental models—visibility, longevity, and risk—but they’re really part of the same system: intentional asymmetry.

• Start before you’re ready, or risk never starting at all.

• But don’t burn through your best material before it’s had time to mature.

• And don’t get stuck in the middle—where effort looks busy but leads nowhere.

Asymmetry means choosing edges over averages.

Share what sharpens you.
Hold back what still needs heat.
Invest where it compounds.
Bet where the upside outpaces the cost.

Not exposure for its own sake, but exposure that teaches.
Not risk for the thrill, but risk where it moves you forward.

What you finish fuels what comes next.
So start, pace, and place your bets.

Done is the engine of more.

Thanks for reading Verstreuen! 👋 Until next week -GH