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 11 new additions to the Zettelkasten—here’s the three that stood out most to share with you:

🟨 Households as Ideological Engines

🟦 Stability Isn’t Leadership

🟥 The Power of Curated Principles

Where we grow up explains more about us than we like to admit.

I experienced failure today in the middle of a new project—with tight timelines, different working styles, and not enough hands—I’ve found myself pulling extra weight. Not out of obligation, exactly, but because I want the team to succeed. I’ve been asking myself where that drive comes from.

I used to think it came from ambition. Or from books. Or from something I consciously chose. But looking back, I realize it started long before I had a framework for it. It was shaped on quiet Sunday mornings at church with my dad. We’d be up by 5:45am, driving through the cold morning air to set up folding chairs before anyone else arrived. It didn’t feel like work. It was just part of what we did.

Only now do I see what was really happening: the repetition of small acts—rising early, showing up, setting up. it wasn’t just about helping out. It was a way of learning what mattered, not through explanation, but through repetition.

That’s what households do. They don’t explain—they encode.
They don’t teach values—they instil them.

Capitalism, roles, work ethic—they don’t arrive through manifestos. They arrive through birthday budgets, chore charts, and what gets talked about at dinner.

The home is not a neutral space. It’s the most efficient delivery mechanism for global ideologies. It personalizes the system.

So the real question is:

How much of what we believe simply made sense in that room?
And what happens when we begin to outgrow it?

—🗃️—

We got laughed out of the room.

The meeting was supposed to be straightforward: validate our understanding of the client’s current state, get alignment, move forward. Instead, the diagram we shared became the focal point—not as a collaborative artifact, but as a target.

The sponsor’s message was clear: You already have everything you need.
Translation: You should have known better.

We hadn’t fully aligned. And that failure—of clarity, of leadership, of framing—landed squarely in the middle of the room. No one caught it. No one redirected. Least of all, me.

Because even though I saw the gap forming, I didn’t step in to close it.

In that moment, I realized something I’ve been doing for a long time:
I play ballast, not the sail.

When things feel off, I stabilize. I support. I make myself useful.
But I don’t take the wheel—especially not when the waters get choppy.

It’s not just habit. It’s a strategy.
A risk-aversion strategy I learned early.
One I watched modeled in the quiet steadiness of my parents.

They didn’t chase visibility.
They kept things running.
They made the hard parts easier for others—without complaint, without spotlight.

That mode of contribution shaped me.
It made me reliable. Grounded. Trusted.

But in that meeting, it made me silent.
I wasn’t just waiting for someone to lead. I was hoping I wouldn’t have to.

Because leading meant risk.
Risk of getting it wrong. Of being the face of imperfection.
Of stepping into a moment without a guarantee.

But that’s exactly what was missing.

Wallerstein said class mobility often requires withdrawing from the household, the collective idenity that was shared.

what we need to leave behind isn’t the house—it’s the operating system we inherited from it.

It seems it might be time to step out of my comfort zone, outgrow the ballast strategy.
This project doesn’t just need a stabilizer.
It needs someone willing to steer.

And that means stepping out of the role I was raised to play—into one I’m still learning how to claim.

—🗃️—

Somewhere between Idaho and Ohio, flying home from Oregon, I stumbled across a MasterClass in Delta’s in-flight entertainment system.

I didn’t even realize MasterClass was available on planes—it felt like discovering YouTube mid-flight, I was learning something valuable instead of just passing time with another movie. (Also, why haven’t they added YouTube to planes yet smh.)

I scrolled through the options and landed on Strategic Decision-Making with Mellody Hobson. I tapped play, not expecting much—but I was quickly drawn in by the clarity and strength of the frameworks she shared.

The lesson was sharp. But more than the content, what struck me was the presence of someone who had clearly curated thier internal operating system with intention.

And it made me realize: I want to do that too.
consciously gather the principles that will guide what comes next.

Until recently, I hadn’t thought much about where my principles came from.
They were just… there. Unexamined. Inherited through culture, family, habit.

But principles aren’t fixed.
You don’t just inherit them.
You have the power to choose them
and the permission to shape them.

You get to decide who and what shapes you. You can build your internal compass from the people you admire, the ideas that resonate, the institutions you trust. You’re not stuck with the default settings.

That kind of agency is subtle but profound.
It doesn’t come from shouting louder or knowing more.
It comes from choosing—deliberately.

I’m paying attention—to what matters, lasts, and what I want to build on.

Because if I’m going to live by principles, I want them to be truly mine.
Not just echoes of my past—but foundations for my future.

The version of me I’m growing into will need clarity, consistency, and courage.
So I’m not just choosing what feels good today.
I’m choosing the principles that will prepare me for who I’m becoming.

That shift—from inherited to intentional, from reactive to strategic—
might be the most important decision I’ve made yet.

—🗃️—

Closing Thoughts

The ideas that shape us often start at home—but they don’t have to determine where we end up.

Maybe it’s a work ethic shaped by weekend routines, the habit of maintaining stability instead of seeking change, or unspoken rules about how to belong. Often, we find ourselves following patterns we didn’t choose. But that doesn’t mean we can’t change them.

I consider myself incredibly fortunate. My parents didn’t just talk about values—they lived them. Through early mornings, quiet consistency, and acts of care that often went unnoticed, they passed down lessons I still carry today.

Still, even the most meaningful inheritance isn’t a complete map. Eventually, we’re called to do more than preserve what we’ve been given—we’re asked to interrogate it. To sift through the habits and principles we’ve outgrown. To choose what’s worth keeping. And to consciously build a framework for the life we actually want to lead.

Because growing up doesn’t just mean doing more.
It means deciding what to do differently.

And in that process—of questioning, choosing, and evolving—we start to become someone new.

Someone not just shaped by where they came from, but defined by where we’re going.

Thanks for reading Verstreuen! 👋 Until next week -GH