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!

_{Forwarded this email? Subscribe here for more}

🗃️ This Week’s Highlights

This week's notes come from 27 new additions to the Zettelkasten—here’s the three that stood out most to share with you:

🟥 Why you can’t design outcomes—only the arena they emerge from

🟨 What a handleless teacup reveals about good design

🟦 How pricing creates a mutual contract that changes what we value

My definition of productivity has shifted in recent months. It’s no longer about how much I can check off a list—it’s about what I’m making space for.

The shift began when I got more ruthless with priorities. I started cutting projects that didn’t align with long-term goals, broader visions, or core principles. My to-do list is still just as long, but now everything on it points in a clear direction. It’s no longer just motion—it’s movement with meaning.

But here’s the paradox: even when you know what matters, you won’t always have the energy or motivation to act on it. Clarity of purpose isn’t the same as the capacity to execute. That gap—between intention and action—is where my thinking has changed most.

These days, productivity feels less like grinding and more like cultivating the conditions for meaningful work to emerge.

For me, that means carving out slow, open-ended time—in the quite of early mornings, late evenings, or long café weekends—with coffee at my side, a project open, and time to let the process unfold. There’s no pressure to produce—but the environment is ready. Sometimes I leave with a finished draft. Other times, I’ve just sketched, stared, or nudged an idea forward.

But I’ve shown up. I’ve made space. And more often than not, the work follows.

Because most meaningful work can’t be forced into existence—it resists rigid timelines.
You don’t will it into being. You invite it.

—🗃️—

A traditional Chinese tea cup has no handle. That’s not a flaw—it’s the point.

If it’s too hot to hold, it’s too hot to drink. No warnings needed, no fancy insulation. Just direct feedback. The object speaks through sensation, not signage. You feel the limit and adjust.

That’s design in alignment with behavior—not control, but collaboration.

Too often, modern design assumes users must be protected from themselves. So we add: tooltips, confirmations, notifications.
We try to guardrail outcomes instead of designing conditions to align with natural behaviors.

But the real role of the designer isn’t to dictate action—it’s to create an environment where the right action feels obvious.

When a product’s form reflects the user’s intention—when the conditions match the goal—genius happens.
The simplicity of the handleless tea cup isn’t just elegant, it’s a design that trusts the user to complete the experience.

It doesn’t prevent mistakes. It makes awareness possible.

That’s the work: not to eliminate friction, but to design the kind that teaches.
the best designs shape behavior without needing to instruct it.

—🗃️—

For much of my career, I saw pricing as purely functional: keep it low to reduce friction, build trust, make it accessible. Free felt generous. Inviting. Easy.

But over time, I noticed a pattern: the things I gave away were rarely used. Tools I spent weeks creating went unopened. Free workshops were ignored—even by those who requested them.

At first, I took it personally. Then I realized: it wasn’t the content.
It was the context.

When something is free, it often feels disposable. Not because people lack appreciation, but because they haven’t made a psychological investment. No cost means no commitment. No energy exchanged. No internal agreement to value it.

Contrast that with what I’ve paid for—especially when the cost felt like a stretch. College was my first real experience with this - paying out of pocket I showed up early. Took notes. Rewatched recordings. That payment wasn’t just money—it was a message to myself: This matters. Pay attention.

Now I see pricing differently. It’s not just a barrier—it's a frame.
When someone pays—especially for transformation, not just information—it creates a shared commitment. A mutual contract:

• The provider commits to deliver something meaningful.

• The participant commits to make it count.

Real transformation doesn’t come from the product. It comes from the person using it. Pricing helps create the commitment that makes that possible.

Pricing is part of the product.
It sets expectations. Shapes engagement.

The challenge is finding the right balance: generous, but not throwaway. Accessible, but not forgettable.

Pricing is part of the design—not just to charge, but to create the conditions where commitment, engagement, and transformation can actually happen.

—🗃️—

Closing Thought

You don’t shape behavior by force. You shape it by design.

Whether it’s the structure of a teacup, the pricing of a product, or the way we schedule our time, conditions quietly guide action—often more powerfully than commands ever could.

You can’t force deep work, but you can create space for it.
You can’t stop a user from burning their mouth—but you can help them sense when it’s too hot.
You can’t guarantee transformation, but you can price in a way that invites commitment.

That’s the role of the designer, the strategist, the creator—not to control choices, but to design environments where better choices become obvious.

So this week, the question isn’t: How can I achieve my goals?
But rather:
What conditions would make my goals inevitable?

Thanks for reading Verstreuen! 👋 Until next week -GH