<?xml version="1.0" encoding="utf-8" standalone="yes"?><rss version="2.0" xmlns:atom="http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom"><channel><title>shorette.com · #work</title><link>https://shorette.com/seeds/t/work/</link><description>Seeds tagged #work.</description><language>en-us</language><lastBuildDate>Tue, 30 Jun 2026 19:15:00 -0500</lastBuildDate><atom:link href="https://shorette.com/seeds/t/work/index.xml" rel="self" type="application/rss+xml"/><item><title>Against the clean slate</title><link>https://shorette.com/seeds/t/work/#s-2026-06-30-1915</link><guid isPermaLink="true">https://shorette.com/seeds/t/work/#s-2026-06-30-1915</guid><pubDate>Tue, 30 Jun 2026 19:15:00 -0500</pubDate><category>work</category><category>meta</category><description>
&lt;p>Every few months I want to begin again from nothing: new notes, new system,
new folder with a confident name. The urge always arrives dressed as clarity,
and it is almost always avoidance.&lt;/p>
&lt;p>The honest version of the impulse is that the old material has become hard to
face. Not disorganised — faced. There are half-finished arguments in there,
and opinions I have quietly outgrown, and evidence that I was wrong in
writing. A clean slate makes all of that disappear without the work of
disagreeing with myself.&lt;/p>
&lt;p>What I do instead now is smaller and slower. I keep the old leaves and add a
line beneath the ones I no longer believe. The record stops being a monument
and becomes a conversation, which is harder to be proud of and much more
useful to read.&lt;/p>
&lt;p>A slate that is never wiped accumulates something a fresh one cannot: proof
that I have changed. That is the only kind of progress I have learned to
trust.&lt;/p>

&lt;p>Leads to &lt;a href="https://shorette.com/seeds/t/meta/">#meta&lt;/a>.&lt;/p></description></item><item><title>On tools that teach</title><link>https://shorette.com/seeds/t/work/#s-2026-04-26-1620</link><guid isPermaLink="true">https://shorette.com/seeds/t/work/#s-2026-04-26-1620</guid><pubDate>Sun, 26 Apr 2026 16:20:00 -0500</pubDate><category>work</category><category>philosophy</category><description>
&lt;p>A good tool does two jobs. It finishes the work in front of you, and it
changes what you believe the work is. The first job is the one we shop for.
The second is the one that shapes us.&lt;/p>
&lt;p>A hand plane teaches grain. A debugger teaches that a program is a sequence
of states rather than a paragraph of intentions. Neither lesson appears in
the manual, and both survive long after the particular task is forgotten.&lt;/p>
&lt;p>So I have grown suspicious of tools that finish the work without teaching
anything. They are not evil; they are simply expensive in a currency that
does not show up on the invoice. When the tool leaves, the understanding
leaves with it, and I am exactly as capable as I was before I began.&lt;/p>
&lt;p>The test I apply now is small: after using this thing for a month, will I
know something I could explain to another person? If the answer is no, I try
to keep the tool at arm&amp;rsquo;s length, and do at least one pass by hand.&lt;/p></description></item><item><title>№ 003 · a note</title><link>https://shorette.com/seeds/n003/</link><guid isPermaLink="true">https://shorette.com/seeds/n003/</guid><pubDate>Sat, 28 Mar 2026 06:24:00 -0500</pubDate><category>time</category><category>work</category><description>
&lt;p>The morning does not owe me clarity. I owe the morning attendance. On the days
I remember which direction the debt runs, the work goes considerably better.&lt;/p></description></item><item><title>№ 001 · a seed</title><link>https://shorette.com/seeds/n001/</link><guid isPermaLink="true">https://shorette.com/seeds/n001/</guid><pubDate>Fri, 09 Jan 2026 18:44:00 -0600</pubDate><category>work</category><description>
&lt;p>A tidy desk is not a sign of a tidy mind. It is a sign that the mind wanted somewhere quiet to sit.&lt;/p></description></item></channel></rss>