I often find myself coming back to the same question:
There must be a better way.
It usually starts with friction. Something takes more effort than it seems like it should. A process is awkward. I can see what needs to happen, but getting from here to there feels unnecessarily difficult.
Once that question catches my attention, I want to understand the details.
WHY is this difficult? WHAT is getting in the way? HOW could it work better?
Sometimes I follow those questions further than I expected. That probably won’t surprise anyone who knows me.
Underneath the curiosity is a practical wish: I’d like this part of life to be a little easier.
Where the question comes from
I’ve spent a lot of time trying to understand why something can make sense to me and still be difficult to do consistently.
That gap has had real consequences in my life. I’ve underestimated time, become absorbed in something, and failed to follow through on things that mattered to me and to people I loved. I’ve shared more of that history in I Never Stopped Learning.
So when I look for a different approach, there’s often something personal behind it. I’m trying to find a way through a difficulty I’ve encountered myself.
I don’t usually begin with the intention of building something for other people. I begin with something that’s getting in my way.
Then, when I find an approach that helps, my next thought is almost immediate:
If this removes some friction for me, it might help someone else.
That’s a big part of the instinct behind The Tangent Club.
Find the part that catches
“Get organized” is a large assignment. It doesn’t tell you much about where to begin.
A smaller question can be more useful: where does this particular task get difficult?
Maybe you have to find information before you can start. Maybe there are too many decisions. Maybe a reminder arrives when you can’t act on it. Maybe the setup takes so much effort that you keep postponing the task itself.
These are everyday examples. The obstacle will look different for each person.
The point is to get specific enough to try something.
A checklist might help when the steps keep slipping away. Fewer steps might help when the checklist has become another burden. A visible reminder might be easier to use than one tucked inside an app you rarely open.
An occasion might need a reminder for when to start preparing, along with a reminder of the date itself.
The useful change depends on where you get stuck.
Make room for an ordinary day
I like figuring out how things work. When something interests me, I can keep digging into every detail.
That curiosity can help me find a solution. It can also lead me to keep adding to it until something simple becomes complicated.
A tool still has to fit into a real day.
Can I find it when I need it? Is it easy to use when I’m tired or distracted? Does it ask me to remember too much? Can I return to it after missing a day?
Those questions matter as much as the idea itself.
A useful approach should make the next step easier. It should be something I can actually return to, including on days when I have less attention or energy to give it.
Something simple that gets used can be valuable. It doesn’t have to grow into a system for managing every part of life.
Try one small change
Choose one recurring annoyance—something small enough that you can experiment with it.
Ask yourself:
- WHY does this keep becoming difficult?
- WHAT happens just before I get stuck?
- HOW could I make that step easier?
You might remove a step, put something where you’ll see it, prepare earlier, or make the first action smaller.
Try one change and see what happens.
Did it help you start? Did it reduce what you had to remember? Was it easy enough to use again?
You may find something useful. You may discover that the difficulty sits somewhere else. Either gives you a more specific place to begin.
When something helps, share it
I’m still finding friction. I’m still asking questions and trying different approaches.
When something works for me, I want to share what helped, why I tried it, and where it still falls short. Someone else may recognize the same difficulty. They may adapt the idea in a way I hadn’t considered.
That’s the kind of practical curiosity I want TTC to make room for: honest stories, useful experiments, and room to laugh at the familiar parts along the way.
There must be a better way is often how the next tangent begins.