friction. the tax on momentum.

i was in a store i'd never heard of.

furniture, pet supplies, off-brand sneakers, foreign food. an everything aisle in a nowhere brand.

i found some containers.

i needed one for my espresso machine. the bag was a hassle — messy to scoop from, a pain to manage.

friend's girlfriend pointed to a jar. looked nice. twist lid. secure.

i put it back.

not because it wouldn't work. because it spun.

every spin is friction. every spin is tax.

that's how i move.

everything in my life is built to minimize decisions that don't matter so i can go all-in on the ones that do.

i prep my medicine on sunday. not for aesthetics. because opening three bottles every morning is a waste of cognition.

i meal prep not for discipline — but because "what should i eat?" is an infinite branch of entropy disguised as a harmless question.

it's death by a thousand indecisions.

you don't feel it at first. then, one day, you're burnt out — and don't even know why.

so i remove it. ruthlessly.

i build tools when no tools exist.

i change workflows when they feel heavier than they should.

i don't let dumb things stay dumb.

people think i over-optimize. they mistake my refusal to tolerate inefficiency for obsession — but they've never moved fast enough to feel drag.

they don't see the cost because they don't track the leak.

so they laugh. until they're behind.

because entropy doesn't announce itself. it accumulates.

quietly. constantly. irreversibly if you're not watching.

so i don't optimize because of some obsession. i optimize because i've found my flow — and i'll protect it like my life depends on it.

because it does.

and maybe you haven't found yours yet. maybe you think you don't have one.

but i promise you — it's there. buried under bullshit. under clutter. under "it's not that bad."

it's not gone. you just have to start digging.

too many people confuse convenience with freedom. but convenience keeps you stuck.

comfortable enough to stop asking questions.

efficient enough to ignore the drag.

just smooth enough to not build something better.

but i don't chase comfort. i chase flow. and when you protect flow — you don't just move faster.

you start compounding in ways they can't comprehend.

— kevin