Thinking in Systems

People think I’m a highly analytical person. But actually I’m a very creative person who’s using processes and systems to channel their creativity into productivity.

I’m sometimes easily distracted. New ideas arrive constantly, uninvited and insistent. Without structure, I’d chase every one of them, abandoning projects halfway through when the next shiny thing appeared. Processes and systems are how I cope with that. They’re not constraints on creativity — they’re what make creativity useful. They ensure I always know what the next step is, instead of getting lost in possibility.

I have lots of ideas. Most people do. But I realised early on that ideas are worth nothing without execution. The gap between thinking something and building it is where most things die. Systems bridge that gap.

When I talk about processes, I’m not describing anything convoluted. I mean patterns that make it easier to take the next step. A clear path from idea to reality. From intention to action.

Same with systems. Remember my todo system and productivity setup? It’s deliberately simple. Drop a thought, move on. Come back when you’ve got something to add or refine. No expansive tagging hierarchies. No elaborate rituals. Just enough structure to capture things so they don’t occupy mental space, then get back to real, high-value work.

I’m a big opponent of making tool management a job in itself. Or rather, I’m a proponent of systems that require minimal maintenance to actually work. The best systems are the ones you barely notice. They sit in the background, doing their job, not demanding constant attention.

“Never touch a running system” is often true. But it comes with a caveat: look closely at it. Try to understand all the moving parts. If something seems off — if there are obvious issues that could pose a risk, maybe even grind the whole thing to a halt — then yes, get to work. But don’t fiddle for the sake of fiddling. Don’t optimise what already functions.

I have a simple ritual before long bike rides: drink a pint of water and eat a banana. That’s it. Hydrate, top up energy levels, go.

Interestingly, it’s become a ritual for other challenges too. Before an important presentation. Before a difficult conversation. The body doesn’t distinguish between a 50-mile ride and a tense meeting. It just knows: water, banana, time to perform.

It’s become almost automatic. When I’m facing something stressful, I reach for the glass and the fruit without thinking. And like a snap of the fingers, I get a feeling of calm. My body gets ready. Not because bananas have magical properties, but because the ritual signals readiness. It’s a pattern I’ve trained into myself, and now it works without effort.

A sidenote: When I write things down by hand, I’m super picky about which pen I use, but I couldn’t care less what paper I use.

The pen matters because it’s tactile. Consistent. It feels right in my hand, and that feeling signals “this is writing time.” The paper doesn’t matter because the point is capture and release. Getting thoughts out of my head and onto a surface, fast, so I can free up mental space and move on. It’s functional, not precious.

That’s the pattern across all of this: systems that reduce friction, not create it. Systems that let me act, not manage.

There’s a certain kind of productivity system that’s become fashionable. Elaborate setups. Intricate workflows. Colour-coded tags, nested hierarchies, weekly reviews of the reviews. People spend hours maintaining these systems, tweaking them, optimising them. And then they make the point that the system enables them to do their work.

But here’s the thing: the time spent managing the system is time not spent doing the work the system was meant to enable. It’s a closed loop. The system becomes the work. And that’s not productivity — that’s theatre.

You’ve built a machine that requires constant feeding, and now you’re working for the machine instead of the other way around.

I’m not arguing for chaos. I’m arguing for simplicity. For systems light enough to carry, not so heavy they pin you down.

These aren’t productivity hacks. They’re coping mechanisms. Ways I’ve found to work with my nature instead of against it.

I get distracted easily. So I build systems that keep me on track without requiring willpower. I have too many ideas. So I capture them quickly and move on, trusting I’ll come back when it matters. I get nervous before challenges. So I’ve trained my body to respond to a simple ritual that costs almost nothing but delivers calm.

None of this is about optimisation for its own sake. It’s about removing barriers between intention and action. It’s about channelling energy where it matters instead of letting it dissipate into noise.

The misconception — that I’m analytical — comes from the outside looking in. People see structure and assume coldness. Logic. Left-brain thinking. But that’s backwards. The structure exists because of the creativity, not despite it. Without it, I’d drown in possibility. With it, I can actually build things.

Systems thinking isn’t about control. It’s about clarity. Knowing what the next step is. Trusting that the path exists even when you can’t see the whole route. Designing simplicity that lets you move.

That’s what I mean when I say I think in systems. Not elaborate architectures or rigid frameworks. Just patterns that work. Quietly. Consistently. Without demanding more than they give.