2026-10-27 21:05:00
A couple of weeks ago I quietly removed the upvote count from the discovery feed on Bear. The upvote button is still there on every post, and upvotes still decide what ends up on Trending. You just can’t see the numbers next to each post anymore.
I made the change for two reasons.
The first is that visible counts make the popular posts more popular. A post with a lot of upvotes looks like it’s worth reading, so it gets read and upvoted more, and the quiet posts with no audience stay quiet. One of the things I love about Bear, and actively curate, is that someone with no audience can still be discovered. Hiding the count means people judge a post by its title and writing, not by how many people liked it first, especially on the Newest page.
The second is that upvote numbers don't make people feel good. Someone puts sincere effort into a post, publishes it, and then sees a little “1” next to it, sitting right below someone else’s “214”. Writing shouldn’t feel like a popularity contest, and a number next to your name makes it one, whether you like it or not.
More broadly, I think the "like button" is one of the things that made the internet worse (that and infinite scroll). It turned writing and sharing into a scoreboard, and it trained a generation of platforms (and people) to optimise for the number instead of the thing itself. I’ve been critical of this in my post on social media, and it felt a bit hypocritical to have the same mechanic on Bear’s own feed.
Despite my above grievances, upvotes are useful. They’re a good, simple signal to indicate what people have enjoyed, and I haven’t found a better way to rank the feed (yet). This feels like a decent tradeoff. Upvotes still do the useful job of ranking, but they no longer act as a public scoreboard.
I was a little worried making this change (hence the quiet rollout to test it), since part of the appeal of upvoting is seeing number go up. So I compared the two weeks after the change with the month prior, and the number of upvotes per day didn’t change, the number of people upvoting didn’t change, and neither did the number of people clicking through to posts from the feed. People are reading and upvoting as much as before. They’re just not comparing scores while they do it, and upvotes are spread out among more posts than before. Great success!
It’s still early days, and I’ll keep an eye on it over the next month. But for now the numbers are staying hidden.
If you have thoughts on this, send me an email. I’d love to hear how it feels from your side, both as a reader and as a writer.
2026-10-22 20:19:00
People use the word just a lot when talking about problems. If people would just drive slowly near schools. If people would just pay their taxes. If people would just follow the rules.
It's a sentence that sounds reasonable as it's true that most problems would go away if people just behaved. The thing is, they don't...and they probably never will.
This isn't a cynical take on humanity (I think most people are decent). It's about designing good systems. The vast majority of people who use Bear are there to write, and most drivers in my city stop at red lights. But "most" isn't "all", and when you're dealing with thousands (or millions) of people, a small percentage is still a lot of people.
Let's say 1% of people are going to misbehave. That doesn't sounds like much, but if 10,000 people sign up for a service, that's 100 people trying to break things. You can't plan for the 99% and hope the 1% sorts itself out. The 1% is where all the work is.
It's also not always the same 1%. Decent people have bad days. Someone who usually stops at a red light might run it accidentally when they're distracted and late for work. Some people genuinely don't know how to recycle properly (a pet peeve of mine as all my recycling feels pointless once I put it in the apartment block's recycling bins which contain un-recyclable trash).
Expecting people to just isn't a solution, it's a wish. The useful question is "what happens if they don't just?"
I wrote about roundabouts a while back and mentioned implicit and explicit rules. A no-parking sign is an implicit rule. It relies on people choosing to obey it, with a vague threat of a potential fine. A tree planted on a sidewalk is an explicit rule. You can't park there, mate. A traffic light asks you to stop. A roundabout makes it physically difficult to not slow down.
Bad systems punish everyone for what a few might do: bank KYC and airport security are two I've had to deal with in the past week that annoyed me. They treat every person like a suspect, and punish them accordingly.
Good systems work like a tree on a sidewalk. They don't rely on goodwill, and the people who were going to behave anyway barely even notice them.
2026-09-22 17:20:00
I grew up in a house stuffed full of books, with no television, and electricity for only an hour or two per day (while the generator was running). There were shelves full of old science fiction (Asimov and Heinlein), as well as books on history, some good old fantasy, and other smatterings collected from second-hand bookstores over the years.
My mother read to us each night when we were children, starting with Dr Seuss, all the way to Harry Potter, where she did the spooky voices during the Voldemort scenes, which had me walking up and down the room with my fingers in my ears, humming to myself, until the scary parts were over. Naturally, this led to me reading a lot as a teenager and young adult. Up until I left home at 18, I would fall asleep each night reading by candlelight, which sounds very romantic and, in hindsight, definitely contributed to good sleep growing up.
At university, I read substantially less. I suddenly had a computer in my room, reliable electricity, and downloaded series to watch. I never stopped reading, but certainly felt my attention span erode as a result (I also think Family Guy circa 2012 rotted my brain irreparably).
As you can probably tell by now, I love reading books. It's my favourite form of media, by far, and I finish around a book a week. This may sound like a lot, but it translates into about an hour of reading per day—the length of a modern series episode, and while I'm not keeping count, the books I've read over the past year have really stacked up.
Reading does something that other forms of media, by their nature, can't do: it allows the reader to see the world through the lens of the author and their characters, creating empathy, where they not only see the actions taken (such as in film), but also understand their perspectives, motivations, thoughts, and feelings. I find that my thinking is generally influenced by whatever I'm reading at the moment. When I'm reading Pratchett, I see the world with some tongue-in-cheek whimsy. Conversely, when reading Hugh Howey, I'm more cynical about the machinations of the societal elite and technological advancement.
Reading books is also a fickle activity, as it requires activation energy and a decent attention span, both of which are eroded by the media landscape today. I've found that, since deleting my YouTube algorithm over a year ago, I have had a lot more time and energy for reading, and I'm grateful for making that choice.
My YouTube home page
Much ink has been spilled about the decline of reading and literacy and how we're becoming a post-literate society, so I'll only touch on it lightly: the main reason for this decline is access to higher-calorie entertainment with lower nutrient density—mostly short-form video. This really started with television in the 1960s, yet only became an intellectual crisis in the past two decades thanks to Netflix and YouTube. It was surprising to learn that blue-collar workers in the ’50s had better literacy than college-educated adults today, and has gotten to the point where some governments have proposed paying people to read. This is well documented in Amusing Ourselves to Death (1985) by Neil Postman, which is worth reading.
This year, I have been re-reading the Discworld books by Terry Pratchett—possibly my favourite author and an all-round interesting person. If I could have dinner with any historical figure, it would be this man. He possesses a way of looking at the world, alongside a delightfully descriptive and witty style, that I can only stand in awe of. I've also read a handful of non-fiction books, as well as Wool, which I believe has been made into an Apple TV series named Silo.
My bedside table for most of this year (featuring a lamp made by Emma)
I received a bookstore voucher from some friends for my 34th birthday and have decided to get into the classics with Frankenstein by Mary Shelley (I feel this is a relevant book at the moment, as humans are currently creating a monster of our own that may escape our control) and Crime and Punishment by Dostoyevsky, which is arguably one of the most important pieces of historical literature.
Thanks, Graeme and JP!
Reading never leaves you; it just becomes buried by other things. I no longer need to read by candlelight, but I still fall asleep every night with a book. If you haven't read for a while, I encourage you to block out some time, forgo an episode of the series you're currently watching, and settle down with a good book. It could be a classic you've always meant to read, or an old favourite you'd like to revisit. You don't need to finish a book a week; a few pages before bed are a perfectly good place to start. Email me if you'd like some recommendations (though there's a fair chance I'll suggest something by Pratchett).
2026-08-25 19:59:45
I write about journaling a lot, since it’s honestly my most important practice.
In my most recent post on the subject I made the case that active recall is an effective way to remember things, whether that be ideas, thoughts, or events. I'd like to expand on that post and make the case that journaling extends life perception.
To wax philosophical for a moment: long life perception and long lifespan are, when it comes down to it, effectively the same thing. If we live in the infinite now, then the only thing separating an actual long life from the perception of a long life is perception.
This intuitively makes sense, and you've likely experienced this yourself. Years that are filled with novelty tend to feel longer and are more memorable than years of consistently similar days. It's partly why time feels so much longer as a child, since all experiences are fairly novel and there's explicit progression though the different phases of school, which stands in stark contrast to, say, a few years of working the same job and rarely taking vacation or trying anything new. Those few years can easily condense into a handful of memories, and so the perception of those years is fairly short.
Regularly in conversation the person I'm talking to will say something along the lines of "Wow, it's August already!? Time flies.". I rarely share this sentiment (with the exception of the pandemic, where all my days effectively became one), and I ascribe this to two main reasons:
The first reason is that I try to do new things as much as possible. Just last night I played ultimate frisbee for the first time on the beach at sunset with a good friend and his crew of (really athletic) frisbros. I was pretty bad at the game and fumbled the frisbee too many times, but after the beautiful sunset and a dip in the cold ocean to clear off the sand I felt great, and I'll likely remember this experience as it punctuated normal life.
The second reason, and this is the underlying point I'm trying to make with this post, is that I write about my day while journaling, and in-so-doing remember it better. And since I remember these experiences it doesn't feel like time is slipping away from me. Instead it feels like time is rich and full. Yes, it's August, but I feel like it's been 2026 forever.
The research on active recall improving memory is clear. The research on life perception is less clear, but intuitively it makes sense that remembering more of your life will make it feel longer and hopefully richer.
There are many reasons to journal, but I feel this is a lesser discussed effect of journaling, and one I'm only starting to appreciate now.
2026-08-05 20:04:00
There's a quote from the book City of Thieves by David Benioff where a character laments the fickleness of talent:
Talent must be a fanatical mistress. She's beautiful; when you're with her, people watch you, they notice. But she bangs on your door at odd hours, and she disappears for long stretches, and she has no patience for the rest of your existence; your wife, your children, your friends. She is the most thrilling evening of your week, but some day she will leave you for good. One night, after she's been gone for years, you will see her on the arm of a younger man, and she will pretend not to recognize you.
While I love this quote, as well as the book (you should definitely read it), I can't help but disagree with the premise that talent and creativity are divinely bestowed and out of your control.
I've read a few autobiographies of prolific authors, and they all state the same thing: the words don't come easily and sometimes need to be dragged, kicking and screaming, into the light. The book Creativity by the winner of the most-difficult-to-pronounce-name-award, Mihaly Csikszentmihalyi, shares this conclusion and suggests that creativity is a creature to be nurtured, given space to grow, and needs commitment and a lack of distractions to thrive.
The thesis is clear: relying on motivation is a losing game. Motivation is a feeling, while commitment is a decision that outlives the feeling.
I've found this to be true in my own life, both in creative pursuits, and in things like relationships and exercise. It is a rare person who is amped to exercise all the time, and so it requires commitment to stick with it. Similarly, showing up well in your relationships can't depend on fleeting passions, because life is bumpy.
The nice thing is that commitments become easier with time. I have near zero resistance to exercising and journalling, and have been doing both almost every day for close to a decade. The first year or two were difficult, but once they were a part of my day, they became absurdly easy to continue doing. Relatedly, when I'm in a good writing routine it is effortless to write. However, if I go a month without writing on my blog (as is currently the case), each word is a struggle.
Action begets motivation, not the other way around.
Creativity is like a muscle. It requires constant use to grow, and atrophies when neglected. But creativity is transferable, and so, engaging creatively has positive effects in other creative domains. This post was inspired by a comic jam I attended this past weekend. The comics were great, genuinely funny, and everyone had a wholesome time. It also made me realise how long it had been since I'd sketched.
Conversely, I speculate that forgoing creative thought will lead to it "leaving you for a younger man". She doesn't leave on a whim, she leaves when you stop showing up.
It hurts when I see people "brainstorming with AI". This is essentially offloading creative thought to a machine, forgoing the most human of processes. It honestly makes me sad, and I can't help but feel that collectively we’re losing something beautiful. The machines are coming for so much, but we can’t let them have this.
So go do something creative. Anything. Make a zine, paint with some watercolours, come up with a song. And keep doing that, forever.
2026-06-09 22:50:00
I'm currently reading What I talk about when I talk about running by Haruki Murakami (thanks for the recommendation, Rishi) and a line stuck out to me:
Perhaps I'm just too painstaking a type of person, but I can't grasp much of anything without putting down my thoughts in writing.
This line resonated with me because I've also found that the best way for me to understand a concept or idea is for me to write about it. Reading only gets me so far. The act of articulating what is stored in my brain into something legible and understandable is thinking and understanding.
I worry about the education system, which has had the entire concept of writing as a form of study upended by AI, and universities have seen their first decline in literacy and comprehension ever recorded. But this isn't what this post is about, this post is about remembering things.
I have often received complements from friends and strangers alike on how good my memory is. This tends to be complimenting what is generally considered a static attribute, since most people think of memory as being an immutable characteristic of a person. I can say with certainty that this isn't the case. The reason I remember things and confidently convey them is usually because I've written about them at some point.
This isn't relegated to ideas and concepts, but events in my own life, since I keep a daily journal and have for over a decade now. I've written more about this here, here, and here.
There's a study with the mouthful of a title Retrieval Practice Produces More Learning than Elaborative Studying with Concept Mapping by Karpike and Blunt (2011) that I read this morning where they had college students read short educational texts, then study them in different ways: rereading, building concept maps while looking at the text, and free recall (reading once, then writing down everything they could remember on a blank page without looking at the source material). On a delayed test about a week later they found that free recall produced better information retention than rereading or creating a concept map.
There's an extra detail emphasised that's the real kicker: in one version of the experiment, the final test itself was to produce a concept map — yet the students who had studied by free recall still outperformed the ones who had studied by making concept maps. So even when the practice method (free recall) didn't match the test format (concept mapping), the act of retrieving from memory beat the more elaborate, intuitively "deeper" study technique.
I realise that, inadvertently, this is exactly what I've been doing the entire time with my blog, notes, and journal. The reason I can recall information so well is because I have read, watched, experienced, or discussed a concept or idea, then wrote about it on my blog, or in my notes or journal. I was practising free-recall this whole time and managed to trick people around me into thinking I'm just unnaturally good at remembering things.
This concept isn't new. The process of studying has historically always involved some form of note-taking and active recall. I wasn't a good student (at all) and never learnt how to study. The structure of school (and government school in South Africa, no less) was not set up in a way that allowed knowledge to stick. I feel like one minor tweak to the school system should be a course dedicated to how to study and effective note-taking. It's a pity I didn't have these skills in school because it would have made it a lot more pleasant. There's nothing quite as frustrating as having to learn something and despite many late nights studying, it refusing to lodge itself in my brain.
To come full circle, there's nothing particularly special about the way that I take notes, write, or journal. It is the act of doing it which is important. I tend to journal about my yesterday each morning before getting into work. As for notes, whenever there's something interesting I'd like to remember I write it in my notes.txt file, which is a large file full or random scribbles. As for writing on my blog, I don't have a schedule or explicit plan, I just write when there's something I've been thinking about that I believe is interesting.
The interesting part is that I don't really read my notes or journal. The act of writing is the important bit.
In a nutshell: I write for you all, but I guess I also write for me.