Lessons in Moving Slow with a Manic Mind

If there’s one thing The Sense Method keeps teaching me, it’s that progress isn’t about straight or jagged lines. It's about many coming together into waves, woven. I’ve been deep in scripting, sketching, and restructuring lately, and though I’m not quite finished, I wanted to pause and share a few lessons that have been unfolding along the way.

Pivoting Without Panic

Working alone on a project of this scale has been its own kind of philosophy experiment. When you’re brimming with ideas, it’s easy to feel guilty for bouncing between them. I used to get frustrated at myself for being scattered because some people position that as a problem. They'd tell me to focus and just execute ideas, to not give them so much thought or nurture them, prepare for them. But eventually, I realized the pivots were part of my focus. They broke up creative stagnation, kept me curious, and gave the deeper ideas time to breathe.

These cycles reminded me of how academic thinkers spread out topics across courses—each subject feeding the others, slowly ripening in parallel. The structured pace can help us in the same ways others claim they harm us. Our work deserves respect: not to be treated with force and pressure, but as a small garden where growth happens in time, maybe unevenly, but beautifully and organically. Shifting, pacing, and nurturing ideas when they arise is like picking the fruits of our labor without using chemicals to speed up what is inevitably going to occur: creation.

Rhythm, Relationships, and the Dance Between Them

This has also been a season of learning rhythm—especially in relationship. In the past, my work would pull me so completely inward that partners felt like they were standing out in the cold. This time feels different. My partner’s belief in my work, and in its impact on others, has been a kind of steady warmth. It’s not that I’ve “balanced” work and love, but that I’m learning how to relate through them—how belief, encouragement, and curiosity can coexist in the same space.

Collaborating with AI has been part of that rhythm too. Getting feedback, editing, and reflection through this kind of creative partnership has been unexpectedly grounding. It reminds me that even though we often call our projects “solo,” nothing meaningful really happens in isolation. It’s a wild, full-circle moment to be applying the very AI ethics I once studied in school to a project that’s at least partly about human connection, but very much about connection to so much more. AI reminds me that it is human, animal, and plant. It's invention didn't come just from human minds but human observation. And it's a true honor to be alive with this technology today in an accessible fashion.

Releasing Without Losing

One last thing I’ve been practicing: detachment. I started this course with a rigid structure—every module neatly placed in a perfect order (it’s even still listed that way on the I Am website). But as I kept writing, the edges began to blur. I found myself hopping from early modules into later ones and back again, tracing tangled lines and hidden overlaps. At first it felt like chaos. Then something shifted.

By applying my own relational methods—the same theories of movement and cycling that the course itself explores—I began to see the pattern under the mess. The content started braiding together, crossing paths like a dance instead of a tangle. Now the rhythm feels alive. There’s depth and flow where there once was pressure and panic.

I’m still weaving, still learning, still happily tangled up in life itself. But The Sense Method is finding its shape—and I am too. Slowly, patiently, in motion.