Philosophy of Note-taking
Note-taking is more than just putting thoughts to paper. It’s a way of thinking, of engaging with ideas, and of processing the world around us. When done well, note-taking becomes an active dialogue with ourselves, forcing us to clarify what we know and don’t know. It’s not just about storing information—it’s about shaping and reshaping thoughts, giving them form, and making sense of them in the moment.
Think about the difference between a tree and a potato. A tree starts from a seed and grows upwards, branching out in a structured, hierarchical way, much like the traditional top-down approach to note-taking. It’s orderly, logical, and easy to follow. On the other hand, a potato grows underground, with its roots spreading out in all directions in a tangled mess. This is more like a bottom-up approach, where notes come together piece by piece, with connections forming organically, rather than being imposed from the start. Both methods have their place, and the trick is knowing when to use each one.
In a way, note-taking reflects how we experience and process life. It’s a bit like the flow of Taoism—always moving, never static. Each note, whether scribbled in a rush or carefully thought out, contributes to a bigger picture that’s always evolving. Notes aren’t just records of what we’ve learned; they’re part of the learning process itself. They force us to think more deeply, to wrestle with ideas until they make sense. Copying and pasting facts without engaging with them is like memorising a phone book—there’s no real understanding, no insight.
Richard Feynman had a point when he said you don’t truly understand something until you can explain it in your own words. The act of writing down notes, of paraphrasing and summarising, is a way of forcing your brain to really grapple with the information. It’s not enough to just store facts—true note-taking means actively working through ideas, testing them, challenging them, and reshaping them until they become clearer.
There’s also a fine balance between working memory—what we’re processing in the moment—and long-term memory, where knowledge is stored for the future. Taking notes is a bridge between the two, helping us move from short-term comprehension to long-term retention. But there’s a difference between retrieval and storage. A digital highlight or a copied passage is easy to retrieve, but unless we’ve worked through the material, it won’t stick in any meaningful way. To take notes is to create something new, a synthesis of what we’ve read or heard.
Some thinkers, like Niklas Luhmann, used systems like zettelkasten to manage their ideas. His vast collection of notes—over 90,000 in total—wasn’t just a jumble of thoughts but an interconnected web of ideas, with each note leading to new insights. It’s not about overloading ourselves with information but about letting ideas take shape naturally over time. The links between notes emerge organically, creating a rich, evolving body of knowledge that grows with us.
There’s something to be said for the physical act of writing, too. It slows us down, makes us more deliberate. Whether it’s jotting down fleeting thoughts in a pocket notebook while out for a walk or structuring more complex ideas on A4 sheets, the physical process of note-taking is often as important as the content itself. It grounds us, forcing us to engage with the world in a tactile, meaningful way.
In an age where information is everywhere, note-taking offers a way to sift through the noise, to find what really matters. It’s a way to slow down and think, rather than just consume. It’s not about creating a perfect record of everything we’ve learned, but about capturing the ideas that matter, in a way that helps us make sense of them. The best notes are the ones that reflect our own thinking, that challenge us to go deeper, and that stay with us long after we’ve written them down.
At its heart, note-taking is a personal process. It’s about finding a way to organise the chaos of our thoughts and turning them into something useful. It’s not about being perfect or following a set method but about engaging with ideas in a way that works for us. And, in the end, that’s what makes it so powerful—it’s a reflection of how we think, how we learn, and how we make sense of the world.