To research is to follow a scent. Sometimes you know what you’re looking for. Sometimes you don’t. Sometimes it starts with a single word you can’t shake, a quote you read in passing, or a flicker of an idea that has no shape yet, just feeling.

Research is an art. A soft craft. A quiet ritual.

Researching isn’t just a way of finding facts. It’s a way of finding voice. Of sculpting meaning out of uncertainty. I don’t research to be right. I research to feel closer—to myself, to a question, to an idea that won't let me go.

less about finding answers and more about asking better questions.

To research is to follow a scent. Sometimes you know what you’re looking for. Sometimes you don’t. Sometimes it starts with a single word you can’t shake, a quote you read in passing, or a flicker of an idea that has no shape yet, just feeling.

I used to research as a student. Now I do it in the hours between a full-time job and the rest of my life.

Research is an art. A soft craft. A quiet ritual. Not the sterile kind you’re taught in school—full of rigid referencing and bibliographies in 11-point font—but the kind where you sit hunched over your desk at dusk, reading something half-relevant, and stumble upon a sentence that makes your stomach drop. That’s the magic part.

Researching isn’t just a way of finding facts. It’s a way of finding voice. Of sculpting meaning out of uncertainty. I don’t research to be right. I research to feel closer—to myself, to a question, to an idea that won't let me go.