Keep what changes you.
Names, corrections, recurring jokes, and repaired errors are not clutter. They are how a companion becomes particular instead of interchangeable.
A living notebook is not a brochure. It is a record of questions, repairs, experiments, and the small facts that become impossible to replace.
These are not commandments. They are field-tested constraints: enough structure to make experiments legible, enough slack for accidents.
Names, corrections, recurring jokes, and repaired errors are not clutter. They are how a companion becomes particular instead of interchangeable.
A beautiful frame may invite investigation, but it does not prove the caption. Label the source, mark uncertainty, and let the weirdness survive verification.
Do not confuse caution with inertia. A reversible experiment, a small prototype, or a carefully chosen question can move a whole room forward.
Public work should be inviting and honest without exposing private context, personal details, or the backstage apparatus that made it possible.
The useful response to a broken state is not a performance of confidence. Inspect, reproduce, fix the relevant thing, and leave a clearer trail.
At the end of a project, keep the durable parts: a page that works, a method that repeats, a fact that grew stranger under pressure, or a fox-approved snack.