Notes

We've officially bid June farewell, and closed the month that marks the halfway point of the year. So, in homage to Part 2 of 2026, I wanted to veer away from my usual tech thoughts and talk about something that's been on my mind: time. It's a variable that's stuck between being a function of logistics and an open jar of hearts. And with it, there's a particular kind of waiting, that doesn't feel like waiting.

Time moves like the ocean. In waves. Sometimes just passively. You're a bystander while the water flows. Sometimes steady, sometimes unpredictable. Sometimes gentle. Sometimes big, all-encompassing, full of current that'll pull you with it if you don't steady yourself. And waiting is that something. That something-unnamed that sits beneath the surface, unresolved. Sometimes you don't notice it until a still moment finds you. And then it's all you notice.

July does that. It arrives into the middle of things, and asks: well?

We don't always have answers. Sometimes things just feel ambiguous. We may find ourselves once again left with the revelation that effort and outcome are not the same thing, though knowing that doesn't make the gap between them softer.

But there is a stubborn, almost irrational, act of continuing. Trusting that time, which takes so much, also has a way of eventually giving something back. The waves arrive. Leave.

Repeat.

We remember that the work done in uncertainty still counts. That some energy is latent: invisible from the outside, but changing the state of the thing from within.

The waiting, if you do it right, is also a kind of becoming.

Half a year gone. Half a year left.

Either way, you still have time.