I published the first Sailing Notes post on October 1, 2025.

The idea was to write with some regularity. To leave notes, projects, experiments, loose thoughts. To keep the blog alive.

I didn’t do it.

And honestly, there isn’t a particularly interesting explanation. There wasn’t a major crisis or a deep block. What happened was simply what often happens: the intention was there, but it never became a habit.

Over these months, I’ve thought about coming back more than once. What’s curious is that I also spent too much time thinking about how to come back. As if the second post had to justify the silence, explain a new phase, or arrive with some important statement.

Coming back is simpler than that: writing again.

Lately I’ve been turning over why I want to write here. The easy answer would be that I write for myself. And that’s true, but not the whole truth. If I only wanted to write for myself, I could do it in a notebook and leave it in a drawer.

Publishing implies wanting someone to read.

Not necessarily a huge audience. Not an artificial community. Not a mass of visits turned into a metric. But someone on the other side. A person who can read an idea, question it, nuance it, or give me a perspective I hadn’t seen.

I think that’s what interests me most: finding interlocutors.

I’ve also been thinking about a certain nostalgia for old blogs. I don’t want to idealize that internet, because I’m sure there was ego, noise, and performative nonsense there too. But there was something I still like: the feeling of reading a real person. Someone wrote a note, a reflection, a tutorial, an experiment, and left it there. Not everything seemed designed to rank, sell, capture attention, or build a personal brand.

I’m drawn to that way of being online.

At the same time, there’s a trap. It’s easy to say “I don’t monetize,” “I’m not doing this for money,” “I’m not like the others,” and end up using authenticity as a form of moral superiority. As if not wanting ads made me automatically purer. As if commercial always meant fake and non-commercial always meant true.

I don’t think it’s that simple.

I also want this to be read. I’d also like it to have value. I can even imagine that one day projects, tools, or things with economic value might come out of here. I don’t think that’s a problem. What I don’t want is for that incentive to decide for me too early.

Maybe the rule is this: the problem is not that something can generate value; the problem is letting the expected value distort the idea before it’s written.

Sailing Notes began as a space of my own, without ads and without too many frills. That still stands. But if I want it to make sense, it can’t stay frozen in a welcome post. It has to become practice.

So this second post doesn’t come with epic language or strong promises.

It comes with something smaller: picking the gesture back up.

Write a note. Publish it. Think out loud. Leave the door open for someone to answer.

And tomorrow, if possible, another one.