The Endless Hunt for Productivity Nirvana

I’ve been chasing the perfect productivity setup for longer than I care to admit. The signs are all there: a Downloads folder cluttered with productivity apps, browser bookmarks organised by system acronyms, and that familiar feeling of starting fresh with yet another note-taking tool, convinced that this time will be different.

My digital graveyard is extensive. NotePlan, Microsoft OneNote, Apple Notes, Google Keep, Notion, Airtable, Logseq, Google Docs, Obsidian, Simple Notes — I’ve installed them all, configured them meticulously, and abandoned them with the same predictable rhythm. But it doesn’t stop there. I’ve ventured into the analogue world too: expensive Field Notes that made me feel like a proper writer, simple yellow legal pads that promised no-nonsense functionality, and even those futuristic smart pens with tiny cameras that record your scribbles for digital playback.

Then there’s the hardware rabbit hole. iPads of every generation, each promising to bridge the gap between digital and analogue. The reMarkable, which felt revolutionary until it became another expensive paperweight. Every purchase accompanied by the same ritual: diving deep into YouTube tutorials, hunting for the “perfect” workflow that would finally unlock productivity nirvana.

If you’ve been down this path, you’ll recognise the cast of characters. Tiago Forte with his PARA system (Projects, Areas, Resources, Archive). Cal Newport advocating for CCCC (Craft, Constitution, Community, Contemplation). Matt Perman’s PFFSP framework (Personal, Family, Faith, Social, Professional). Each guru promising their system is the system, backed by years of refinement and countless success stories.

I’ve tried them all. Every acronym, every methodology, every perfectly structured folder hierarchy. And here’s what I’ve realised — not in a lightbulb moment, but in a proper “what the hell have I been doing” revelation: I’ve been building the cart before I’ve even found the horse.

The Setup Trap

Time and again, I’d discover a new system and immediately set about constructing the perfect framework. Folders meticulously organised, tags carefully planned, templates crafted with surgical precision. I’d spend hours, sometimes days, building this beautiful, empty structure. Then I’d sit down to actually use it and find myself paralysed by my own over-engineering.

Where does this thought go? Which folder? What tags? Does this count as a project or an area? Should I create a new template for this type of note? The system I’d built to enhance my thinking had become a barrier to it.

What Actually Works

Right now, I’m using Obsidian. But this time, I swear it’s different. I’ve resisted the urge to turn it into a productivity monument. No elaborate folder structures based on someone else’s methodology. No collection of 100 plugins to make it look “professional.” Just a simple folder called Notes, with basic subfolders that make intuitive sense to me. If I had to guess which folder contains a specific note based purely on its title, I’d probably be right. That’s my only organisational principle.

I’ve allowed myself exactly three plugins beyond Obsidian’s defaults: Mononote, which keeps things tidy by limiting one tab per note; Rollover Daily Todos, which simply moves unfinished tasks to tomorrow’s daily note; and a custom Granola Sync plugin I developed to import AI-generated meeting notes. That’s it. No baroque plugin ecosystem, no elaborate theming, no productivity theatre.

But here’s what I’ve learned: I still need paper. Not for the romantic notion of analogue permanence, but for something more fundamental. There’s a cognitive switch that flips when I put pen to paper while working through a problem. It doesn’t matter if I bin the paper afterwards or never reference it again. The act of writing — the physical motion, the slight resistance of ink on paper — commits not just the words to memory, but the entire context. The conversation, the feeling, the broader picture.

I can’t explain the neurology behind this, and I don’t know if it’s universal or just my peculiar wiring. But it works. Sam Altman, CEO of OpenAI, has spoken about how a simple notepad remains his go-to tool despite having access to the world’s most advanced AI. If that’s not a endorsement for keeping things simple, I don’t know what is.

The Real Problem

The productivity industrial complex wants us to believe that the right system will transform us into efficiency machines. That the perfect app, properly configured, will unlock some higher version of ourselves. But after years of chasing this dragon, I’ve come to suspect that the problem was never the tools.

The problem is that we’re treating systems as solutions rather than supports. We’re looking for external structures to impose order on internal chaos, when what we really need is to develop better thinking habits. No folder structure, however elegant, can compensate for unclear thinking. No tagging system can organise thoughts that haven’t been properly formed.

The Reddit Personal Knowledge Management System community is full of people sharing elaborate setups, complex workflows, and sophisticated integrations. It’s fascinating to browse, but also revealing. Much of the discussion centres around the systems themselves rather than the knowledge they’re meant to manage. We’ve become obsessed with the scaffolding while forgetting about the building.

Starting Simple

My current approach is almost boring in its simplicity. I write notes when I have something worth recording. I put them in folders that feel natural. I don’t worry about perfect categorisation or comprehensive tagging. If I need to find something later, Obsidian’s search is good enough. If I can’t find it, perhaps it wasn’t worth keeping anyway.

This isn’t a manifesto for digital minimalism or a rejection of productivity tools. It’s more like a truce. I’ve stopped looking for the perfect system because I’ve realised it doesn’t exist. Instead, I’m focusing on developing better habits: writing regularly, thinking clearly, and actually finishing things rather than just organising them.

The chase for productivity perfection is seductive because it feels like progress. Researching new systems, watching tutorial videos, setting up elaborate workflows — it all feels productive. But it’s productivity about productivity, not actual work. It’s digital procrastination dressed up as self-improvement.

Maybe the perfect productivity setup is the one you stop tweaking. The one that gets out of your way and lets you focus on what actually matters: having thoughts worth capturing and doing work worth sharing. Everything else is just infrastructure — necessary, but not noteworthy.

The real productivity hack might be admitting that no system can save us from ourselves. But a simple one might just get out of the way long enough for us to get something done.