The Hand Crank of Reality

I think of reality as having a hand crank attached to it. When I turn it, things move forward. Problems get solved, projects advance, entropy gets beaten back. When I don't, nothing happens. Things sit. They decay. The crank doesn't turn itself.

Over time I've developed a simple system for keeping it turning.

In thermodynamics, entropy increases in isolated systems. Order decays into disorder. Left alone, every structure falls apart. The only way to maintain order is to do work. A cell that stops metabolizing dies. A civilization without food and fuel collapses.

Ilya Prigogine called systems that maintain themselves against entropy "dissipative structures." A hurricane is one: it keeps its shape by processing the temperature difference between warm ocean and cool air. A cell is one: it maintains its membrane through continuous chemical reactions. Civilization is one: it maintains roads and institutions and knowledge through continuous energy input. I am one too.

This means there is no equilibrium. I cannot hold position against entropy. If I stop turning the crank, I drift toward disorder. The dentist appointment I haven't scheduled is a small decay. The conversation I've been avoiding is a small decay. The project that exists only as an idea is structure that hasn't been built yet. Entropy runs continuously. It does not wait for me to be ready.

So I keep what I call a crank file. It's a plain text file in Obsidian, committed to git with everything else. Nothing special. A list of maybe thirty areas, and for each one, the next action that would turn the crank.

Some areas are about preventing decay: schedule the dentist, file taxes, reply to the email that's been sitting there. These are load-bearing; ignoring them makes things worse. Other areas are about creating structure: write the next section of the book, have the conversation that might lead somewhere, build the feature that's been stuck in my head.

The file does not distinguish between these categories. Both are turns of the crank. Both fight entropy.

The way I use it is simple. Open the file, scan the entries, pick one that fits the time and energy I have. Fifteen minutes before a meeting, three hours on a Saturday morning—doesn't matter. Do the thing, then update the entry with the new next action. If the area is fully resolved (appointment scheduled, project shipped, problem solved), delete the entry.

The structure of the file doesn't matter. I've used plain text, apps, notebooks. The container is irrelevant. What matters is a list of areas where entropy threatens or opportunity waits, and for each one, knowing what the next turn would be. That's the whole system: areas, next actions, and the discipline to keep turning.

The crank file also reveals mismatches. Sometimes there's too much in it relative to the time and energy I have. When I look at the file and feel that mismatch, it's the signal to be ruthless about priorities.

Some things are non-negotiable: work, family, taking care of my kids, maintaining a strong relationship with my wife. As your world becomes richer, the energy required to maintain it grows. More structure means more maintenance load.

I have a finite number of cranks in my lifetime. They should be the highest-value ones I can make. Sometimes that means telling a friend I can't help with his fundraising round even though I said I would. It's not just first-order consequences—helping him is also about maintaining our friendship. But if I've invested enough in that relationship over time, saying no when I'm swamped doesn't damage it. The visibility lets me make that call.

You can't do everything. You don't have infinite energy. The file shows where the entropy is, where the opportunity is, and forces you to choose.

Consider two people living the same eighty years. One rarely turns the crank. Ideas stay as ideas. He puts things off until the pain of neglect exceeds the pain of action.

The other turns the crank often. Problems get addressed while small, before they compound. Ideas become experiments, experiments become projects, projects become things that exist in the world. Continuous conversion of potential into actual.

Same years. Different number of turns. The difference compounds, because the crank is attached to a flywheel.

Each turn produces some output, and some of that output makes future turns easier. I learn how to do something; now I can do it faster. I solve a type of problem; now I recognize it when I see it again. I build a relationship; now I have someone who can help with the next thing. The flywheel builds momentum over time. The gap between crank-turners and non-turners widens as years pass. The accomplishments improve the machinery.

The flywheel can also slow down. Go long enough without turning the crank and accumulated advantages decay. Skills get rusty. Relationships weaken. Problems that were solved resurface because conditions changed. The longer the flywheel sits idle, the more effort it takes to spin it up again.

This is the insidious thing about entropy: not only do things decay, but the further they decay before you address them, the more energy reversal requires. Small decay costs small energy to fix. Large decay might cost more than you have.

The crank file works because it matches the physics. Entropy is continuous and distributed—decay happens everywhere, all the time, in small increments. The crank file is also continuous and distributed. It tracks many areas at once, invites small actions, and keeps everything visible so nothing drifts too long without attention.

There is no grand plan here. No five-year vision broken into quarterly objectives broken into weekly tasks. Just the next turn of the crank, repeated across many areas, for a long time. The same logic that describes civilization as a dissipative structure applies at the scale of a single life. I maintain myself—skills, relationships, projects, health—through continuous small actions. Stop the actions, and the structure degrades.

I don't know if this system would work for anyone else. The specific mechanics—plain text file, git commits, morning review—are just how I do it. Someone else might find a completely different approach. What matters is the underlying pattern: know where the entropy is, know where the opportunity is, know what the next turn would be for each, and keep turning.

The flywheel is spinning. Entropy is being fought. That's the whole thing.