# Intent.md

## A Simple Note to Self

In the quiet of a digital morning, I open *intent.md*. It's not a grand document—just a plain text file, lines of purpose etched in Markdown's unadorned clarity. Here, amid folders of fleeting thoughts, lies my anchor: what matters most today, this week, this year. Intent isn't a thunderous declaration; it's a gentle reminder, like a handwritten list on the kitchen counter, but eternal and editable.

This file holds no fluff. A few headings outline my why: family time over endless scrolling, a walk before work, kindness in small replies. Writing it grounds me, turns vague wishes into visible steps.

## The Power of Plain Text

Life rushes with distractions—notifications, obligations, the pull of what others expect. *Intent.md* cuts through. Its simplicity demands honesty. No hiding behind polished prose; just raw truth. I review it daily, strike what's done, adjust what's not. Sometimes, I add a line about patience or rest, because intent evolves.

One evening last winter, buried in deadlines, I read: "Breathe. Be present." It stopped me cold, pulled me outside to snow falling soft on the pines. That shift wasn't magic—just the weight of words I'd chosen myself.

## Carrying It Forward

To start your own:
- Open a blank file.
- Write three truths: one for heart, one for hands, one for horizon.
- Read it first thing, last thing.
- Let it change as you do.

In 2026, with screens brighter and worlds faster, this practice feels like rebellion—a deliberate pause.

*Intent.md: your purpose, plainly written, quietly lived.*