You don’t annotate because you understand.
You annotate because you’re trying not to forget.
It’s not a sign of mastery.
It’s a survival strategy.
Reading leaves gaps.
The margins are where we patch them.
Notes Are Anchors
A highlighted line says:
“Here. This mattered.”
Even if you can’t explain why yet.
Even if it only makes sense in hindsight.
Even if you never come back.
It’s a record of attempted connection.
Drift Happens in Text Too
Reread something ten years later, and:
- The context is gone
- The metaphors fall apart
- The urgency has changed
Annotation slows the drift.
It’s a way to hold meaning steady, even as the rest of your life version-changes around it.
Marginalia Is Personal Infrastructure
Your notes aren’t for others.
They’re the index file to your own thought process.
Sometimes:
- A scribble is a breadcrumb
- A question is a future essay
- A “??” is the sign of life
You were there. You read it. You tried to keep it.
And that’s what annotation is:
A version of you, trying to recover the signal.