Contours of Tomorrow

April 8, 2025

Lately, I’ve been thinking it might be helpful to use this space to write more directly about different aspects of the Contours of Tomorrow philosophy—sometimes zeroing in on one of the lenses, like persistence, and other times writing more generally about observations or moments that resonate with this way of looking at life.

This won’t always be a formal unpacking of ideas. Sometimes it might just be a story, a thought, or a reflection that glints with a bit of recognition—like, Ah, yes, this fits the shape of things. I hope that’s useful to those of you who are following along and thinking with me.

Today, I want to sit with the idea of persistence—and more specifically, the notion that memory can act as a kind of shelter.

There’s a quiet, often overlooked kind of resilience in remembering. Not just in the act of not forgetting, but in carrying something forward—keeping it alive inside you, and maybe even offering it protection, like a small flame under cupped hands. Sometimes that flame is a person. Sometimes it’s an idea, or a moment. Sometimes it's a version of yourself you’re not ready to let go of yet.

In the Contours of Tomorrow, persistence isn’t just about endurance—it’s about the continuation of influence. It’s about how things last through us, in us, and because of us. Memory is one of the ways we do that. It's not just nostalgia; it’s a form of participation. When we remember someone’s words, or keep living in a way they shaped, we give them space in the present. We build shelter for them in our minds, and sometimes even extend that shelter to others.

I think often about how we live in each other’s memories. How something small—like a phrase you once said in passing—might be echoing in someone else’s decisions years later. That echo is a kind of persistence. And when we give it shape—through storytelling, ritual, or even a shared look—we’re reinforcing a structure. A place where something can be safe. A place where it can stay warm.

In a world that changes so quickly and forgets so easily, choosing to remember is a radical act. It’s one of the ways we fight entropy—not with permanence, but with continuity. Memory is fragile, but when we tend to it, when we keep passing it forward, it becomes shelter. Not just for the past, but for the future too.

So today, I’m remembering. And I’m building. Even this post, in its own way, is a beam in that shelter.

More soon, – Paul