Someone recently told me, “I read your blog, but I’m not sure what it’s about.” I appreciated the honesty. It hadn’t occurred to me that the core idea might be unclear — mostly because it’s so clear in my own head. But since I haven’t explained it well enough, then let’s unpack it in more detail.
This blog is about connections. But not just any connections — singular links, or as I like to call them, slinks. These are the kinds of connections that change the dynamics of the things they’re connecting. Most links in this world are additive. You take one thing, add another, and you have more. One plus one equals two. But a slink doesn’t just add — it multiplies. One plus one becomes something else entirely. When you create a singular link, a third thing is created, something with its own identity, function, or meaning. One plus one equals rocket ship. One plus one equals atomic explosion.
That leap — when a connection fundamentally transforms what it touches — is what I care about. It’s what I look for in ideas, in people, in problems. Slinks are not just ways to combine things. They are structures that reveal deeper systems. They take the specific and make it generalizable. They point to a larger pattern, a hidden coherence. They change the proportionality of what’s being combined.
Creation, at its root, often begins with this kind of connection. Not simply combining parts, but creating relationships that weren’t obvious before. You don’t have to be an artist or inventor to create in this way. A parent who builds trust with a child through routine and presence is creating. A teacher who links abstract concepts to real-world experiences is creating. Even a group of cloistered nuns, devoted to a life of prayer and silence, is creating something — a sustained spiritual practice they believe shapes the world. These are all examples of people making meaning by forming intentional links between people, ideas, and experiences.
The brain is structured for this kind of work. When you form meaningful connections, your neural pathways literally change. This process — synaptic plasticity — strengthens with use. The more you link things, the more links you can make. And the easier it becomes to navigate between them, to create new insights from old materials.
Let’s make this more tangible. Picture a couple of Lego bricks. On their own, they’re just parts. But snap them together, and now you have something new. Add another brick, and suddenly the combinations begin to multiply. Not in a simple linear way, but exponentially. Each new connection opens more potential. The possibilities expand as the structure becomes more complex.
This principle applies everywhere. When Gutenberg invented the printing press by combining movable type with a mechanical press, he didn’t just invent a more efficient copying tool — he changed how information spread, who had access to it, and what people did with it. Claude Shannon, working with abstract Boolean logic and binary code, built the conceptual foundation for modern computing. Bruce Lee fused martial arts with Taoist philosophy to create something entirely new — a physical discipline guided by fluid, internal principles. These were not ordinary links. They were singular links that reshaped everything downstream.
This kind of connection exists in more humble forms, too. Think of a handyman — the person who looks at a problem, sees how things relate, and knows how to fix it. That knowledge isn’t just technical. It comes from an intuitive grasp of relationships: how materials behave, how forces move, how one small adjustment can change an entire system. Fixing a leaky faucet might not seem revolutionary, but it’s the same principle. It’s knowing how things go together—and how they can work better when joined correctly.
Memory works the same way. When you remember something — especially something that taught you a lesson — you’re linking the past to the present. A child burns her hand on a hot stove. That moment becomes a link between sensation and consequence. Later, that link becomes behavior. Experience, in this sense, is accumulated connection. It’s not just what you’ve been through, but how well you’ve woven it into your understanding of the present.
Visualization is another form of connection. When a golfer imagines the path of a perfect shot before swinging, he’s linking thought to action. That mental rehearsal creates a bridge between intention and movement, shaping the outcome. Just like memory draws on the past, visualization reaches into the future — and both allow you to perform better in the present.
In every case, when you connect things — thoughts, people, materials, experiences — you don’t just get more stuff. You get more choice. Dirt and water are just elements. Mix them, and you get mud. Shape the mud, and you have bricks. Stack the bricks, and you have shelter. Repeat that pattern, and you have a village. Each new link unlocks a new kind of purpose, a new possibility. Each link creates more choice.
Often, singular links begin with pattern recognition. You see something beneath the surface. Not just this thing, but how this thing fits with some other thing. That’s where meaning lives. In science, you can see this clearly. Dmitri Mendeleev, the Russian chemist, noticed repeating patterns in the behaviors of elements. He didn’t just list what was known — he arranged the elements into a structure that suggested there were unknown ones still to come. The Periodic Table was more than a chart. It was a map with empty spaces, a framework that predicted new elements based on the logic of what had already been discovered. And those predicted elements that were discovered later — Gallium, Scandium, Germanium — were found exactly where the structure implied they’d be.
That’s what slinking does. It organizes chaos. It reduces uncertainty. It reveals what might be possible, even when you can’t yet see it. A slink creates more than the sum of its parts — it creates structure, and with structure comes foresight.
Every meaningful connection does something to us. It reshapes our understanding. It offers more than what we had before — not just in quantity, but in kind. Whether you’re building a mud brick, imagining a golf shot, repairing a sink, or sketching the layout of something yet undiscovered, you’re working with the same principle.
Creation is connection. And connection, done right, is transformation. That’s what a singular link is. That’s what this blog is about.