I went to visit my grandma recently. She’s 94 now.
I don’t know if I’ll see her again, so we spent a long time just sitting and talking about how she grew up.
She grew up on a homestead.
There were about eight families living near each other. They had cows, goats, chickens. They grew their own food and lived completely off the land.
No stores. No delivery trucks. No grocery aisles.
Just land, animals, and the knowledge to survive.
I kept asking her questions.
“How did you make cheese?”
“What did you do for butter?”
“How did you preserve food for winter?”
And every time she would kind of scoff and say something like,
“Easy… you just do this and that.”
She’d explain it in about ten seconds.
But as she talked, I kept having the same thought:
I needed to be there.
Because hearing about it is one thing.
But learning it the way they did—by doing it every day, by watching someone who already knew, by being part of the process—that’s a completely different kind of learning.
You don’t just understand it.
You become someone who knows how to do it.
And sitting there listening to her stories made me realize something uncomfortable.
For the past few years, I’ve been trying to teach what I know in a certain way.
Packaging the knowledge.
Explaining the steps.
Turning it into something people can learn from a distance.
Has it worked?
Yes.
People have learned a lot.
But the conversation with my grandma made me realize something I hadn’t fully admitted to myself yet.
The most powerful learning doesn’t happen from a distance.
It happens when you’re inside the process.
When you’re watching it unfold.
When you’re figuring things out alongside someone else.
And lately I’ve started to feel like I’m being pulled toward sharing what I know in a completely different way.
Not just teaching finished ideas…
But showing the process as it happens.
I actually have something cooking up around this idea.
I can’t share it quite yet.
But next week I’ll reveal more and explain what made me start rethinking everything
