Publish the macros. Keep the micros in conversation.

I was sitting around on a Sunday afternoon, riffing about AI regulation. Lamborghinis pulled over by the cops, Nissans cruising past. And I caught myself mid-thought.

You can think anything. Conversation is free. But the moment you publish something, you’ve taken a snapshot. One frozen frame of you, on one afternoon, held up as the one look into how you think. And I’d never really sat with that before.

So here’s the question I started asking myself, and now I ask it about everything before it ships:

Is this a micro opinion or a macro opinion?

A micro is the belief of the week. The tool of the week. The take you have on a Sunday afternoon that might not survive Friday. It’s real, it’s honest, but it’s weather, not climate.

A macro is the thing you’d still hold at 70. The thing you’d hold if you were rich and powerful, not just the view from where you’re standing right now. Macros are defendable because they’ve already survived time, money, and ego.

The test is simple: picture yourself at 70, with everything or nothing. Would you still sign your name to it? If yes, publish it. If not, keep it in conversation, where it’s allowed to evolve.

This matters more than it used to. We all publish constantly now. Posts, articles, threads. And every one of them is a snapshot someone will find later, out of context, and assume it’s the whole of you. The micros will embarrass you. Not because they were wrong, but because they were temporary, and you framed them as permanent.

So the rule I’m installing on everything I put out:

Publish the macros. Keep the micros in conversation.

You don’t publish the ore. You publish what the fire left behind.

This piece is itself a macro, published under its own rule, on a Sunday afternoon, which is exactly when you should be suspicious of what you’re sure about.