# Linting Life

## The Subtle Sweep

Linting starts small. In writing code, it's that patient scan for stray errors—a forgotten semicolon, an inconsistent space—that keeps everything running smooth. Think of it as brushing away invisible dust from a windowpane. You don't notice the grime until light hits it just right, and suddenly clarity returns. Life works the same. We accumulate tiny oversights: a rushed word in a letter, a skipped breath during stress, habits that fray our edges without fanfare.

## Applying the Brush to Everyday Threads

What if we linted our days? Not with harsh judgment, but gentle review. At dusk, glance back: Did I listen fully today? Was my step hurried when patience called? These aren't grand fixes, but they mend the weave.

- A quick note to mend a overlooked thank-you.
- A pause to straighten a cluttered desk, mirroring a steadier mind.
- Re-reading an email before sending, softening its tone.

On this December evening in 2025, as the year folds toward quiet, linting feels like tending a fire—removing ash to let warmth endure.

## The Lasting Sheen

Over time, this practice polishes. Code becomes robust; lives gain resilience. It's not perfection, but presence—seeing the small to honor the whole. In a noisy world, linting invites stillness, turning ordinary moments into quiet triumphs.

*In the lint of daily life lies the thread of our best selves.*