Sometimes I ask myself what the point of writing here really is.
For almost a year now, I’ve stuck to my schedule of posting every Tuesday. On purpose, I’ve kept promotion and interaction close to zero. You won’t find links to these posts floating around the internet. There’s no comment section, no newsletter, barely any way to get in touch with me.
If you’re here, you really had to look for it.
That was part of the idea.
I wanted to remove the fast, shallow interaction model we’re all used to online. The kind where you comment on a post, feel something for ten seconds, and never think about it again. No growth, no reflection, no real presence. Just noise.
That, though, is more a welcome side effect than the real reason.
The real reason is simpler: I wanted this to be my space. A corner of the web where I could do one of the things I love most (writing) about another thing I care deeply about (being a developer). I didn’t want it to be performative. I didn’t want it to be optimised. I didn’t want it to be shaped by reactions.
I wanted as little intrusion as possible.
Over time, this place became a sanctuary.
At the beginning of each week, I spill my thoughts here: worries, doubts, small wins, moments of clarity. I give them shape through a post and, more often than not, they start making sense. Writing forces proportion. It gives context. It turns noise into something coherent.
This blog has been a place to elaborate, not to impress.
Writing means taking thoughts out of your head, making them real, rearranging them until they say what they actually mean. Some posts turn out interesting. Others probably aren’t, at least not in a “shareable” sense. But they matter to me because they crystallise a moment in time. A win, a loss, a difficult phase, a transition.
In that sense, this blog has been part therapy, part motivation, part anchor.
It was also the first real action that nudged me toward changing jobs. Not directly, not strategically — but I was scared and confused back then. I was procrastinating decisions, avoiding my CV, stuck in my own head. Over Christmas, when I decided to build this site and start writing, something shifted. A small spark of energy appeared. That spark didn’t disappear, it compounded, quietly, until it got me where I am now.
So yes, I love this blog.
The obvious counterpoint is time. Even if the effort is minimal, it still takes space in an already busy week. I’m not trying to become known. I’m not looking for validation. I’m not monetising anything.
So what’s the point?
The point is showing up.
It’s the passion for writing. It’s the quiet pride of realising you kept a promise to yourself, week after week. It’s that stoic sense of doing the right thing for you, without expecting anything in return.
Will this go on forever? Honestly, I don’t know.
There was never an exit strategy. No business plan. Right now, I see no reason to stop. Writing clears my mind. It keeps me grounded. It connects me to a part of myself I value deeply. It’s a task I genuinely look forward to.
Maybe one day it will feel like a chore. Maybe the benefits will fade and I’ll let it go. That’s fine too. I can’t predict it.
For now, I’ll take what this year has given me. I’ll take this blog as a quiet companion alongside an ever-changing life. It’s been an adventure so far, and I’m grateful to have this kind of diary with me.