When I was a kid, my grandma used to call out from her window, and within minutes the neighbors would start showing up. No announcements. No apps. People just came. Someone brought tomatoes. Someone else brought buckets or herbs or whatever they had on hand. Nobody asked, “What are we doing?” They just knew.

There was always a meal at the end of it. But more than that, there was a sense that we were doing something real. Something shared. And that’s what I’ve been thinking about lately. Because the way most software gets made today… it’s not that.

It’s not for someone specific. It’s mass-produced, templated, optimized for charts and slides and numbers that go up. But not for people.

And I think we can do better.

You can tell when someone cares

You know that feeling when someone hands you a bowl of soup they made themselves? Not from a recipe. Just from memory. And heart. You can feel it. The warmth. The care. The quiet pride.

Software can feel like that too. It really can.

But a lot of what’s out there today feels like fast food. Same flavor, everywhere. Same tricks. It works, technically. But it doesn’t feel like anyone really thought of you when they made it.

I want to build the kind of tools where you can tell someone gave a damn. Where someone made it because they needed it, or someone they loved did. Where the details weren’t added to impress — they were just the natural result of care.

Don’t feed people with empty hands.

I'm not trying to build the next big thing. Honestly, I don’t even talk like that. I want to build good tools. Useful ones. Tools that stick around. Tools that feel like they came from somewhere — from real people, with real needs.

Things that are simple. Things that feel good in your hands. Things that help someone do what they already care about.

That’s the kind of work I want to do with other people. Not “visionaries.” Not “ninjas.” Just folks who like making stuff, and want to do it well.

No passengers, just builders

No layers of people passing tasks around like a ping pong. Everyone builds. Everyone contributes. Everyone is hands-on.

It’s more like a village than a startup. You show up, you bring what you’ve got, and you help out. If something needs to be done, you do it. If someone’s stuck, you lend a hand. If you care about something, you speak up.

That’s how it was in my grandma’s kitchen. That’s how I want it to be. No managers. No silos. Just people who want to make things together.

Start small, but do it with your whole heart.

No tricks. No dark patterns. No urgency to buy. I want to make tools that leave people better than they found them. Give more than they take.

Stuff that’s simple, but solid. Beautiful, but not in a precious way — just in the way a good knife or a well-worn coat is beautiful. Because it works. Because it lasts.

Stuff that makes living sustainable.

And yeah, maybe sometimes that means it takes longer. Maybe it means saying no to things that would’ve made us look better on paper. That’s fine. I'm not here to impress paper. I'm here to make good stuff.

That’s what we’re doing.

Come join the table

If you’ve ever stayed up all night to fix one tiny thing because it mattered to you — not because someone told you to — you’ll get this.

If you’ve ever made something for a friend just because you thought it might help them — you’ll get this.

If you’re tired of the hype, and the noise, and the constant chase — but you still love building things — you’ll get this too.

I'm not trying to change the world. I'm just trying to make a tiny corner of it a little better. A little warmer. A little more human.

That’s enough.