People sometimes ask why I’m still doing this.
Why I’m still building websites.
Why I’m still fixing broken things.
Why I’m still obsessing over performance, structure, edge cases, and problems most people don’t even notice.
If you’re interested, here are all the services I obsess over.
The short answer is: I can’t not do it.
The longer answer is this — I’m a finder of solutions.
That’s not a job title. It’s a disposition.
If there’s a problem in front of me, my mind doesn’t sit with the frustration for long. It starts pulling the problem apart. What’s actually broken? What’s noise? What’s the constraint? What’s the simplest lever I can pull right now?
That instinct has followed me my whole life, long before WordPress or code entered the picture.
Some problems are small and obvious. Others are messy, layered, slow to reveal themselves. Some solutions work immediately. Others take days, weeks, or months to prove themselves — and sometimes they only become clear after you’ve tried three wrong paths first.
What drew me to development — and keeps me here — is that coding gives this instinct a rare kind of honesty.
Code doesn’t care who you are.
It doesn’t care how confident you feel.
It doesn’t care how long your resume is.
It either works or it doesn’t.
At its core, code is logic made visible. Conditions. Consequences. Cause and effect.
Not in the oversimplified way people sometimes joke about — “if this, then that” — but in a far richer sense:
- If this assumption holds, then this outcome follows.
- If it doesn’t, then the entire structure collapses — and you need to rethink the premise.
That’s not unlike life, really. Code just removes the ambiguity.
You don’t negotiate with it. You don’t persuade it. You don’t bluff.
You meet it where it is, or you don’t progress.
And when it does work — when the page loads cleanly, the logic resolves, the performance bottleneck disappears — the feedback is immediate. Quiet. Satisfying. Almost philosophical.
Something that was broken is now whole.
That immediacy matters to me. Deeply.
In a world where many efforts take years to bear fruit (if they ever do), development offers moments of clarity. Moments where attention, patience, and thinking properly about a problem produces a tangible result you can point to and say, “That’s better than it was.”
That’s addictive in the healthiest sense.
To a potential employer, this probably reads as fixation. Dedication. Passion.
That’s fine — they’re not wrong.
But it’s not passion in the loud, performative sense. It’s quieter than that. More stubborn.
It’s the satisfaction of knowing that systems can be understood. That complexity doesn’t mean chaos. That most problems — even the ugly ones — yield when you slow down enough to look properly.
And to anyone thinking about becoming a developer, or wondering if they should stick with it when things feel impossibly hard, here’s what I’ll say:
If you’re in this for instant mastery, you’ll be miserable.
If you’re in it because you enjoy figuring things out, you’ll be fine.
Not every problem has a neat solution.
Not every fix works the first time.
Not every answer is obvious, or immediate, or elegant.
But the process — the thinking, the testing, the learning — that’s the work. And if that process gives you even a quiet sense of rightness, you’re already ahead of the game.
I don’t love this work because I know everything.
I love it because I get to keep finding things out.
And tomorrow, walking the dog, I’ll probably stumble across another problem worth solving.
That’s more than enough reason to keep going.
If you like, you can read more about me here.
If this resonates, feel free to share it — sometimes the quiet reasons are the ones worth passing on.