Happy Saturday. I hope you’re not working.
I probably am. Or I’m “not working,” which for me means checking my computer somewhere between every 30 minutes and three hours.
Lately, the hum of my laptop is constant. It’s hot. The fan is regularly on, and my wrists resting on the keyboard are uncomfortably warm. Somehow, the battery seems to be draining even while it’s plugged in.
It’s a pretty new Mac. She’s had a tough life.
For the past few months, my wife, co-workers and friends have been subjected to increasingly detailed updates about the King of Pops app I’m building.
If all goes according to plan (does that ever happen?), the new app will solve most of the problems at our scrappy little popsicle company.
Popsicles will flow. Money will come in easily. Everyone will know exactly what they’re supposed to be doing. Customers will be happy. Franchisees will be happy. The team at work will finally have more time for secret handshakes.
I can see it.
And thanks to my $50-a-month Claude account, I can kinda build it.
I’m an eager early tech adopter, and I dove into this project mostly to scratch the itch. I wanted to understand what this whole AI thing was really about.
I signed up out of curiosity. Now I am certainly addicted.
I haven’t played video games in 20 or so years, but I’ve heard people describe the feeling as similar. The ability to control a world is tough to compete with.
There is a very specific little hit that comes from adding a new feature. Or finding a bug and fixing it. Something that was broken suddenly works. Something that didn’t exist an hour ago now exists.
Then you notice the next thing.
The button should probably be over there. We could automate that email. This screen is confusing. That calculation is wrong. What if the app did this too? And suddenly it’s 11:47 p.m.
I have always had some version of this problem. The object changes. The feeling doesn’t.
King of Pops itself is kinda this thing I can’t stop tinkering with. A cart. Then another cart. Then a kitchen. Then a new city. Then wholesale. Then franchising.
There has always been one more thing that, once finished, will make everything easier.
“When I finish this, It’s gonna be great.”
I’ve told myself some version of that sentence for most of my adult life.
When we’re honest with ourselves, we remember there is no “finished.” There is only the next thing.
That can be dangerous. But I’m not sure the answer is to care less.
I like caring about my work. I like getting a little too excited about an idea. I like making something better than it was yesterday. I like being proud of what we put into the world.
The thing I worry about more is forgetting why I care in the first place.
That happens surprisingly easily.
You start doing something for good reasons. For me, I started a business to do something fun, make people happy, create a place where people can do good work, and maybe make something your kids will be proud of one day.
Then 16 years go by and you’re arguing with yourself about the location of a button at 11:47 at night.We need reminders.
For me, the reminder is pretty simple: Is this still fun? Am I proud of what we’re making? Are we building something worth caring this much about?
I hope my kids grow up knowing their dad loved his work. Not because work was the most important thing in his life, but because there is something pretty great about spending your days building something you believe in.
Maybe one day my grandkids will hear about this weird popsicle company and think it was cool.
That feels like a pretty good reason to keep tinkering.
Happy Saturday.
I hope you’re not working.
I’m going to try not to.
No promises.
