A not-so-quiet reflection

Lessons learned from a year of building products, facing failures, and finding traction.

A voice in my head has been shouting for weeks. So here I am, trying to calm it the only way I know; by writing. If anything, this year has been a roller coaster ride. A ride I was not ready for, but one I secretly wished for all along.

When I started my career, I initially worked on various products, none of which were successful. It was probably never the effort we put in that became the bottleneck, but a mix of market conditions, timing, and the hard truth of no product–market fit. Those years taught me the craft of building and the satisfaction of elegant solutions, but they also left me wondering what product market fit might actually feel like.

That is why this year stood out. We had two big releases, and on the surface they might just feel like product milestones. But for me, they became mirrors. In each, I met a different version of myself; versions I maybe did not even know existed.

In the first, my world shrunk to code, features, and problem-solving. I was heads down, deep in the craft, living in the details. I chased down bugs late into the night, obsessed over edge cases, and felt the quiet satisfaction when things finally clicked. Exhausting, yes, but clear. Seeing the product work, with users engaging with it, made up for everything. That version of me felt familiar.

The second launch refused to let me stay in that comfort zone. I was still building, still obsessing over details, but I could not stay heads down. Dependencies had to be untangled, conversations held, threads pulled together. My calendar filled with check-ins, my days with code reviews, and my evenings with last-minute fixes and coordination. It was no longer just about solving my own problems; it was about making sure everyone around me moved forward together.

It was noisier, more chaotic, and often draining. But it stretched me. In that version, I saw someone who had to zoom out, connect dots, and hold the bigger picture without losing the details; someone bridging deep technical work and the messy reality of building a product outside the code. Still, there is much to learn.

Looking back, both launches mattered for reasons beyond the products themselves. The first reminded me of the joy of building, the flow that comes from losing yourself in your work. The second showed me the weight and reward of orchestrating more than just my own contributions when something is at stake.

Together, they revealed two sides of me I had not fully recognized. One that finds deep satisfaction in craft and precision. The other that can hold complexity and help others move forward together.

The contrast with my early years is sharp. Back then, I was building in isolation, both technically and organizationally. This year, I learned what it means to build with purpose, with others, and for something that has real traction. Those failed products were not wasted time; they were the training ground that prepared me for when it finally mattered.

If so far this year has been about discovering these two sides of myself, then the next is about learning to bring them together; moving fluidly between deep building and thoughtful orchestration, knowing when each is needed.

At the end of the day, it is never about perfection. It is about patience, about learning as you go, staying curious, and enjoying the work along the way.