hello, world

2026-04-14T00:00:00Z

I recently found myself rewatching the famous WWDC launch of the iPhone 4 — a revolutionary device that propelled many of the features that drive our world today, for better or worse. Watching this video again as an adult took me back to the time when I first watched as a young child, filled with wonder as I began learning about the world, and about myself. I remember being in awe at seeing the Retina display in stores for the first time, or being able to video call from almost anywhere. The future felt so bright then. Now, sixteen years later, watching this launch video and reminiscing, I couldn't help but wonder: what went wrong?

Steve Jobs unveils the iPhone 4 at WWDC 2010. Photo by Matt Yohe, CC BY-SA 3.0.

It's a question that extends far beyond me. But I'll start with what I can account for.

The child that was inspired by those iPhone launches went on to hack together jailbreak-era tools, publish a Reddit client that actually got press, fall in love with web development, and then…abandon it all. When it came time to figure out what I wanted to do with my life — to pick a major, to commit to a direction — tech was never a consideration. I applied for political science and liberal arts programs. I simply didn't think I was good enough to come close to the people that I venerated.

And yet, alongside all of that building, I had managed to find real community with strangers on the internet. I had no trouble speaking my mind. I made friends across the globe who shared a love for technology, who saw what I saw in it. But somewhere along the way, my passion, my audience, and my voice dwindled. I became consumed with the career path I chose — teaching — and directed every ounce of energy I had into being great at it. Into making a difference in the way I thought I was supposed to.

For nearly a decade, I did that. I built a program from the ground up. I wrote curriculum. I mentored kids who reminded me of myself — kids who lit up when they saw what they could create with code. And I was proud of that work. I still am. But something about rewatching that keynote cracked something open. Steve Jobs is standing on stage, showing the world something impossible, and all I could think was: how did the kid who loved this so much not even try?

Not try to be Steve Jobs. Not try to work at Apple. Just…try. Try to stay in the room. Try to bet on himself instead of quietly deciding he didn't belong.

I'm writing this blog post as I sit in the yard of a home I just purchased. That fact alone should make me feel proud, and in many ways it does. But there's a specific kind of guilt that comes with sitting in your own yard, in a house you worked hard to afford, and still feeling like you went the wrong way. Like you traded something you can't name for something you can point to. It feels ungrateful. I know that. And I've wrestled with whether I even have the right to feel this way — whether regret is something you're allowed to carry when your life, by most measures, turned out fine.

But "fine" is a low bar for someone who used to dream in public.

I don't fully know what this space is yet. But I know what it's for. This is me reclaiming the voice I let go quiet — the one that used to build things and share them without permission, without credentials, without wondering whether I was good enough first. The teenager who shipped a Reddit client and didn't wait for anyone to tell him he was ready. Somewhere along the way, the adult forgot that.

So this is the blog. This is the yard. This is me, figuring it out in the open — what I lost, what I'm rebuilding, and what I've learned the hard way that might be worth something to someone else walking a similar path. I don't have it all mapped out. But I think that's the point. The future felt bright once because I didn't know what was coming. Maybe it can feel that way again — not because of ignorance, but because I've finally stopped waiting.

cr-sh.me

hello, world