Alika's first cry filled the delivery room, and suddenly the only "uptime" that mattered was hers — tiny lungs, perfect heartbeat. That night, while the hospital hummed and she slept on my chest, I realised every system I build will outlive release notes and sprint boards. It will become part of the backdrop of her life.
The shift in my gut, not just my head
I think in decades now, because she will live with the consequences of today's choices. I used to chase every shiny idea. Now I ask myself — is this feature worth missing bedtime giggles? If not, it waits.
A 2 AM deploy now means missing a 2 AM feeding, so it had better be worth it. And when I spin up servers, I picture her chasing butterflies under the same sky those data centres warm.
Little promises I've made
I want to choose purpose-driven projects — healthcare access, digital inclusion, tools that make everyday life kinder. I want to mentor generously, because the engineers I guide today will shape the tech landscape Alika steps into. And I want to keep evenings sacred — to hear her giggles, read The Very Hungry Caterpillar for the hundredth time, and still make breakfast runs with bleary eyes.
Why it matters
Success used to be 99.99% uptime. Now it's knowing that the things I craft add a sliver of goodness to the world she'll grow tall in. Alika made the future feel close enough to touch — so I'm building like she's watching, because one day she will be.