Balancing the Blur

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Abstract painting in muted greys and deep blues, with blurred edges that evoke years slipping by in a haze.

One of the side-effects of being a founder - of being fully invested in building a product, a company, a chapter of life - is that other things start to slip.

I'll think about replying to a message most days. The care is there. The intent is there. But my brain says not now, later. And later stretches. Days. Weeks. A month. By the time I look up, the silence feels heavier than the message itself.

It's not about polish. It's not about doing it "properly." It's about where the bandwidth goes. When all of it is tied up in momentum at work, even the simplest personal reply feels like one more thing to carry.

I've told myself that's just the cost of focus. That this is what it means to pour yourself into building. But is it really? Or have I been investing everything into the product, and undervaluing the smaller signals that keep connection alive?

The irony is, I'd never let this happen inside a team. I know the value of small signals. I know how a quick check-in, a messy draft, or an imperfect update keeps momentum alive. But outside of work, I let silence stretch - even when the intent never left.

What good is momentum if it comes at the cost of presence? What's the point of building if, in the process, you drift from the people who matter?

I don't want to look back on these years and only see the product milestones. I want to remember the friendships that stayed close, the family I showed up for, the small messages that carried weight even when I felt stretched.

As I step into this year of travel, I hope I can reset that balance. To keep building, yes - but also to notice, and act on, the moments where connection matters more than momentum.

Maybe the harder question is this: how do you keep building without losing the life around it?