I’ve been creating software for over 19 years now. For most of that time, it’s been a part of my professional journey and for the past 12+ years, it’s been the only thing I’ve done full-time to earn a living.
But it didn’t start that way.
The very first piece of “software” I built didn’t involve a single line of code. I used Microsoft PowerPoint 2003 to create a basic calculator by linking slides together each number and operation had its own screen. At the time, I had no idea what programming even was. No internet access. No guidance. Just raw curiosity. I ended up building around 2,000 slides. My old Pentium 4 machine could barely load the slideshow.
I think I spent 14 to 17 hours straight on it, barely taking any breaks, completely hooked. I didn’t stop until it worked. And when it finally did when the illusion of a functioning calculator came to life I literally cried. Sure, it wasn’t a real calculator, but it felt like it. It showed the right results. It looked like magic to me. I was insanely proud of what I had built.
I showed it to my uncle, an engineer who actually knew programming. He was impressed and that’s when he introduced me to writing macros using [VB.NET] to build a real calculator. That was the second time my jaw dropped. The first was realizing I could build something I wanted using whatever tools I had.
To this day, I still think that was one of the most unique, creative, and wildly innovative things I’ve ever done.
All that to say, the passion for coding is always there. Sometimes it just needs to be reawakened. When you start doing something consistently, it naturally becomes your passion. Then one day, you start getting paid for what was once just a fun little hobby, and it becomes a job. And if it turns into the only thing you do for a living… that’s when it gets complicated. That’s when the exhaustion creeps in. That’s when your engineering mind starts giving you diminishing returns, and you plateau on innovation.
But maybe that’s the real challenge. Keeping the spark alive when it becomes your day job. Finding ways to play again. To build something pointless. To chase curiosity without a deadline. That’s how we stay sharp. That’s how we keep loving what we do. And maybe, just maybe, that’s how we keep building things that still make us cry. Not from exhaustion. But from happy tears.
