Ideas that bridge worlds

I’ve learned I can’t do it all alone. I’ve had to build support around me. My friends, co-workers, and other parents. That’s not weakness. It’s smart.

Treat every handoff (human↔human, human↔system, system↔system) as a contract with explicit schemas, expectations, and validation—so variability doesn’t leak downstream.

In traditional media, creation ends at “publish.” With generative tools like Sora, that boundary disappears.

Your work doesn’t have to be finished—it can be played with. A 10-second clip, a character cameo, even your likeness can become seeds for countless interpretations. What used to be a static output becomes a living environment—remixable, extendable, transformable.

That changes the job of a creator. You’re not delivering a message; you’re designing conditions for play. Not asking for approval—inviting response. I invite you to play a little here

Interoception is our ability to sense what’s happening inside the body: heartbeat, breath, tension, warmth, unease. It’s how the body tells the mind, something’s changing; pay attention.

I’ve started to think of interoceptive intelligence as a broader kind of awareness. It applies not only to our own bodies, but to the systems we design and the relationships we live inside. It’s about knowing how to listen inward before acting outward.

Interoceptive intelligence is about developing sensitivity to signals that come before the event. It’s a design question as much as a human one. How do we build feedback loops that help us stay aware, responsive, and alive, whether in parenting, in architecture, or in design?

What are different approaches and methodologies for making tough decisions?

What happens when the time from spotting a need to shipping a service is measured in milliseconds, not months? That sounds like sci-fi, but the trend line points there. Every year it gets easier to sense demand, assemble tools, and deliver something useful with almost no overhead. AI agents, serverless backends, drop-in payments, and platform distribution pull the friction out of the system. The result is a new shape of opportunity: micro-sized, real-time, and constantly in motion.

A Minimum Lovable Unit is the smallest meaningful expression of care that creates value in a specific moment. It’s an action, artifact, or interaction that does just enough to make something better — not by scale, but by resonance. The “minimum” part speaks to efficiency: the least required to be useful. The “lovable” part adds a layer of intention: it should feel considered, human, or kind.

An MLU can exist anywhere — in a product, it might be a well-timed message; in parenting, a gentle pause instead of a correction; in architecture, a function that anticipates failure gracefully. What ties them together is proportionality: doing just enough, with care.

Unlike grand plans or heavy systems, MLUs thrive in immediacy. They emerge when we sense a need and respond with precision, not force. Each one might seem small, but collectively they create trust and texture — the difference between something that merely works and something that feels alive.

In essence, a Minimum Lovable Unit is the smallest unit of intentional empathy — a moment where utility meets grace, and where even the tiniest action can make the whole system more humane.

You don’t always need heavy tools to solve real problems. Often, a small, focused solution built quickly and shaped with care will do the job better.

This is the shift: instead of starting with a big system or polished platform, you start by asking, “What’s the smallest thing that would work right now?” You can describe a need and instantly generate something that meets it. A script, a checklist, a schedule, a conversation prompt.

Thin tools are lightweight, disposable, and specific. They’re not meant to last forever. They last just long enough to help you act or decide. Thick thinking means putting care into what matters: what problem are we solving, what does good look like, and what’s the next step?

This also begs the question: in a tech world shaped by long-lived SaaS platforms—optimized for complexity, scale, and monthly recurring revenue—how will they adapt when the market starts generating solutions in milliseconds? When users can create a tool on demand, use it once, and discard it, the economics of software, and the role of product design, may need to change.