Take

I used to write a bunch of software for what was then called Mac OS X. (It's a long story, but I'm personally responsible for the little controls you type a keyboard shortcut into sometimes being called "shortcut recorders".) Why did I stop?

I stopped because it was too much. I love the platform, I love the community, I love the sense that it's okay to care about details, I love the combination of a strong foundation that's not afraid to move forward and try new things. That gives you energy to do something, and it gives you ideas.

I've never been good at containing and managing that into a neat and healthy time allotment and a bounded investment of energy and emotion. Together with what my work asks of me, the things I do for my own personal use and the time I need to unwind from those other things, I had to drop it.

I've been reading about the pressures of open source maintainers for the past year or so, and I feel it. You want to put something out there to share, and some people – fine, good people with good intent – can turn it into a commitment that you only fulfill because you maintain an interest in it. If those pressures are reasonable, and if your life allows, you can do that, but it risks being turned from one of the highlights of your day into a downer, or even both simultaneously.

Making something for yourself, for friends, for people in the same situation you are, for kindred spirits that need to do something that's just too hard or inconvenient or troublesome – it can be an expression of who you are. It can be a balled-up gift of toil and thought and soul. It can make someone's day brighter and easier, and it can make you happier and filled with purpose. And it can also make you heart-achingly vulnerable, like a kid with a sandcastle, staring nervously at the waves, judging the strength of the winds against your skin.