The code runs, the bugs are fixed, and the deployment is green. On paper, it’s a good day. But then I close my laptop, walk into the next room, and realize I’m still not really there.
I’m a full-stack engineer, and I love what I do. I love the puzzles and the deep focus. But that focus has a cost. My brain doesn’t have an "off" switch. I can be sitting right across from the person I love most in the world, and mentally, I’m still miles away, staring at a screen that isn't there, debugging a race condition in my head.
It hurts to realize that I often give my best, most creative energy to a codebase, and give my partner whatever is left at the bottom of the barrel.
I have this deep, quiet fear: I don't want to look back in ten years and realize I was a great provider but a total stranger. I don’t want to be the person who optimized a career but let a home go cold.
The Project: Warmhearts
I don’t think technology has to be the thing that pulls us apart. I think we can use it to help us find our way back.
A few of us have started a project called Warmhearts. It’s not a business or a startup; it’s a mission. We’re trying to build something that helps deep thinkers like us break the "work trance", something that nudges us to look up, breathe, and actually see the people standing right in front of us.
I’m building the architecture and writing the code, while my team helps me navigate the "invisible load" we all carry. We’re building this in public because I know I’m not the only one who feels this drift.
I’m not a relationship expert. I’m just an engineer who is tired of being mentally absent. I’m building the one feature I need to save the things that actually matter.
With ❤️ Karun