A family app, a Post-it, and a reminder about building products

I’ve been experimenting with building software again, this time with AI-assisted coding, and one thing has become very clear: building is becoming the easy part. Understanding what is actually worth building is not.

Early in my career, even a relatively simple application required considerable time, technical knowledge, and patience. Now, I can turn an idea into something tangible surprisingly quickly.

I find that fascinating. I have also discovered how easily the enjoyment of building can get ahead of the reason for doing it.

A family of users. Apparently, not identical ones.

One of my first experiments was a Family Hub. The idea seemed obvious. We are a family. We have things to coordinate. Why not build one place for dog-walking duties, meal plans, the family calendar, and a shared shopping list?

So I built it.

As product owner, developer, designer, and first user rolled into one, I had an unusually cooperative team. Very few disagreements. Decisions were made quickly.

Everybody also got more or less the same interface. The underlying assumption was that if I found something useful, the rest of my family probably would too.

Initially, that seemed reasonable. We all used it. It was new, it worked, and there was something slightly magical about having our own family app. Then, gradually, usage faded.

Today, hardly anybody uses the app.

I had built exactly what I imagined, but I had mistaken my own preferences for shared needs. I like structure, visibility, and having everything in one place. Being related to me apparently does not make those universal requirements.

The competition was a Post-it

Every Sunday evening, we agree on the meals for the coming week. We write them on a Post-it and stick it up in the kitchen.

The Post-it has terrible integration capabilities. No API. No notifications. No analytics. But it works! It is visible where we need it. Nobody has to log in, open an app, or learn a new habit.

My app offered more functionality, but it also asked something of everyone using it. I had spent far more time thinking about what it could do than whether the improvement was worth that effort.

That is surprisingly difficult to admit when you have enjoyed building something. Another feature always feels like a possible answer. Perhaps a notification would bring people back. Perhaps a better calendar would make the difference.

Perhaps meal planning was already working well enough.

The fact that I could build an app did not mean my family needed one.

Same boat, different needs

My next experiment started with a more concrete need.

We recently bought a sailboat, and I began documenting its equipment, upgrades, maintenance history, and checklists in Word. Before long, I had 15–20 pages of information that I wanted to preserve and actually use.

An application offered some practical advantages: searchable history, checklists that could be checked off, and a record of when something had been serviced or replaced.

And, because I enjoy numbers, I also wanted nautical miles sailed, new harbors visited, and various other statistics that nobody else had asked for.

My first instinct was to build one comprehensive view of everything. This time, though, the Family Hub was in the back of my mind. We share a boat, but we have different interests and responsibilities aboard it.

I care about the maintenance history, upgrades, engine, saildrive, and when a particular component was replaced. I am also quite happy looking at a dashboard full of sailing statistics.

My wife has less interest in the numbers. For her, the checklists before departure and before leaving the boat should be easy to reach. The detailed technical information can stay in the background.

Our daughters currently join us as guests. They have little reason to inspect the engine or work through winterization procedures. The trips they have joined, logbook entries, and photographs are more relevant. Their starting point should feel closer to a travel journal.

So this time, the home screen changes depending on who is using it. What comes first—and what stays out of the way—reflects those differences.

That sounds embarrassingly obvious when I write it down. But it is also still an assumption. A more considered one than before, but a personalized home screen does not prove that I have understood anyone’s needs.

I need to see whether they return to it without me reminding them.

What do we do with the speed?

I have spent years working with products and teams, discussing user needs, prioritization, and the importance of understanding a problem before committing to a solution.

What is different today is how quickly I moved from having an idea to making decisions about features and interfaces. Once I could see something taking shape, I wanted to keep going. Building created its own momentum.

AI-assisted development makes it possible to put an idea in people’s hands earlier, learn from it, and change direction with less effort. That is valuable.

But I only get that benefit if I make room for the learning. Otherwise, I can spend all the time I have saved adding features to an assumption I have never properly questioned.

The initial enthusiasm around the Family Hub told me that people were willing to try it. Its gradual disappearance from their routines told me something else.

Both were feedback. The second was less enjoyable and probably more useful.

The cost of my experiment was modest. Even so, it illustrated something that matters well beyond a family app: working software is evidence that we can deliver a solution. Whether it solves a worthwhile problem needs evidence of its own.

A market of one?

Will the boat app be used by the whole family?

I do not know yet.

It may turn out to be another project that I enjoy more than everyone else. This time, I am trying to be clearer about whose needs each part serves and to let actual use influence what happens next.

For me, the practical value is clear. Having the boat’s maintenance and upgrade history in one place will help while we own it and when we eventually pass it on.

Whether it becomes a useful shared logbook for the family remains to be seen. And some of the statistics are there simply because I enjoy them.

I think that is perfectly fine, as long as I do not confuse my enthusiasm with everyone else’s requirements.

I will still enjoy knowing how many nautical miles we sailed and how many new harbors we visited, which may be a market of one. But at least this time I know who that user is.