It’s 9am. You’ve just made your coffee. You’re ready to be productive. Then your calendar reminds you that you have standup in five minutes. You sigh, open the video call, and wait for everyone to trickle in over the next seven minutes while Dave figures out why his microphone isn’t working again.
Finally, the ritual begins. Sarah goes first. “Yesterday I worked on the API stuff, today I’m continuing with the API stuff, no blockers.” Fantastic. Groundbreaking information. Absolutely could not have been a single line of text.
The RBA just raised the cash rate to 4.1%. That is two hikes in two months. The big four banks are tipping a third in May to 4.35%, which would be three consecutive rate rises for the first time since March 2023, back when they were trying to wrangle post-COVID inflation. Two rate hikes in the first quarter of 2026 has added $225 a month to the average home loan, or $2,700 a year. That nearly wipes out the three rate cuts we got in 2025.
You can earn more money. You can rebuild your health. You can make new friends to replace the ones you lost. Most resources that feel scarce can be regenerated if you invest the effort.
Attention cannot. You have a finite amount of attention in your lifetime. When you spend it, it is gone. There is no getting it back. There is no earning more. You get what you get and then you die.
The startup mythology has a convenient excuse built in. Most startups fail because the market is tough, the competition is fierce, the timing was wrong. External factors. Bad luck. Forces beyond anyone’s control.
This is cope. Most startups fail because the founders are bad at business. The market was fine. The idea was fine. The execution was bad because the people doing the execution did not know what they were doing.
There was a moment, somewhere around 2012, when the internet was as good as it was ever going to get. We did not know it at the time. We thought it would keep getting better. Instead it got worse, and we have been coasting on momentum ever since.
This is not just nostalgia. The structural incentives that made the early internet good have reversed. What we have now is optimised for different things, and those things are mostly bad for the people using it.
The return-to-office push has been justified with a lot of words. Collaboration. Culture. Serendipitous encounters. Innovation. Mentorship. Water cooler conversations. The magic that supposedly happens when bodies occupy the same physical space.
It is all bullshit.
The office exists because managers do not trust you to work without being watched. That is it. That is the reason. Everything else is a story they tell to make the distrust sound reasonable.
The guitar world has spent the last few years treating capture tech like a holy war. One camp wants modelling. One camp wants captures. One camp wants to shout AI a few more times and hope that somehow counts as innovation. It is all getting a bit silly.
That is why Helix Stadium has my attention right now. Not because Proxy is already out in the wild and flattening everything in its path. It is not. As of March 7, 2026, the latest public Helix Stadium firmware notes Line 6 has posted are still 1.2.1, and Proxy is still preview territory. The Stadium Floor itself only started shipping in mid-February, so plenty of people are still in the honeymoon phase with the hardware before any of the capture stuff even enters the picture. But the strategy around Proxy looks smarter than the usual race to see who can scream capture the loudest.
In 2008, the financial crisis destroyed millions of jobs. The unemployment rate doubled. People lost homes, savings, careers. It was the worst economic crisis in generations and it scarred everyone who lived through it.
I think we are headed for something worse. Not a financial crisis. An automation crisis. The kind of job displacement that makes 2008 look like a practice run.
This is not going to happen all at once. It is going to happen gradually, then suddenly, the way these things always happen. And when it hits, we will not be ready because we spent the warning period arguing about whether it was real.
I have a ducted air conditioning system made by iZone. It works fine. There’s an app. The app does what apps do. You tap buttons, things happen. It’s perfectly adequate.
But I’m a developer, and perfectly adequate is never enough. I wanted to control my AC from the terminal. I wanted to type a command and have my house cool down. I wanted to ask an AI assistant to set up my bedtime routine and have it actually do it. Not some hypothetical future integration. Right now, on my local network, with no cloud dependency.
I have written a lot of code. Hundreds of thousands of lines across dozens of projects over twenty years. Some of it was clever. Some of it was elegant. Some of it solved hard problems in interesting ways.
The best code I ever wrote was none of that. The best code I ever wrote was the code I deleted.
A function that turned out to be unnecessary. A feature that nobody used. An abstraction that added complexity without adding value. A clever solution to a problem we did not actually have. Each deletion made the codebase better in a way that no addition could match.