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.
I’ve been in thousands of meetings over my career. Most of them could have been an email. Some of them could have been a Slack message. A disturbing number of them could have been absolutely nothing at all.
The modern workplace has a meeting addiction. Got a problem? Schedule a meeting. Need to make a decision? Meeting. Want to share an update that affects three people? Better book a room for twelve and block out an hour. It’s reflexive at this point, like reaching for your phone when you’re bored.
Every few years someone publishes a “how I work” post and I read it thinking yeah, that’s nice, but do you actually do all of that or did you just describe the idealised version of yourself? The version that wakes up at 5am, journals, meditates, drinks a green smoothie, and has inbox zero by 9am.
I’m not that person. I never have been. Here’s what actually happens.
I wake up sometime between 6:30 and 7:00 because my kids have decided that’s when the day starts regardless of what I think about it. There’s no alarm clock. There hasn’t been one in years. Children are the most reliable and least snooze-able alarm system ever invented. I make coffee. Strong, black, no sugar. This is not a personality trait. It’s a dependency.
You have a meeting on your calendar. It is thirty minutes long. There are six people invited. The topic is something that could be summarised in two sentences. By the time everyone joins, exchanges pleasantries, gets distracted, and finally discusses the actual subject, you have burned three person-hours of collective time.
That meeting should have been an email.
But wait. You sent an email. It was three paragraphs explaining a decision. Nobody needed to respond. Nobody needed to discuss. You just needed people to know something. Now six people have another email in their inbox, another thing to read, another context switch in their day.
Notion is not a productivity tool. Notion is a tool for feeling productive while accomplishing nothing. It is a creativity sink disguised as a workspace. It is where work goes to become content about work.
I have watched people spend more time building their Notion setup than actually doing the tasks the setup was meant to track. I have done it myself. This is not productivity. This is procrastination with better aesthetics.
Every struggling project in history has had some executive look at the timeline, panic, and say the same thing: “Let’s throw more people at it.” It’s such a comforting idea. More hands, faster work. More brains, better solutions. It makes intuitive sense, which is exactly why it’s wrong.
Fred Brooks figured this out in 1975 when he wrote The Mythical Man-Month. His observation was brutally simple: adding people to a late software project makes it later. Not a little later. Meaningfully, measurably later. And yet here we are, 50 years on, and companies are still making the same mistake. They see a deadline slipping and reach for the hiring button like it’s a panic switch.
It is not a secret anymore. Most developers use AI tools now. If you are not using something like GitHub Copilot, Claude Code, OpenAI Codex, or even just pasting problems into ChatGPT, you are probably in the minority. The stigma has evaporated. Nobody is pretending they wrote every line by hand anymore.
Using AI to write code is just what we do now, like using Stack Overflow was ten years ago except the answers are usually better and you do not have to scroll past three people arguing about whether the question is a duplicate.
I have had more ideas than I can count. A notes folder full of app concepts, half-baked prototypes in forgotten repos, domain names I bought in a fit of optimism at 2am. Over a decade of this. Life gets in the way. Work gets in the way. Kids, mortgages, health, relationships, fatigue. The ideas pile up and the backlog grows.
If you look at my GitHub, you might think I ship a lot. Nearly 200 repositories. Aurelia plugins, blockchain games, CLI tools, a regex battle game, apps for finance tracking and tattoo previews and bedtime stories. From the outside it probably looks prolific. But I know what is missing. The projects that never left my head. The code that never got written. The things I talked about for years and never touched.
I get asked this question a lot. Usually with a tone somewhere between genuine curiosity and thinly veiled accusation. Where do you find the time? You have a full time job. You have kids. You have a wife. You have this blog. You have side projects. You take on contracting work. You contribute to open source. When do you sleep? Are you okay? Is this a cry for help?
The honest answer is that I have an incredibly understanding wife.
I finally wrote the book I kept threatening to write for a few years on and off: Why Developers Code In Dark. It is out now on Leanpub. You can grab it here: https://leanpub.com/whydeveloperscodeinthedark
This book looks at a thing many of us quietly do, shipping code late at night, and asks a simple question: why does working in the dark work for so many developers? The answer is not just “no meetings”. There is psychology, physiology, and culture in the mix, plus trade offs that deserve an honest look.