Why Slapping a Jet Engine on a Unicycle Isn’t a Tech Strategy

Why Slapping a Jet Engine on a Unicycle Isn’t a Tech Strategy Hello, world! (Yes, I’m contractually obligated as a software guy to start my first blog post that way. The tech police are very strict, and I don't want to lose my keyboard privileges.)

If you’ve ever used a piece of software that felt less like a helpful tool and more like an active hostage negotiation, you know exactly why I’m starting this blog. We've all been there—staring at a screen with 47 different buttons, just trying to figure out how to update an inventory log or print a shipping label, wondering if we need a PhD in orbital mechanics just to hit "Submit."

Here’s my fundamental view on technology: Software shouldn't be the main character of your workday. It should be the extremely competent, mostly invisible sidekick.

When I look at the tech world, I see a lot of people trying to fix fundamentally messy human processes by throwing shiny new apps at them. But let’s get one thing straight—digitizing a chaotic workflow doesn’t magically organize it. It just makes the chaos happen at the speed of light. It’s like putting a jet engine on a unicycle; sure, you’re moving much faster, but you’re mostly just accelerating toward a spectacular crash.

A lot of businesses fall into the trap of the "40-Pound Swiss Army Knife." They buy massive, generic software platforms that promise to do everything. Need to manage a supply chain? It does that! Need to calculate payroll? Yep! Need it to make a decent cup of coffee while aggressively playing smooth jazz? It probably has a plugin!

The problem? When you just need a simple blade to open a cardboard box, you end up wrestling with a 40-pound metal brick, pulling a hamstring in the process. People shouldn't have to contort the way they work just to appease an inflexible computer program.

I prefer a different approach. I view technology the way a good cobbler views a pair of work boots. It needs to fit the actual person wearing it, and it needs to be built for the specific terrain they're walking on.

Before I write a single line of code or build a database, I want to know what the actual job looks like. What are the weird constraints? Where are the bottlenecks? Why does Bob in shipping keep a secret stash of sticky notes just to remember how to format the daily report?

You have to map the river before you build the bridge. If you don't, you'll construct an architectural masterpiece over dry land while everyone continues to wade through the mud.

For me, the best software gets out of your way. It’s the database that effortlessly tracks inventory for a 3D printing shop (shoutout to Dudefish Printing) so the team can focus on actually making cool things. It’s the app that quietly logs medical mileage without making you pull your hair out. It’s technology that actually respects your time.

So, this blog isn't going to be a dry, bulleted list of my resume. (You can click over to my portfolio if you want to see my tech stack). Instead, think of this space as my digital front porch. I'll be sharing stories, insights, and thoughts on how we can stop forcing people to adapt to bad software, and start building software that adapts to real people.

Grab a chair. Leave your 40-pound Swiss Army knives at the door. Let's make things that actually work.