Why I Build Small Tools for Myself
For a long time, my idea of a “good project” looked like this:
- impressive UI
- complex tech stack
- something worth tweeting about
- something that looked portfolio-ready
Most of those projects never survived past the excitement phase.
They weren’t bad ideas — they just weren’t necessary.
Recently, I’ve been experimenting with a different approach:
building small tools only for myself, to solve problems I actually have.
This post is a reflection on that shift — and why this is the first product I’m intentionally building for me. I don’t know where it will go yet. That’s kind of the point.
The problem with building “impressive” projects
When a project exists mainly to impress others, a few things happen almost automatically:
- scope grows too fast
- polish becomes more important than usefulness
- motivation depends on external validation
Once the novelty fades, the project stalls.
I’ve done this enough times to recognize the pattern.
The issue wasn’t discipline or skill — it was misaligned intent.
The shift: building because the problem won’t leave me alone
This time, the project started from friction I kept feeling:
I write blogs.
I rewrite things often.
I care about tone, voice, and clarity.
But whenever I needed to respond to comments, summarize ideas, or reuse my own writing elsewhere, I noticed something missing:
my own voice didn’t carry over automatically.
So I started building a tiny internal API:
- it reads my own blog content
- understands my writing style
- returns responses in my voice
No pitch deck.
No launch thread.
No deadline.
Just: I want this to exist.
This is the first product I’m building for myself
That distinction matters.
I’m not treating this as:
- a tutorial project
- a portfolio flex
- a startup idea
I’m treating it as:
a tool I want to rely on six months from now.
That changes how I think about everything — architecture, scope, and even motivation.
What I’m hoping this will teach me
1. How to design without overengineering
When the only user is me, there’s nowhere to hide:
- bad APIs feel annoying immediately
- unclear abstractions slow me down
- unnecessary complexity becomes obvious
I’m forced to ask:
“Would I enjoy using this tomorrow?”
That’s a useful constraint.
2. How to ship without pressure
Because there’s no audience yet:
- I can ship incomplete versions
- I can refactor freely
- I can let the product evolve naturally
Progress feels quieter — but more real.
3. How to think long-term
This isn’t meant to be “finished.”
It’s meant to be:
- maintained
- adjusted
- occasionally broken and fixed
That mindset is closer to real software than most side projects ever get.
Me as the client
Wearing the client hat has been unexpectedly educational.
As a client, I care about:
- speed over perfection
- clarity over cleverness
- reliability over features
I don’t care what framework is used — I care whether the tool helps me think better and work faster.
That perspective is easy to forget when you’re only building for show.
Me as the developer
As a developer, this project keeps pulling me back to fundamentals:
- clear data flow
- simple interfaces
- readable code
- decisions I can explain in plain language
If I can’t explain why something exists, it probably doesn’t belong.
That rule alone has saved me a lot of unnecessary work.
Why this feels different from my past projects
The biggest difference is emotional:
I’m not trying to prove anything with this.
I’m curious where it leads.
If it stays small, that’s fine.
If it grows into a browser extension, even better.
If it changes how I write or think — that’s already a win.
Closing thoughts
I don’t know if this tool will ever be public.
But I do know this:
building something you genuinely need teaches you more than building something you hope others will admire.
This is me choosing consistency over excitement, clarity over flash, and usefulness over optics.
Let’s see where this takes me.