Picasso got it right: Great artists steal. Even if he didn’t actually say it, and we all just repeat the quote because Steve Jobs used it. Because it strikes at the heart of creativity: None of it happens in a vacuum. Everything is inspired by something. The best ideas, angles, techniques, and tones are stolen to build everything that comes after the original. Furthermore, the way to learn originality is to set it aside while you learn to perfect a copy. You learn to draw by imitating the masters. I learned photography by attempting to recreate great compositions. I learned to program by aping the Ruby standard library. Stealing good ideas isn’t a detour on the way to becoming a master — it’s the straight route. And it’s nothing to be ashamed of. This, by the way, doesn’t just apply to art but to the economy as well. Japan became an economic superpower in the 80s by first poorly copying Western electronics in the decades prior. China is now following exactly the same playbook to even greater effect. You start with a cheap copy, then you learn how to make a good copy, and then you don’t need to copy at all. AI has sped through the phase of cheap copies. It’s now firmly established in the realm of good copies. You’re a fool if you don’t believe originality is a likely next step. In all likelihood, it’s a matter of when, not if. (And we already have plenty of early indications that it’s actually already here, on the edges.) Now, whether that’s good is a different question. Whether we want AI to become truly creative is a fair question — albeit a theoretical or, at best, moral one. Because it’s going to happen if it can happen, and it almost certainly can (or even has). Ironically, I think the peanut gallery disparaging recent advances — like the Ghibli fever — over minor details in the copying effort will only accelerate the quest toward true creativity. AI builders, like the Japanese and Chinese economies before them, eager to demonstrate an ability to exceed. All that is to say that AI is in the "Good Copy" phase of its creative evolution. Expect "The Great Artist" to emerge at any moment.

I've been running Linux, Neovim, and Framework for a year now, but it easily feels like a decade or more. That's the funny thing about habits: They can be so hard to break, but once you do, they're also easily forgotten. That's how it feels having left the Apple realm after two decades inside the walled garden. It was hard for the first couple of weeks, but since then, it’s rarely crossed my mind. Humans are rigid in the short term, but flexible in the long term. Blessed are the few who can retain the grit to push through that early mental resistance and reach new maxima. That is something that gets harder with age. I can feel it. It takes more of me now to wipe a mental slate clean and start over. To go back to being a beginner. But the reward for learning something new is as satisfying as ever. But it's also why I've tried to be modest with the advocacy. I don't know if most developers are better off on Linux. I mean, I believe they are, at some utopian level, especially if they work for the web, using open source tooling. But I don't know if they are as humans with limited will or capacity for change. Of course, it's fair to say that one doesn't want to. Either because one remain a fan of Apple, in dire need of the remaining edge MacBooks retain on efficiency/battery, or simply content inside the ecosystem. There are plenty of reasons why someone might not want to change. It's not just about rigidity. Besides, it's a dead end trying to convince anyone of an alternative with the sharp end of a religious argument. That kind of crusading just seeds resentment and stubbornness. I know that all too well. What I've found to work much better is planting seeds and showing off your plowshare. Let whatever curiosity that blooms find its own way towards your blue sky. The mimetic engine of persuasion runs much cleaner anyway. And for me, it's primarily about my personal computing workbench regardless of what the world does or doesn't. It was the same with finding Ruby. It's great when others come along for the ride, but I'd also be happy taking the trip solo too. So consider this a postcard from a year into the Linux, Neovim, and Framework journey. The sun is still shining, the wind is in my hair, and the smile on my lips hasn't been this big since the earliest days of OS X.

The singularity is the point where artificial intelligence goes parabolic, surpassing humans writ large, and leads to rapid, unpredictable change. The intellectual seed of this concept was planted back in the '50s by early computer pioneer John von Neumann. So it’s been here since the dawn of the modern computer, but I’ve only just come around to giving the idea consideration as something other than science fiction. Now, this quickly becomes quasi-religious, with all the terms being as fluid as redemption, absolution, and eternity. What and when exactly is AGI (Artificial General Intelligence) or SAI (Super Artificial Intelligence)? You’ll find a million definitions. But it really does feel like we’re on the cusp of something. Even the most ardent AI skeptics are probably finding it hard not to be impressed with recent advances. Everything Is Ghibli might seem like a silly gimmick, but to me, it flipped a key bit here: the style persistence, solving text in image generation, and then turning those images into incredible moving pictures. What makes all this progress so fascinating is that it’s clear nobody knows anything about what the world will look like four years from now. It’s barely been half that time since ChatGPT and Midjourney hit us in 2022, and the leaps since then have been staggering. I’ve been playing with computers since the Commodore 64 entertained my childhood street with Yie Ar Kung-Fu on its glorious 1 MHz processor. I was there when the web made the internet come alive in the mid-'90s. I lined up for hours for the first iPhone to participate in the grand move to mobile. But I’ve never felt less able to predict what the next token of reality will look like. When you factor in recent advances in robotics and pair those with the AI brains we’re building, it’s easy to imagine all sorts of futuristic scenarios happening very quickly: from humanoid robots finishing household chores à la The Jetsons (have you seen how good it’s getting at folding?) to every movie we watch being created from a novel prompt on the spot, to, yes, even armies of droids and drones fighting our wars. This is one of those paradigm shifts with the potential for Total Change. Like the agricultural revolution, the industrial revolution, the information revolution. The kind that rewrites society, where it was impossible to tell in advance where we’d land. I understand why people find that uncertainty scary. But I choose to receive it as exhilarating instead. What good is it to fret about a future you don’t control anyway? That’s the marvel and the danger of progress: nobody is actually in charge! This is all being driven by a million independent agents chasing irresistible incentives. There’s no pause button, let alone an off-ramp. We’re going to be all-in whether we like it or not. So we might as well come to terms with that reality. Choose to marvel at the accelerating milestones we've been hitting rather than tremble over the next. This is something most religions and grand philosophies have long since figured out. The world didn’t just start changing; we’ve had these lurches of forward progress before. And humans have struggled to cope with the transition since the beginning of time. So, the best intellectual frameworks have worked on ways to deal. Christianity has the Serenity Prayer, which I’ve always been fond of: God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, the courage to change the things I can, and the wisdom to know the difference. That’s the part most people know. But it actually continues: Living one day at a time, enjoying one moment at a time; accepting hardship as a pathway to peace; taking, as Jesus did, this sinful world as it is, not as I would have it; trusting that You will make all things right if I surrender to Your will; so that I may be reasonably happy in this life and supremely happy with You forever in the next. Amen. What a great frame for the mind! The Stoics were big on the same concept. Here’s Epictetus: Some things are in our control and others not. Things in our control are opinion, pursuit, desire, aversion, and, in a word, whatever are our own actions. Things not in our control are body, property, reputation, command, and, in one word, whatever are not our own actions. Buddhism does this well too. Here’s the Buddha being his wonderfully brief self: Suffering does not follow one who is free from clinging. I don’t think it’s a coincidence that all these traditions converged on the idea of letting go of what you can’t control, not clinging to any specific preferred outcome. Because you’re bound to be disappointed that way. You don’t get to know the script to life in advance, but what an incredible show, if you just let it unfold. This is the broader view of amor fati. You should learn to love not just your own fate, but the fate of the world — its turns, its twists, its progress, and even the inevitable regressions. The singularity may be here soon, or it may not. You’d be a fool to be convinced either way. But you’ll find serenity in accepting whatever happens.

We're spending just shy of $1.5 million/year on AWS S3 at the moment to host files for Basecamp, HEY, and everything else. The only way we were able to get the pricing that low was by signing a four-year contract. That contract expires this summer, June 30, so that's our departure date for the final leg of our cloud exit. We've already racked the replacement from Pure Storage in our two primary data centers. A combined 18 petabytes, securely replicated a thousand miles apart. It's a gorgeous rack full of blazing-fast NVMe storage modules. Each card in the chassis capable of storing 150TB now. Pure Storage comes with an S3-compatible API, so no need for CEPH, Minio, or any of the other object storage software solutions you might need, if you were trying to do this exercise on commodity hardware. This makes it pretty easy from the app side to do the swap.  But there's still work to do. We have to transfer almost six petabytes out of S3. In an earlier age, that egress alone would have cost hundreds of thousands of dollars in fees alone. But now AWS offers a free 60-day egress window for anyone who wants to leave, so that drops the cost to $0. Nice! It takes a while to transfer that much data, though. Even on the fat 40-Gbit pipe we have set aside for the purpose, it'll probably take at least three weeks, once you factor in overhead and some babysitting of the process. That's when it's good to remind ourselves why June 30th matters. And the reminder math pens out in nice, round numbers for easy recollection: If we don't get this done in time, we'll be paying a cool five thousand dollars a day to continue to use S3 (if all the files are still there). Yikes! That's $35,000/week! That's $150,000/month! Pretty serious money for a company of our size. But so are the savings. Over five years, it'll now be almost five million! Maybe even more, depending on the growth in files we need to store for customers. About $1.5 million for the Pure Storage hardware, and a bit less than a million over five years for warranty and support. But those big numbers always seem a bit abstract to me. The idea of paying $5,000/day, if we miss our departure date, is awfully concrete in comparison.

Immortality always sounded like a curse to me. But especially now, having passed the halfway point of the average wealthy male life expectancy. Another scoop of life as big as the one I've already been served seems more than enough, thank you very much. Does that strike you as morbid? It's funny, people seem to have no problem understanding satiation when it comes to the individual parts of life. Enough delicious cake, no more rides on the rollercoaster, the end of a great party. But not life itself. Why? The eventual end strikes me as beautiful relief. Framing the idea that you can see enough, do enough, be enough. And have enjoyed the bulk of it, without wanting it to go on forever. Have you seen Highlander? It got panned on its initial release in the 80s. Even Sean Connery couldn't save it with the critics at the time. But I love it. It's one of my all-time favorite movies. It's got a silly story about a worldwide tournament of immortal Highlanders who live forever, lest they get their heads chopped off, and then the last man standing wins... more life? Yeah, it doesn't actually make a lot of sense. But it nails the sadness of forever. The loneliness, the repetition, the inevitable cynicism with humanity. Who wants to live forever, indeed. It's the same theme in Björk's wonderfully melancholic song I've Seen It All. It's a great big world, but eventually every unseen element will appear as but a variation on an existing theme. Even surprise itself will succumb to familiarity. Even before the last day, you can look forward to finality, too. I love racing, but I'm also drawn to the day when the reflexes finally start to fade, and I'll hang up the helmet. One day I will write the last line of Ruby code, too. Sell the last subscription. Write the last tweet. How merciful. It gets harder with people you love, of course. Harder to imagine the last day with them. But I didn't know my great-great-grandfather, and can easily picture him passing with the satisfaction of seeing his lineage carry on without him. One way to think of this is to hold life with a loose grip. Like a pair of drumsticks. I don't play, but I'm told that the music flows better when you avoid strangling them in a death grip. And then you enjoy keeping the beat until the song ends. Amor fati. Amor mori.