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I thought for a long time about whether to show this.

I recently made a small thing that is different from what I usually do. It is a short story, but once again a slightly different one. Different, because it has no single order. There is a beginning and there is an end, and those I hold on to. Everything in between is arranged by you, in whatever order you choose. You will read exactly the same words as everyone else, and you will leave with a different story. I have handed you a decision that truly means something here: the order.

And why did I think so long about showing it? Because the questions came: will anyone find value in this? Is it mature enough to leave my drawer? Or maybe it is simply silly?

That hesitation turned out to be the most valuable lesson, more valuable than the thing I made. Because making something and showing something take two entirely different kinds of courage.

In design we repeat it like a mantra: show early, test, gather feedback. Easy to say. And then, once you are holding something in your hands, it turns out the real difficulty lies in a single gesture: taking it out of the drawer, placing it in the middle of the table and pulling your hands away. Agreeing that from this moment on, someone else decides what it means.

And my story is precisely about giving up control. So I give it up: the reception, the interpretation, the judgement. Maybe someone will find value in it, maybe they will find none. A thing hidden in a drawer is neither good nor bad. It is simply dark.

So I am turning on the light. Now you turn on yours.