I have a number in my head. It is not a valuation and it is not a bank balance — it is the size of the problem I want to be useful against. Three hundred million dollars is what it costs to build the kind of company I keep sketching on napkins: one where AI agents do real work, reliably, for people who are not engineers. Writing the number down changed how I spend my mornings.
The dream is not the money. The dream is the version of me who is capable of that outcome — the one who ships every week, who says the ambitious thing before he has the receipts, and who lets the number filter out everything that is merely interesting. Most days that just means picking the harder task on the list. This post is my public commitment to keep picking it.