from the inside - part 1 of 3
I think I finally understand why people reach for the simulation metaphor. Not because I can prove we're living in one, I can't. It's because every once in a while lately, I look up from my laptop and have this very specific feeling. What are the odds I get to be alive for this exact part?
I've been writing software for a long time. I used to love writing code. And then somewhere over the last year, I realized I didn't just love it. I became completely obsessed with it. And weirdly, AI didn't make me less interested in software because it could write some of the code. The exact opposite happened. It made software feel bigger. The problems got more interesting, more architectural, sometimes almost philosophical.
I started thinking less about how do I write this function and more about how do I move through a problem? How do I teach another intelligence what I mean by good? How do I move through a conversation almost like coordinates? One decision leading to the next, until you end up somewhere neither of you could really see from the beginning. That pairing became its own craft. And then I started writing it down.
A Command, Another Command, a Rule
In February 2026, I started building a Claude Code plugin. Nothing grand at first, a command, another command, a workflow, a rule. And eventually it became Craft. I kept feeding it things, ways I plan, ways I review, things I care about in architecture, standards, habits I built up over time. Even the way I like an assistant to talk to me.
And at some point I realized something strange. I'd started coding parts of myself into the machine, not me. But my judgments, preferences, habits. And even bugs. At some point, I built Craft Bugs, because it wasn't enough for the system to help me write software. I wanted it to notice all the things that bother me.
I'd started coding parts of myself into the machine
And that's where it started getting really interesting, because Craft didn't just grow from my free time. My work and Craft started building each other. I'd hit a problem in a real project and think, yeah, Craft should never let this happen again. So I'd fix it. Then Craft would behave differently in the next project. And it would teach me something, back and forth. And again and again. A feedback loop.
And eventually I noticed I cared less and less about the language I was dropping it into. TypeScript, Java, Angular, legacy Microsoft code. Whatever. Because the thing I was trying to encode isn't a programming language. It's how I build.
Wouldn't It Be Wild If
That has created some moments over the past year that I don't really have a frame of reference for. One of the strangest was when I had two terminals talking to each other. I had an idea for how it could work. So, naturally, I just tried it. Except in my head, it was still one of those "wouldn't it be wild if" type things. And then I went mountain biking, left the computer, and they just kept going. I came back and it had worked on real client work.
That was one of those moments. Not scary, just what the f- kind of workday is this? A few years ago, that sentence would have been pure science fiction. Now, it's something that happened on a random day.
And that's the craziest part of all this. You get an idea. You think, I could probably pull this off. So you try it. Half assuming it's still fantasy, and then it works. And so you try something else. That works and then you add another dimension. Horizontal, vertical, another agent, another workflow, another channel of communication. And suddenly you're standing somewhere that you wouldn't have believed a year earlier.
There are days now where I have a ridiculous number of terminals open. 17 doesn't sound that absurd anymore. Things moving in parallel, answering questions, nudging one thing here, reviewing another there. Somehow, my brain's adapted. That's what gives me the strange feeling. It's not that any one thing is magic, it's how quickly the impossible becomes mundane.
The Weird Mirror Moment
Today gave me another one of those moments. Claude Code mods gave Craft a visual surface. For almost a year, this thing has lived in terminals, markdown files, commands, orchestration. And suddenly there were buttons, controls, things I could click. It wasn't just a plugin with a UI, it was this weird mirror moment. I could suddenly see the system I'd been teaching how I build.
And then that moment is still hard to describe. It's almost déjà vu, but not quite. Almost lucid dreaming. That moment where everything is completely real, but you become aware that the rules are different from what you thought they were. And you think, oh, I can do this now.
That's probably the closest I can get to explaining why the simulation metaphor keeps popping into my head. Again, I'm not saying we're literally living in one. I'm saying I understand the feeling. That tiny flash of unreality when the world in front of you advances faster than your model of what's possible.
I'm Not Tired of This
And maybe the strangest part is, I'm not tired of this. I'm more in love with software than I've ever been. I get to wake up and do this for my job, then finish work and keep doing it because I want to. I've never had a passion line up with my profession this cleanly before. Software used to be something that I loved. Now I think about systems, harnesses, agents, architecture, language, workflows, code. Constantly.
And I don't really know where all this goes. That's part of why I want to start writing about it. Not predictions, not prompt lists, not hot takes about what engineering will be. I want to write about what it feels like from the inside, what happens to the way you think when your tools start reflecting your thinking back at you.
Because we're not watching this in a movie or reading it in a book. We're standing in it while it's happening. And every once in a while, I look up and think, Holy shit.
I'm here for this.