Why I Built This Site, and Why I'm Not Hiding It

A Letter Sparked This Site

In April 2025, I sent a letter to one of my senators about the state of healthcare in America. It was a letter I’d spent real time crafting—researched, structured, and deeply personal. But as I was preparing to publish it online and share it more broadly, I caught a mistake in one of my sources.

The error was minor, but it was enough to make me pause.

If I was going to share this message publicly, I needed to correct that mistake. And more importantly, I needed to do it honestly—in a way that didn’t try to erase the fact that a mistake had happened.

That’s what sparked this entire site.

The Ethics of Revision

I mess things up. Often. That’s part of the process. Honest thinking necessitates mistakes. Iteration makes them worth it.

I write blog posts the way I write code: expecting them to be updated. My beliefs are provisional—they earn their place by withstanding time, pressure, and scrutiny. If a belief matters, it should adapt to new information.

This site reflects that. It gives me the freedom to revise old posts as my thinking evolves—without erasing what came before or dodging accountability. I wouldn’t want to mislead others by failing to correct myself—or by burying those corrections on a separate post, disconnected from the original mistake. That would feel intellectually dishonest in the most literal sense: refusing to revise a belief when the evidence changes.

That’s why I built this system by hand instead of using something like WordPress. I wanted infrastructure that lets me correct mistakes and acknowledge them. I don’t want to pretend I never said something—I want to document why I changed my mind.

Every blog post is hosted on a public GitHub repository, complete with version history and commit messages explaining every edit.

I want readers to know these posts will evolve—and to trust the transparency of those changes. If you’re curious, you can see exactly what changed and why. I make revisions because I have confidence that they are improvements—and hopefully most people reading will find that to be true.

Yes, This Might Cost Me

I’m fully aware that mixing personal advocacy with professional identity is generally considered risky. The safest advice for someone who wants to stay employable is to avoid taking public stances—especially on anything that could be construed as political.

But here’s the thing: if someone wants to find this blog later, they will. Obscurity isn’t safety. It’s just delay.

I believe my perspective is worth sharing precisely because it’s informed by personal experience—navigating the medical system, living with chronic illness, and seeing how policy plays out at ground level. Stripping that down into something sterile and abstract would defeat the point. So I’m choosing to publish under my name.

I still hold myself to professional standards. I believe in ethical conduct, clear boundaries, and productive dialogue. But I also believe that pretending I don’t care about the world outside my job is dishonest. And if that honesty disqualifies me from opportunities, I’ll live with that.

This Site Isn’t Just for That Letter

This started with a message I needed to get right. But since I’d already opened the can of worms of building a site, I intend to make the most of it.

You’ll find project documentation here. You’ll find longer essays. You’ll find technical posts, maybe the occasional guide. Over time, I expect it to grow into a space where I can explore ideas, track experiments, and share what I’ve learned in the open.

But the foundation is this: I write in public, and I revise in public. Because trust isn’t built on certainty—it’s built on accountability.