It was November, I'm sure of it. After finishing work, I took a bath, and while idly scrolling through my smartphone as usual, an idea suddenly came to me. At first it was just a passing thought—the kind of thing where you think "it would be convenient if something like this existed." But that night was different. Even after getting into bed, even with my eyes closed, the idea wouldn't leave my head. Before I knew it, the clock had passed midnight, then one o'clock. If I couldn't sleep anyway, I thought, so I opened my laptop. Once I started writing notes, I couldn't stop. A list of features, a profile of the target user, ideas for names. As I typed away frantically, I saw "2:07" in the bottom right corner of the screen. That's when I should have noticed, but I had already opened a domain registration service. I typed in the name, checked availability, added it to my cart, and completed the payment. Before I knew it, it was done. The annual cost was just over a thousand yen. But for some reason, at that moment, I was trembling slightly.
My Daytime Self Is "Too Realistic"
Looking back, even when I come up with ideas during the day, I usually crush them myself right away. "Something similar already exists," "I don't know if I can keep it up," "It seems technically difficult"—these voices come to me before I even start thinking.
But the middle of the night is different. I suppose you could say my inhibitions weaken. Maybe it's because I'm tired, but without overthinking things, just the feeling of "this seems interesting" comes to the forefront. While my realist self is sleeping, only my creator self is awake. That's what it feels like.
Things created in the middle of the night sometimes carry an energy that wouldn't emerge during the day—I started thinking this way after that night I bought the domain.
A Feeling That's Neither Regret Nor Embarrassment
The next morning, as soon as I woke up, the memory of last night came back to me. "Oh, I bought a domain."
It was more amusing than embarrassing. Even though I'd only spent just over a thousand yen in a late-night mood, there was this strange sense of "I really did it." It's similar to that feeling of impulse buying and regretting it the next morning, but it wasn't regret. How should I put it—a complicated feeling of "I did it, but maybe it's not so bad."
When I checked my email, there was indeed a domain registration confirmation notice. Seeing that, I felt a strange sense of "it really happened." My passing thought had begun to exist as a name in digital space. That fact felt oddly real.
My First Experience with the "Cost of Going Public"
I've attempted personal projects several times before, but most of them stayed in my local environment. "Once it's a bit more complete," "Once it looks a bit cleaner"—making excuses like that, I'd ultimately never release it and it would disappear. I kept repeating that pattern.
But this time was different. I'd already bought the domain. Even if I didn't use it, the annual renewal would come. That alone created a feeling of "I have to do something about this." The cost of just over a thousand yen became a reason I couldn't slack off.
Sunk Cost as a Driving Force
Economically speaking, it's called "sunk cost," and the correct answer is supposedly that you shouldn't let already-paid costs distort your judgment. But in personal development, this sense of "what a waste" sometimes becomes a driving force.
I can't get back the domain fee. But the fact that "I bought it that night" doesn't change. Strangely, that became connected to a will to "keep going." Not a payment, but a declaration. It felt something like that.
Even Though I Didn't Tell Anyone
I noticed something else. When I bought the domain, I hadn't told anyone. I didn't announce it on social media or tell my friends. It was just a transaction between me and the domain registrar.
But maybe that was good. Not external pressure, but a sense of "I made a promise to myself." If I failed, I wouldn't be embarrassed, and if I succeeded, I didn't need to brag. I just wanted to be honest with the version of myself from that deep night. That was all.
Week Three's "I Quit"
To be honest, the development that followed wasn't smooth. The first week had high momentum, and I was doing something with my hands every night. But from the second week, the pace dropped, and by the third week, a "let's take a little break" that was really a stop had arrived.
The domain was alive, but my hands had stopped. That state continued for about a month. I thought "where did that late-night energy go?" but every time I saw the renewal notification email, a small feeling of "I haven't quit yet" remained.
I Learned the Concept of "Resuming"
In continuing personal development, I learned something. "Quitting" and "taking a break" are different things.
The old me thought that once a project stopped, it was "dead." But now it's different. As long as the domain is alive, the project is just on pause. I can resume it, or change direction. That just-over-a-thousand-yen amount made it slightly harder to "completely end it."
After that, I started having a "ritual for resuming" when things stalled. I'd make some coffee and reread the notes I wrote that night. That alone helps me come back a little.
"Once You're Ready" Might Be an Illusion
"I'll start once I'm prepared" is something that almost never comes in personal development. Technology is always imperfect, time is always short, and ideas can be refined endlessly.
But the me who bought the domain that night wasn't prepared for anything. No technology, no plan, no team. All I had was an idea that wouldn't leave my head, a late-night impulse, and just over a thousand yen.
I won't say that was enough. But "it began"—that's a fact.
Impulse Isn't Shameful
When I meet people doing personal development, it seems like everyone has some kind of "impulse to begin" somewhere. An idea that came to them late at night, something that struck them in the shower, a question that wouldn't leave their head during their commute.
I want to treasure that impulse. Just because you can't explain it logically doesn't mean it has no value. Rather, the fact that it "struck" so hard that you can't explain it must be showing you something.
As I write this essay, I often think back to that night. Unable to sleep, yet strangely refreshed—that feeling. That slightly trembling sensation when you're about to start something.
That just-over-a-thousand-yen amount is still alive in me. The project itself still isn't complete, and I haven't released it yet. But it exists. As long as the domain is alive, my idea is alive. I think that's enough for now.
If you're out there right now, late at night, staring at your screen with an idea spinning in your head, whether or not you buy a domain, I hope you'll treasure that impulse a little. It's probably a sign that something is "about to begin."
Good night. Or, good morning. I hope that tonight too, someone is beginning something in the middle of the night.
Lily（@bokuwalily）― Personal developer. Working hand-in-hand with AI, I create iOS apps and web services
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Lily（@bokuwalily）― Personal developer / AI adoption and business automation consultant. While creating iOS apps and web services hand-in-hand with AI, I also consult with companies on AI adoption and automation
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