I've always used the phrase "just tinkering with it." Whenever a friend asked "what are you up to lately?" that one phrase would slip out of my mouth. Even though I was actually spending dozens of hours a week on it. Even though I'd get nervous with each release, worry about user reactions, and have sleepless nights. Still, I kept saying "just a little." This article is about noticing that habit and letting it go. What meaning was there in continuing to call personal development a "hobby," "side gig," or "side project"? And why was it so terrifying to give it an honest name? I'm writing this hoping it reaches people with similar habits.
I noticed it at a drinking gathering.
"Lily, are you making something?" someone asked, and out came my usual words again. "Yeah, well, just a little bit." Even as I said that, I was thinking internally that I'd been thinking about that product almost every night for the past three months, and that I'd only just managed to release it last week.
But I didn't mention that fact. Because it would "sound like an exaggeration."
This was my first realization. Lily was avoiding letting others know "that I care deeply about my own product." I was afraid that if things didn't work out, I'd become "someone who cared deeply but failed." So from the start, I was putting up a defensive wall by saying "just tinkering with it."
What I Was Protecting by Calling It Small
"It's a hobby." "A little side gig." "Just a side project."—these phrases have a common function. They are cushions that soften the impact of failure.
If you try hard and fail, it hurts. But if it's a hobby, you can say "well, it's just a hobby." If it's a side gig, you can make excuses like "my main job got busy." If it's a side project, you can secure an escape route by saying "I can stop anytime."
Lily had always been choosing small words to protect my own emotions, not the product.
Over the next six months or so, I began to feel contradictions little by little.
While saying "it's a hobby," I was genuinely troubled every time I received feedback from users saying "I'd like this kind of feature." While saying "a little side gig," I was seriously reviewing the monthly numbers over and over, thinking hard about why they weren't growing. While saying "just a side project," I was tracking similar services and feeling anxious.
A Landscape Invisible to "Hobby People"
One day, I read a note by another indie developer. That person had written about their product as "my business." The revenue was still only tens of thousands of yen per month. But they called it a "business."
At first, I thought "that's an exaggeration." But as I read on, the person's way of thinking and decision-making came up—the attitude of taking users seriously, how to recover from failure, a long-term perspective—and it all clicked into place.
Because they call it a "business," they can make decisions as a business owner. As long as I call it a "hobby," I can't escape the thinking of a hobbyist. That was when Lily first experienced that words create thought.
When I thought "then I should call it honestly too," I immediately hit a wall.
It felt too small to call it a "business." It felt like I didn't have enough achievements to say "I'm doing this seriously." I absolutely couldn't say "I started a company." So what could I call it?
The Root of the "Can't Call It Properly Problem"
As I thought about it, I realized something. What Lily was afraid of wasn't the words themselves. What I was afraid of was other people's gaze if I wasn't living up to those words.
After saying "I'm doing this seriously," if things didn't work out. Would people think "after saying all that"? Would I be evaluated as "despite saying you were serious"?
But thinking about it rationally—nobody cares that much. There are almost no people tracking and evaluating the success or failure of Lily's small product. What I was afraid of was a phantom gaze that didn't exist.
There's No Need to Prove "Seriousness" to Anyone
Another thing I realized was that an honest name isn't something you say to others.
Being honest with yourself in your words. That was the point. To first acknowledge to myself, "I am seriously working on this product." Not to prove it to others, but to stop deceiving my own senses.
I didn't make a big announcement. I didn't post on SNS something like "Starting today, I'm taking this on as a business!" or anything like that.
What I did was very small.
First, I changed how I wrote in my work notes. From "today's side project work" to "today's product development." Nobody sees my personal notes. But just changing the words made me feel like I stood up a little straighter.
Next, when friends asked, I stopped using the phrase "just tinkering with it." Instead, I said "I'm making a service individually." That's all. I'm not saying anything big. But just removing the word "just" changed something inside me.
What Concretely Changed
Strange things happened after I changed my words.
Decision-making became a little easier. Before, I'd tend to put off important judgments thinking "it's just a hobby anyway" or "it's a side gig, so I don't need to think deeply." But when I stood on the premise of "I'm seriously working on my own product," the feeling of "I need to think this through properly" naturally started to emerge.
Also, how I engaged with users changed. When I received feedback, I used to half-escape thinking "it's a hobby, so it doesn't need to be perfect." Now, the feeling of "for the sake of the people using this product" has become a little stronger.
I realized that giving it an honest name isn't a promise to someone else, but a promise to myself.
By telling myself "I'm doing this seriously," I create a place to return to when I want to slack off. By thinking "this is my important work," I create a reason to hold on when I want to give up on difficult nights.
Even without perfect achievements, even without large revenue—the fact that "I am seriously working on this" is real from this very moment. You don't need impressive credentials to acknowledge that.
Lily is still making small products. I still have many doubts, and things go wrong more often than they go right. There are nights when I think "should I really keep doing this?"
But I've stopped saying "just tinkering with it."
I've become able to say "I'm making a service individually." I think that's enough.
Giving an honest name to what you're doing takes courage. But not for someone else to recognize you. To change your words so that you recognize yourself. That small step can bring surprisingly big changes.
What kind of feelings are really hidden behind the phrase "just making something"—I hope you'll face it honestly, just once.
Lily (@bokuwalily)— Indie developer. Making iOS apps and web services in tandem with AI.
