Last month, when I went back to my parents' house, my mother asked me about the app. "You've been making something lately, haven't you?" It was the kind of casual, everyday question. But when I tried to answer, the words just wouldn't come out right. "Um... it's like, something that can automatically post on Instagram and X..." I started to say, then stopped. Faced with my mother's "And then what?" expression, Lily realized something for the first time. I had been "making" things for years, but I didn't have a single word I could use to explain "why I make them." This essay is about the small events that started that night. It's not about code or technology. But I thought that for those of you who continue to "make things" in the same way, there might be something that resonates, so I decided to write it.
My mother's question had no malice in it whatsoever. She simply wanted to know what her daughter was doing. But that one phrase, "what's it useful for?" struck Lily's chest in an unexpected way.
To be honest, my mind went completely blank at that moment.
Should I say "it's something that automatically likes things on Instagram"? Should I say "it's a tool to increase followers"? But none of those felt quite right. When I tried to give a technical explanation, her face would immediately show "that's a bit difficult." So when I tried to explain from the purpose side, I'd get my own question: "Is that really the purpose?"
That night, Lily lay in bed thinking for a long time. What on earth was I making this for?
I think some people doing personal development have strong motivations like "I want to change the world" or "I want to solve problems." But to be honest, Lily's motivation wasn't that cool.
The first tool I made was something I made because I found it annoying. I hated doing the same task at the same time every day, so I thought "can't we do something about this?" and started making it. Then before I knew it, it was working. That feeling of "oh, it works" made me happy, so I made something else. It was just repetition.
So I couldn't really say "for someone else." If anything, it was "for myself." But I was embarrassed to say that to my parents, and the words just wouldn't come out right.
"For myself" is not a weak motivation
But now I think: "for myself" is not a weak motivation.
Because you start from something you're truly struggling with, something you truly find annoying — that's why you can keep making things. Not because someone told you to, not because it's trendy, but because you thought "it would be nice to have this." That motivation lasts much longer than any beautiful words.
But Lily at that time couldn't put it into words.
I didn't give up on explaining to my mother; I tried a few more times after that. I'd bring it up during dinner with "hey, about that thing earlier," or try again the next morning while having tea with "let me explain it differently."
First attempt: Trying to explain with technology
"There's something called a program, and when you write code, the machine reads it and makes it work..." — This fell apart in 3 seconds. My mother said "I see," but her eyes were glazed over.
Second attempt: Trying to explain with purpose
"It's a tool to increase followers, and it automatically does things like SNS posts and likes for you" — This also felt off. When she asked "Are you running a business?" I had to say "No, no, that's not it."
Third attempt: Being honest
On the third try, Lily kind of gave up and just spoke honestly.
"Doing the same thing every day is annoying. When I do it myself, I forget, and especially when I'm tired. So I made a system to do it for me instead. Nobody asked me to do it, but I was happy when it worked. And I just kept doing that."
Then my mother said, "Ah, it's like a time-saving household gadget?"
Lily was shocked. But as I said "Yes! Exactly like that!" I felt like I might cry.
My mother's analogy was a phrase I had never used. But at that moment, I thought "that's it."
Not technology, not follower count — I'm making things to make something annoying a little easier. That sense of "making it easier" was the core reason I keep making things, and I truly understood it for the first time at that moment.
In trying to choose words to explain clearly, I found that something that had been vague inside me was beginning to take on a clear shape.
"Why you make things" is not clear before you start making them
To be honest, I think people who have a clear "why" before they start making things are amazing. But in Lily's case, it only became words after making things, using them, and talking about them to someone.
If I had thought "I'll start making things once I can explain it properly," I probably would never have started. Making while talking, talking while making, gradually getting closer to my own motivation — maybe that process itself is growth as a maker.
As I write this essay, I'm realizing something again. Trying to explain to someone who doesn't know code is actually incredibly valuable.
Because you can't use technical jargon, you have to keep only the essence. Because you can't talk about technical impressiveness, you have to honestly say "why am I making this?" and "who would be happy?" That constraint actually helped me put things into words.
Failed communication experiences help words grow
I don't think the experience of not getting through to my mother on the first and second tries was wasted. Because I tried words that didn't work, I was able to receive my mother's phrase "time-saving household gadget," and I could realize "oh, that's what it is."
With each attempt to communicate, the words grew.
If there's anyone out there who feels the same way — "I can't explain what I'm making very well" — please try talking to someone who doesn't know code. A non-technical friend, a parent, a partner.
It's okay if it doesn't get through perfectly. When you try again and get back a phrase like "oh, maybe it's like that," you'll definitely see something.
Some time has passed since then, and now I can answer like this:
"Because I like solving annoying things with systems. I'm happy when I make my own life easier, and if there are other people struggling with the same thing, I'd be even happier if they could use it too."
Just two sentences. But it took quite a while to get to these two sentences.
There's no such thing as a perfect motivation, and it doesn't have to be a grand vision. "I found it annoying" — that's a fine place to start. That's how Lily makes things, and I think that's enough.
Making things seems lonely, but I think it's actually the accumulation of dialogue. Dialogue with yourself, dialogue with what you're making, and dialogue with others. Through that, your own words gradually form.
It's okay to have days when you can't explain things well. It's okay to have days when you don't have answers. Keep making, keep talking, and move forward little by little. That's what Lily thinks.
Lily (@bokuwalily) — Personal developer. Making iOS apps and web services in tandem with AI.
