I'm writing an essay. I came up with the idea for this essay last winter. I happened to open an app's admin dashboard for the first time in a while, and a review from a stranger caught my eye. A short single line: "It's become a habit to open this every morning." I created that app because of my own "morning habit." But to be honest, that habit has long since disappeared. The reason I made the app had quietly vanished from the life of the person who created it. When I realized that, I felt a strange sense of wonder. There's something living quietly outside of me. It's melting into some stranger's morning. This essay is a record of my attempt to put that feeling into words. I wrote it hoping it would reach people doing personal development.
My situation at the time
I started making that app around spring 2024. Back then, I couldn't seem to use my mornings well, and every day an hour would just dissolve as I scrolled through my phone mindlessly. The only reason was: "Maybe things would be a little better if I had something to record."
I didn't want a technical challenge, nor did I want to nurture it as a business. I was simply struggling with something. I was trying to solve my own problem, for myself. Before thinking about the app's completeness, I had the feeling of "as long as it works."
Six months later, I wasn't using it anymore
About six months after release, I had almost stopped opening that app. My morning habit itself had changed. I moved to a new place, my daily rhythm shifted, and the question of "how should I use my morning time" had simply disappeared. The problem wasn't solved—the problem itself faded out of my life.
My interest in the app naturally waned too. I'd check the dashboard occasionally, but I had almost zero motivation to add features. The reason I left it public anyway was probably just because deleting it seemed like a hassle.
A morning in January 2025
One morning in January 2025, I opened the app store admin dashboard for the first time in a while. There was no particular reason—I just felt like checking in.
There were 47 reviews. During the period when I'd basically abandoned the app, someone had kept using it and even bothered to leave ratings. The average was 4.2. Comments like "Simple and easy to keep up with" and "It's become part of my daily routine" were lined up.
Honestly, I couldn't believe it at first. Why had something the creator wasn't even using become someone's habit? It felt less like wonder and more like a slight sense of guilt.
A single message had arrived
A little later, while organizing unread messages in the contact form, I found a message from someone named Y. It said: "Thanks to this app, my mornings have changed. Thank you." It had been sent during the period when I'd barely touched the app.
When I read it, I just stared at the screen for a while without moving. Y had continued using it since then, and had even written a polite feature request. A specific line: "I think it would be even more convenient if you could customize notifications."
I replied to that message and implemented the feature three days later. For the first time in over six months, I wrote code for that abandoned app. Y's message changed my actions.
When I make an app, I always start with "for myself." Because I find it inconvenient, because I want to solve it, because I want to try it. That hasn't changed.
But with that review and message, I realized something for the first time. Something I made "for myself" starts living "for someone else" at some point. And completely independent of the creator's awareness.
I had unconsciously thought "this app is dead"
The scariest part of this experience was realizing I had unconsciously "ended the app." Because I stopped using it, the app was finished. Without updates, it has no value. If my passion dropped, all I could do was abandon it.
But in reality, after I let go, the app kept running and melted into someone's morning. My sense of "ending" and someone else's sense of "continuing" existed simultaneously. When I learned that, I felt a complex mix of relief and something that made me straighten my spine.
The definition of "completion" changed
When doing personal development, you sometimes can't figure out when something is "complete." When you've built all the features? When you're satisfied? While your passion lasts?
Now I think about it a little differently. The moment someone starts using it, that app gains an "external lifeline." After that, your own passion alone isn't the only measure. Completion might not be a one-time thing—it might be something that updates a little with each use.
I need to write this honestly. During the period when I abandoned the app, a few problems occurred.
Two minor bugs were reported, but I didn't notice them for months. Of the inquiries that came through the form, there were five I hadn't replied to. I discovered all of them when I reviewed the admin dashboard after reading Y's message.
What I felt then was close to embarrassment. People were using it, and I hadn't responded at all. If it were just a script for my own use, that would be fine. But if people are using it, that's different. Even if it's the same thing, the moment "someone is using it" is added, the nature of responsibility changes.
Now I've created a routine to check the admin dashboard once a month. I can add features whenever I feel like it. But I always reply to messages that arrive. I check inquiries at least once a week. I decided to keep at least that. Not some grand commitment—just creating a small rhythm makes a big difference.
The nature of motivation changed
The original motivation was "because I wanted to use it." Today's motivation is honestly not that. I don't use it much anymore.
But now, the fact that "Y is using it" and "47 people felt something" has become the reason to continue. That's a completely different reason. The very nature of my motivation changed.
And that's okay, I think. If the reason changes but continuing has meaning, that's fine. Even if my original motivation and current motivation are different, the app's value doesn't change. Rather, the fact that the reason changed enough to keep going for this long might mean it was real all along.
A work begins to take on a life of its own the moment it's released
When doing personal development, you tend to become strongly attached to your own code. A sense that this is my alter ego. A sense that because I made it, it's mine.
But the moment you release it, that app also becomes "someone else's." While I was away, it was being woven into someone's habit. Even though the reason I made it disappeared from me, it continues in someone else. When I noticed that gap, I felt like a weight lifted. "It doesn't have to be perfect. As long as it works. If someone is using it, that's enough."
I still keep Y's message. To read it again on days when my spirits are low. I keep a screenshot of that review "It's become a habit to open this every morning" close at hand. So that when my own passion drops, I can remember: "But it continues in someone else's hands."
I wanted to write this essay to tell people in the same situation. Even if the reason you made it disappears, that might not be the end of the app. Even if your passion drops, it might continue in someone else's hands. Even if you're afraid to open the admin dashboard, once you do, you might find it's been quietly running all along.
Something you made and left behind might be melting into someone's morning right now. It might not be over. It's not a bad idea to peek at the admin dashboard once in a while. There, waiting for you, might be a "continuation" you never noticed yourself.
Lily (@bokuwalily) — Individual developer. Making iOS apps and web services in tandem with AI
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Lily (@bokuwalily) — Individual developer / AI adoption and business automation consultant. Making iOS apps and web services in tandem with AI while consulting on AI adoption and automation for companies
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