To deepen is to honor what you touch

While building Numenon these past few months, we’ve been very strict and selective about which features we add. There were several we considered adding that could have been useful to a smaller percentage of users, but would take up precious space in this early stage of the app. Our priority now is that users feel safe, curious, happy to explore, and not overwhelmed by buttons, options, and choices.

The pull toward adding more features to cover every possible need is always strong. It feels safer to expand than to refine. Yet the users who seem happiest are those who find coherence and clarity, not abundance. A clean, intentional UI may drive away some who want infinite options, but the ones who stay will truly feel at home.

So, instead of adding more features, we focused our remaining time on refining what was already there. Improving keyboard shortcuts, cleaning up dropdowns, tidying the codebase, making the product a happier place for both users and us as creators.

This is the slower path. The less flashy one. But it’s the one that deepens the product, rather than bloats it.

In tech, slower paths are often deemed as unproductive and scaling is treated like the highest good. Companies obsess over more. More features, more users, more growth. In general, capitalism rewards expansion. And don't get me wrong, I'm not saying that's always a bad thing. Maybe we wouldn't have advanced surgery techniques and mechanical wonders were it not for this call for constant growth. But in tech, this growth often comes at the expense of coherence and user happiness.

Personally, I think I’d rather have three Numenon users who are passionate about using the product, than twenty lukewarm ones who only tolerate it.

Depth asks for intentional limitation.

Take relationships, for example. I enjoy a wide circle of friends and acquaintances, and I’m happy to see them once in a while. But I can’t keep close contact with more than 5–6 people for long. Whenever I try, the quality of attention I give to those already close drops.

Meaningful relationships need presence and mental space. You have to remember what matters to someone, hold it with care, and be ready to ask, help, listen.

Sometimes that means making hard choices. When your capacity is full, it’s okay to postpone connecting with outer-circle friends so you can stay fully present for your inner circle. This isn’t about refusing new connections (people move in and out of circles all the time anyway), it’s about respecting the limits of attention and care.

I notice the same in hobbies and personal growth. If you want to deepen your relationship with something, you have to commit. I’ve done ceramics once a week, aerial acrobatics twice a week. All of those were very rewarding, but up to a point.

Practicing something daily has a fundamentally different effect than practicing weekly. It means restricting other hobbies, having less variety, but, perhaps, a lot more meaning.

An excerpt from another piece I wrote ( Every day ) about the value stemming from the ritual of daily practice:

A ritual isn’t just repetition. It’s an act of meaning, something you return to not because you must, but because choosing it again and again gives it weight. It becomes an expression of self-love.

I feel the need to clarify here that I'm not saying depth is inherently “better” than breadth. Sometimes you crave variety, exploration, the pleasure of trying many things. I’ve always called myself a "jack of all trades, master of none", and I usually meant it as a flaw. But, I’ve come to appreciate that this breadth brings richness, perspective, and flexibility that dedication alone cannot. I'm proud of the multitude it has given my personality and skills. Yet the sense of meaning that comes from devoted practice is something else entirely.

Both approaches can have value at different points in life. But in software, depth usually wins.

Depth requires choice. It requires letting some things go. Not because they don’t matter, but because your time, energy, and care are limited resources.

With software, this choice shows up in design. By being deliberate about which features exist and where they live, you may lose some users who wanted one extra button or two. But the users who stay will be happier. They’ll feel the clarity, the focus, the lack of clutter. In a sense, you’re training your own users. Not by restricting them, but by giving them a space that feels coherent and intentional.

The same goes for people, or crafts, or self-care. To deepen is to honor what you touch. It won’t scale in the way capitalism teaches us to admire, but it will create trust, meaning, and skill that breadth alone can’t offer.