2026-04-28 08:00:00
GitHub was not the first home of my Open Source software. SourceForge was.
Before GitHub, I had my own Trac installation. I had Subversion repositories, tickets, tarballs, and documentation on infrastructure I controlled. Later I moved projects to Bitbucket, back when Bitbucket still felt like a serious alternative place for Open Source projects, especially for people who were not all-in on Git yet.
And then, eventually, GitHub became the place, and I moved all of it there.
It is hard for me to overstate how important GitHub became in my life. A large part of my Open Source identity formed there. Projects I worked on found users there. People found me there, and I found other people there. Many professional relationships and many friendships started because some repository, issue, pull request, or comment thread made two people aware of each other.
That is why I find what is happening to GitHub today so sad and so disappointing. I do not look at it as just the folks at Microsoft making product decisions I dislike. GitHub was part of the social infrastructure of Open Source for a very long time. For many of us, it was not merely where the code lived; it was where a large part of the community lived.
So when I think about GitHub’s decline, I also think about what came before it, and what might come after it. I have written a few times over the years about dependencies, and in particular about the problem of micro dependencies. In my mind, GitHub gave life to that phenomenon. It was something I definitely did not completely support, but it also made Open Source more inclusive. GitHub changed how Open Source feels, and later npm and other systems changed how dependencies feel. Put them together and you get a world in which publishing code is almost frictionless, consuming code is almost frictionless, and the number of projects in the world explodes.
That has many upsides. But it is worth remembering that Open Source did not always work this way.
Before GitHub, Open Source was a much smaller world. Not necessarily in the number of people who cared about it, but in the number of projects most of us could realistically depend on.
There were well-known projects, maintained over long periods of time by a comparatively small number of people. You knew the names. You knew the mailing lists. You knew who had been around for years and who had earned trust. That trust was not perfect, and the old world had plenty of gatekeeping, but reputation mattered in a very direct way. We took pride (and got frustrated) when the Debian folks came and told us our licensing stuff was murky or the copyright headers were not up to snuff, because they packaged things up.
A dependency was not just a package name. It was a project with a history, a website, a maintainer, a release process, a lot of friction, and often a place in a larger community. You did not add dependencies casually, because the act of depending on something usually meant you had to understand where it came from.
Not all of this was necessarily intentional, but because these projects were comparatively large, they also needed to bring their own infrastructure. Small projects might run on a university server, and many of them were on SourceForge, but the larger ones ran their own show. They grouped together into larger collectives to make it work.
My first Open Source projects lived on infrastructure I ran myself. There was a Trac installation, Subversion repositories, tarballs, documentation, and release files served from my own machines or from servers under my control. That was normal. If you wanted to publish software, you often also became a small-time system administrator. Georg and I ran our own collective for our Open Source projects: Pocoo. We shared server costs and the burden of maintaining Subversion and Trac, mailing lists and more.
Subversion in particular made this “running your own forge” natural. It was centralized: you needed a server, and somebody had to operate it. The project had a home, and that home was usually quite literal: a hostname, a directory, a Trac instance, a mailing list archive.
When Mercurial and Git arrived, they were philosophically the opposite. Both were distributed. Everybody could have the full repository. Everybody could have their own copy, their own branches, their own history. In principle, those distributed version control systems should have reduced the need for a single center. But despite all of this, GitHub became the center.
That is one of the great ironies of modern Open Source. The distributed version control system won, and then the world standardized on one enormous centralized service for hosting it.
It is easy now to talk only about GitHub’s failures, of which there are currently many, but that would be unfair: GitHub was, and continues to be, a tremendous gift to Open Source.
It made creating a project easy and it made discovering projects easy. It made contributing understandable to people who had never subscribed to a development mailing list in their life. It gave projects issue trackers, pull requests, release pages, wikis, organization pages, API access, webhooks, and later CI. It normalized the idea that Open Source happens in the open, with visible history and visible collaboration. And it was an excellent and reasonable default choice for a decade.
But maybe the most underappreciated thing GitHub did was archival work: GitHub became a library. It became an index of a huge part of the software commons because even abandoned projects remained findable. You could find forks, and old issues and discussions all stayed online. For all the complaints one can make about centralization, that centralization also created discoverable memory. The leaders there once cared a lot about keeping GitHub available even in countries that were sanctioned by the US.
I know what the alternative looks like, because I was living it. Some of my earliest Open Source projects are technically still on PyPI, but the actual packages are gone. The metadata points to my old server, and that server has long stopped serving those files.
That was normal before the large platforms. A personal domain expired, a VPS was shut down, a developer passed away, and with them went the services they paid for. The web was once full of little software homes, and many of them are gone 1.
The micro-dependency problem was not just that people published very small packages. The hosted infrastructure of GitHub and npm made it feel as if there was no cost to create, publish, discover, install, and depend on them.
In the pre-GitHub world, reputation and longevity were part of the dependency selection process almost by necessity, and it often required vendoring. Plenty of our early dependencies were just vendored into our own Subversion trees by default, in part because we could not even rely on other services being up when we needed them and because maintaining scripts that fetched them, in the pre-API days, was painful. The implied friction forced some reflection, and it resulted in different developer behavior. With npm-style ecosystems, the package graph can grow faster than anybody’s ability to reason about it.
The problem that this type of thinking created also meant that solutions had to be found along the way. GitHub helped compensate for the accountability problem and it helped with licensing. At one point, the newfound influx of developers and merged pull requests left a lot of open questions about what the state of licenses actually was. GitHub even attempted to rectify this with their terms of service.
The thinking for many years was that if I am going to depend on some tiny package, I at least want to see its repository. I want to see whether the maintainer exists, whether there are issues, whether there were recent changes, whether other projects use it, whether the code is what the package claims it is. GitHub became part of the system that provides trust, and more recently it has even become one of the few systems that can publish packages to npm and other registries with trusted publishing.
That means when trust in GitHub erodes, the problem is not isolated to source hosting. It affects the whole supply chain culture that formed around it.
GitHub is currently losing some of what made it feel inevitable. Maybe that’s just the life and death of large centralized platforms: they always disappoint eventually. Right now people are tired of the instability, the product churn, the Copilot AI noise, the unclear leadership, and the feeling that the platform is no longer primarily designed for the community that made it valuable.
Obviously, GitHub also finds itself in the midst of the agentic coding revolution and that causes enormous pressure on the folks over there. But the site has no leadership! It’s a miracle that things are going as well as they are.
For a while, leaving GitHub felt like a symbolic move mostly made by smaller projects or by people with strong views about software freedom. I definitely cringed when Zig moved to Codeberg! But I now see people with real weight and signal talking about leaving GitHub. The most obvious one is Mitchell Hashimoto, who announced that Ghostty will move. Where it will move is not clear, but it’s a strong signal. But there are others, too. Strudel moved to Codeberg and so did Tenacity. Will they cause enough of a shift? Probably not, but I find myself on non-GitHub properties more frequently again compared to just a year ago.
One can argue that this is good: it is healthy for Open Source to stop pretending that one company should be the default home of everything. Git itself was designed for a world with many homes.
Going back to many forges, many servers, many small homes, and many independent communities will increase decentralization, and in many ways it will force systems to adapt. This can restore autonomy and make projects less dependent on the whims of Microsoft leadership. It can also allow different communities to choose different workflows. What’s happening in Pi‘s issue tracker currently is largely a result of GitHub’s product choices not working in the present-day world of Open Source. It was built for engagement, not for maintainer sanity.
It can also make the web forget again. I quite like software that forgets because it has a cleansing element. Maybe the real risk of loss will make us reflect more on actually taking advantage of a distributed version control system.
But if projects move to something more akin to self-hosted forges, to their own self-hosted Mercurial or cgit servers, we run the risk of losing things that we don’t want to lose. The code might be distributed in theory, but the social context often is not. Issues, reviews, design discussions, release notes, security advisories, and old tarballs are fragile. They disappear much more easily than we like to admit. Mailing lists, which carried a lot of this in earlier years, have not kept up with the needs of today, and are largely a user experience disaster.
As much as I like the idea of things fading out of existence, we absolutely need libraries and archives.
Regardless of whether GitHub is here to stay or projects find new homes, what I would like to see is some public, boring, well-funded archive for Open Source software. Something with the power of an endowment or public funding to keep it afloat. Something whose job is not to win the developer productivity market but just to make sure that the most important things we create do not disappear.
The bells and whistles can be someone else’s problem, but source archives, release artifacts, metadata, and enough project context to understand what happened should be preserved somewhere that is not tied to the business model or leadership mood of a single company.
GitHub accidentally became that archive because it became the center of Open Source activity. Once that no longer holds, we should not assume some magic archival function will emerge or that GitHub will continue to function as such. We have already seen what happens when project homes are just personal servers and good intentions, and we have seen what happened to Google Code and Bitbucket.
I hope GitHub recovers, I really do, in part because a lot of history lives there and because the people still working on it inherited something genuinely important. But I no longer think it is responsible to let the continued memory of Open Source depend on GitHub remaining a healthy product.
The world before GitHub had more autonomy and more loss, and in some ways, we’re probably going to move back there, at least for a while. Whatever people want to start building next should try to keep the memory and lose the dependence. It should be easier to move projects, easier to mirror their social context, easier to preserve releases, and harder for one company’s drift to become a cultural crisis for everyone else.
I do not want to go back to the old web of broken tarball links and abandoned Trac instances. I also do not want Open Source to pretend that the last twenty years were normal or permanent. GitHub wrote a remarkable chapter of Open Source, and if that chapter is ending, the next one should learn from it and also from what came before.
This is also a good reminder that we rely so very much on the Internet Archive for many projects of the time.↩
2026-04-23 08:00:00
If you spend enough time in US business or finance conversations, one word keeps showing up: equity.
Coming from a German-speaking, central European background, I found it surprisingly hard to fully internalize what that word means. More than that, I find it very hard to talk with other Europeans about it. Worst of all it’s almost impossible to explain it in German without either sounding overly technical or losing an important part of the meaning.
This post is in English, but it is written mostly for readers in Germany, Austria, and Switzerland, and more broadly for people from continental Europe. I move between “German-speaking” and “continental European” a bit. They are not the same thing, of course, but many continental European countries share a civil-law background that differs sharply from the English common-law and equity tradition. The words differ by language and jurisdiction, but the conceptual gap I am interested in shows up in similar ways.
In US usage, the word “equity” appears everywhere:
If you try to translate this into German, you have to choose words. Of course we can say Eigenkapital, Beteiligung, Anteil, Vermögen, Nettovermögen, or sometimes Substanzwert. In narrow contexts, each can be correct, but none of them carries the full concept. I find that gap interesting, because language affects default behavior and how we think about things.
In the English language, “equity” often carries multiple things at once. I believe the following ones to be the most important ones:
If you open Wikipedia, you will find many more distinct meanings of equity, but they all relate to much the same concept, just from different angles.
German, on the other hand, can express each of these layers precisely, including the subtleties within each, but it uses different words and there is no common, everyday umbrella word that naturally bundles all three.
When a concept has one short, reusable, positive word, people can move it across contexts very easily. When the concept is split into technical fragments, it tends to stay technical, and people do not necessarily think of these things as related at all in a continental European context.
What is hard for Europeans to understand is how the financial meaning of equity appeared, because it did not appear out of nowhere. The word’s original meaning comes from fairness or impartiality, and it made it to modern English via Old French and Latin (equité / aequitas).
Historically, English law had separate traditions: common law courts and courts of equity (especially the Court of Chancery). Equity in law was about fairness, conscience, and remedies where strict common law rules were too rigid. Take mortgages for instance: in older English practice, a mortgage could transfer title as security. Under strict common law, missing a deadline could mean losing the property entirely. Courts of equity developed the “equity of redemption”: a borrower could still redeem by paying what was owed.
That equitable interest became foundational for how ownership and claims were understood. In finance, equity came to mean not just a number, but a claim: the residual owner’s stake after prior claims are satisfied.
German and continental European legal development took a different path. Civil law systems did not build the same separate institutional track of “equity courts” versus common law courts. Fairness principles absolutely exist, but inside the codified system, not as a parallel jurisdiction with its own language and mythology.
As a result, German vocabulary has many different words, and they are highly domain-specific. There are equivalents in other languages, and to some degree they exist in English too:
This precision is useful for legal drafting and accounting. But it also means we have less of the shared mental package that many Americans get from “equity”: own a piece, carry risk, participate in upside, build wealth.
There is another linguistic oddity worth noting: in German, “Schuld” can mean both debt/liability and guilt, and I think that too has changed how we think about equity.
“Schuld” in everyday language makes debt feel more morally charged than it does in the US. Indebtedness is often framed as a burden, and it is not thought of as a tool at all.
US financial language, by contrast, often frames debt more instrumentally and pairs it with an explicit positive counterpart: equity. Equity is what is yours after debt, what can appreciate, what can be transferred, and what can give you control.
In American financial language, debt is not as morally burdened, and equity is more than the absence of debt: it is the positive claim on the balance sheet — ownership, optionality, control, and upside.
If you grew up with German-speaking framing, many US statements around equity can sound ideological or naive. From a continental European lens, they can sound like imported jargon or hollow. But if we ignore the concept, we lose something practical:
I am not saying German-speaking Europeans are incapable of this mindset. Obviously we are not. But we clearly tend to think about these things differently.
When you hear “equity,” it helps to think of it as a rightful stake. Historically, it is connected to fairness and the recognition of a claim where strict rules would be too rigid. Financially, it is the part that remains after prior obligations. Culturally, it is something that can grow into control, agency, and upside.
That is not a perfect definition, but it captures why the term is so sticky in American discourse. It combines a present claim with a future possibility. It is not just what remains after debt; it is the part that can grow, compound, and give you agency.
If Europeans want to talk more seriously about entrepreneurship, retirement, housing, and wealth building, we would benefit from a stronger everyday vocabulary for exactly this idea. We need a longing for equity so that ownership does not remain something for founders, lawyers, accountants, and wealthy families, but becomes a normal part of how people think about work, risk, and their future.
Not because we should imitate America, but because this mental model helps people make clearer decisions about ownership, incentives, and long-term agency. For Europe, that shift feels long overdue.
2026-04-11 08:00:00
Whenever a new technology shows up, the conversation quickly splits into camps. There are the people who reject it outright, and there are the people who seem to adopt it with religious enthusiasm. For more than a year now, no topic has been more polarising than AI coding agents.
What I keep noticing is that a lot of the criticism directed at these tools is perfectly legitimate, but it often comes from people without a meaningful amount of direct experience with them. They are not necessarily wrong. In fact, many of them cite studies, polls and all kinds of sources that themselves spent time investigating and surveying. And quite legitimately they identified real issues: the output can be bad, the security implications are scary, the economics are strange and potentially unsustainable, there is an environmental impact, the social consequences are unclear, and the hype is exhausting.
But there is something important missing from that criticism when it comes from a position of non-use: it is too abstract.
There is a difference between saying “this looks flawed in principle” and saying “I used this enough to understand where it breaks, where it helps, and how it changes my work.” The second type of criticism is expensive. It costs time, frustration, and a genuine willingness to engage.
The enthusiast camp consists of true believers. These are the people who have adopted the technology despite its shortcomings, sometimes even because they enjoy wrestling with them. They have already decided that the tool is worth fitting into their lives, so they naturally end up forgiving a lot. They might not even recognize the flaws because for them the benefits or excitement have already won.
But what does the center look like? I consider myself to be part of the center: cautiously excited, but also not without criticism. By my observation though that center is not neutral in the way people imagine it to be. Its bias is not towards endorsement so much as towards engagement, because the middle ground between rejecting a technology outright and embracing it fully is usually occupied by people willing to explore it seriously enough to judge it.
The compositions of the groups of people in the discussions about new technology are oddly shaped because one side has paid the cost of direct experience and the other has not, or not to the same degree. That alone creates an asymmetry.
Take coding agents as an example. If you do not use them, or at least not for productive work, you can still criticize them on many grounds. You can say they generate sloppy code, that they lower your skills, etc. But if you have not actually spent serious time with them, then your view of their practical reality is going to be inherited from somewhere else. You will know them through screenshots, anecdotes, the most annoying users on Twitter, conference talks, company slogans, and whatever filtered back from the people who did use them. That is not nothing, but it is not the same as contact.
The problem is not that such criticism is worthless. The problem is that people often mistake non-use for neutrality. It is not. A serious opinion on a new language, framework, device, or way of working usually has some minimum buy-in. You have to cross a threshold of use before your criticism becomes grounded in the thing itself rather than in its reputation.
That threshold is inconvenient. It asks you to spend time on something that may not pay off, and to risk finding yourself at least partially won over. It is a lot to ask of people. But because that threshold exists, the measured middle is rarely populated by people who are perfectly indifferent to change. It is populated by people who were willing to move toward it enough in order to evaluate it properly.
Simultaneously, it’s important to remember that usage does not automatically create wisdom. The enthusiastic adopter might have their own distortions. They may enjoy the novelty, feel a need to justify the time they invested, or overgeneralize from the niche where the technology works wonderfully. They may simply like progress and want to be associated with it.
This is particularly visible with AI. There are clearly people who have decided that the future is here, all objections are temporary, and every workflow must now be rebuilt around agents. What makes AI weirder is that it’s such a massive shift in capabilities that has triggered a tremendous injection of money, and a meaningful number of adopters have bet their future on that technology.
So if one pole is uninformed abstraction and the other is overcommitted enthusiasm, then surely the center must sit right in the middle between them?
The center, I would argue, naturally needs to lean towards engagement. The reason is simple: a genuinely measured opinion on a new technology requires real engagement with it.
You do not get an informed view by trying something for 15 minutes, getting annoyed once, and returning to your previous tools. You also do not get it by admiring demos, listening to podcasts or discussing on social media. You have to use it enough to get past both the first disappointment and the honeymoon phase. Seemingly with AI tools, true understanding is not a matter of hours but weeks of investment.
That means the people in the center are selected from a particular group: people who were willing to give the thing a fair chance without yet assuming it deserved a permanent place in their lives.
That willingness is already a bias towards curiosity and experimentation which makes the center look more like adopters in behavior, because exploration requires use, but it does not make the center identical to enthusiasts in judgment.
This matters because from the perspective of the outright rejecter, all of these people can look the same. If someone spent serious time with coding agents, found them useful in some areas, harmful in others, and came away with a nuanced view, they may still be thrown into the same bucket as the person who thinks agents can do no wrong.
But those are not the same position at all. It’s important to recognize that engagement with those tools does not automatically imply endorsement or at the very least not blanket endorsement.
This is why discussions about new technology, and AI in particular feel so polarized. The actual center is hard to see because it does not appear visually centered. From the outside, serious exploration can look a lot like adoption.
If you map opinions onto a line, you might imagine the middle as the point equally distant from rejection and enthusiasm. But in practice that is not how it works. The middle is shifted toward the side of the people who have actually interacted with the technology enough to say something concrete about it. That does not mean the middle has accepted the adopter’s conclusion. It means the middle has adopted some of the adopter’s behavior, because investigation requires contact.
That creates a strange effect because the people with the most grounded criticism are often also adopters. I would argue some of the best criticism of coding agents right now comes from people who use them extensively. Take Mario: he created a coding agent, yet is also one of the most vocal voices of criticism in the space. These folks can tell you in detail how they fail and they can tell you where they waste time, where they regress code quality, where they need carefully designed tooling, where they only work well in some ecosystems, and where the whole thing falls apart.
But because those people kept using the tools long enough to learn those lessons, they can appear compromised to outsiders. And worse: if they continue to use them, contribute thoughts and criticism back, they are increasingly thrown in with the same people who are devoid of any criticism.
This line of thinking could be seen as an inherent “pro-innovation bias.” That would be wrong, as plenty of technology deserves resistance. Many people are right to resist, and sometimes the people who never gave a technology a chance saw problems earlier than everyone else. Crypto is a good reminder: plenty of projects looked every bit as exciting as coding agents do now, and still collapsed when the economics no longer worked.
What matters here is a narrower point. The center is not biased towards novelty so much as towards contact with the thing that creates potential change. The middle ground is not between use and non-use, but between refusal and commitment and the people in the center will often look more like adopters than skeptics, not because they have already made up their minds, but because getting an informed view requires exploration.
If you want to criticize a new thing well, you first have to get close enough to dislike it for the right reasons. And for some technologies, you also have to hang around long enough to understand what, exactly, deserves criticism.
2026-04-08 08:00:00
Today I’m very happy to share that Mario Zechner is joining Earendil.
First things first: I think you should read Mario’s post. This is his news more than it is ours, and he tells his side of it better than I could. What I want to do here is add a more personal note about why this matters so much to me, how the last months led us here, and why I am so excited to have him on board.
Last year changed the way many of us thought about software. It certainly changed the way I did. I spent much of 2025 building, probing, and questioning how to build software, and in many more ways what I want to do. If you are a regular reader of this blog you were along for the ride. I wrote a lot, experimented a lot, and tried to get a better sense for what these systems can actually do and what kinds of companies make sense to build around them. There was, and continues to be, a lot of excitement in the air, but also a lot of noise. It has become clear to me that it’s not a question of whether AI systems can be useful but what kind of software and human-machine interactions we want to bring into the world with them.
That is one of the reasons I have been so drawn to Mario’s work and approaches.
Pi is, in my opinion, one of the most thoughtful coding agents and agent infrastructure libraries in this space. Not because it is trying to be the loudest or the fastest, but because it is clearly built by someone who cares deeply about software quality, taste, extensibility, and design. In a moment where much of the industry is racing to ship ever more quickly, often at the cost of coherence and craft, Mario kept insisting on making something solid. That matters to me a great deal.
I have known Mario for a long time, and one of the things I admire most about him is that he does not confuse velocity with progress. He has a strong sense for what good tools should feel like. He cares about details. He cares about whether something is well made. And he cares about building in a way that can last. Mario has been running Pi in a rather unusual way. He exerts back-pressure on the issue tracker and the pull requests through OSS vacations and other means.
The last year has also made something else clearer to me: these systems are not only exciting, they are also capable of producing a great deal of damage. Sometimes that damage is obvious; sometimes it looks like low-grade degradation everywhere at once. More slop, more noise, more disingenuous emails in my inbox. There is a version of this future that makes people more distracted, more alienated, and less careful with one another.
That is not a future I want to help build.
At Earendil, Colin and I have been trying to think very carefully about what a different path might look like. That is a big part of what led us to Lefos.
Lefos is our attempt to build a machine entity that is more thoughtful and more deliberate by design. Not an agent whose main purpose is to make everything a little more efficient so that we can produce even more forgettable output, but one that can help people communicate with more care, more clarity, and joy.
Good software should not aim to optimize every minute of your life, but should create room for better and more joyful experiences, better relationships, and better ways of relating to one another. Especially in communication and software engineering, I think we should be aiming for more thought rather than more throughput. We should want tools that help people be more considerate, more present, and more human. If all we do is use these systems to accelerate the production of slop, we will have missed the opportunity entirely.
This is also why Mario joining Earendil feels so meaningful to me. Pi and Lefos come from different starting points. There was a year of distance collaboration, but they are animated by a similar instinct: that quality matters, that design matters, and that trust is earned through care rather than captured through hype.
I am very happy that Pi is coming along for the ride. Me and Colin care a lot about it, and we want to be good stewards of it. It has already played an important role in our own work over the last months, and I continue to believe it is one of the best foundations for building capable agents. We will have more to say soon about how we think about Pi’s future and its relationship to Lefos, but the short version is simple: we want Pi to continue to exist as a high-quality, open, extensible piece of software, and we want to invest in making that future real. As for our thoughts of Pi’s license, read more here and our company post here.
2026-04-04 08:00:00
About five months ago I wrote about Absurd, a durable execution system we built for our own use at Earendil, sitting entirely on top of Postgres and Postgres alone. The pitch was simple: you don’t need a separate service, a compiler plugin, or an entire runtime to get durable workflows. You need a SQL file and a thin SDK.
Since then we’ve been running it in production, and I figured it’s worth sharing what the experience has been like. The short version: the design held up, the system has been a pleasure to work with, and other people seem to agree.
Absurd is a durable execution system that lives entirely inside Postgres. The core is a single SQL file (absurd.sql) that defines stored procedures for task management, checkpoint storage, event handling, and claim-based scheduling. On top of that sit thin SDKs (currently TypeScript, Python and an experimental Go one) that make the system ergonomic in your language of choice.
The model is straightforward: you register tasks, decompose them into steps, and each step acts as a checkpoint. If anything fails, the task retries from the last completed step. Tasks can sleep, wait for external events, and suspend for days or weeks. All state lives in Postgres.
If you want the full introduction, the original blog post covers the fundamentals. What follows here is what we’ve learned since.
The project got multiple releases over the last five months. Most of the changes are things you’d expect from a system that people actually started depending on: hardened claim handling, watchdogs that terminate broken workers, deadlock prevention, proper lease management, event race conditions, and all the edge cases that only show up when you’re running real workloads.
A few things worth calling out specifically.
Decomposed steps. The original design only had ctx.step(), where you pass
in a function and get back its checkpointed result. That works well for many
cases but not all. Sometimes you need to know whether a step already ran before
deciding what to do next. So we added beginStep() / completeStep(), which
give you a handle you can inspect before committing the result. This turned out
to be very useful for modeling intentional failures and conditional logic.
This in particular is necessary when working with “before call” and “after call”
type hook APIs.
Task results. You can now spawn a task, go do other things, and later come back to fetch or await its result. This sounds obvious in hindsight, but the original system was purely fire-and-forget. Having proper result inspection made it possible to use Absurd for things like spawning child tasks from within a parent workflow and waiting for them to finish. This is particularly useful for debugging with agents too.
absurdctl. We built this out as a proper CLI tool. You can initialize
schemas, run migrations, create queues, spawn tasks, emit events, retry failures
from the command line. It’s installable via uvx or as a standalone binary.
This has been invaluable for debugging production issues. When something is
stuck, being able to just absurdctl dump-task --task-id=<id> and see exactly
where it stopped is a very different experience from digging through logs.
Habitat. A small Go application that serves up a web dashboard for monitoring tasks, runs, checkpoints, and events. It connects directly to Postgres and gives you a live view of what’s happening. It’s simple, but it’s the kind of thing that makes the system more enjoyable for humans.
Agent integration. Since Absurd was originally built for agent workloads,
we added a bundled skill that coding agents can discover and use to debug
workflow state via absurdctl. There’s also a documented pattern for making
pi agent turns durable by logging each message as a
checkpoint.
The thing I’m most pleased about is that the core design didn’t need to change all that much. The fundamental model of tasks, steps, checkpoints, events, and suspending is still exactly what it was initially. We added features around it, but nothing forced us to rethink the basic abstractions.
Putting the complexity in SQL and keeping the SDKs thin turned out to be a genuinely good call. The TypeScript SDK is about 1,400 lines. The Python SDK is about 1,900 but most of this comes from the complexity of supporting colored functions. Compare that to Temporal’s Python SDK at around 170,000 lines. It means the SDKs are easy to understand, easy to debug, and easy to port. When something goes wrong, you can read the entire SDK in an afternoon and understand what it does.
The checkpoint-based replay model also aged well. Unlike systems that require
deterministic replay of your entire workflow function, Absurd just loads the
cached step results and skips over completed work. That means your code doesn’t
need to be deterministic outside of steps. You can call Math.random() or
datetime.now() in between steps and things still work, because only the step
boundaries matter. In practice, this makes it much easier to reason about
what’s safe and what isn’t.
Pull-based scheduling was the right choice too. Workers pull tasks from Postgres as they have capacity. There’s no coordinator, no push mechanism, no HTTP callbacks. That makes it trivially self-hostable and means you don’t have to think about load management at the infrastructure level.
I had some discussions with folks about whether the right abstraction should have been a durable promise. It’s a very appealing idea, but it turns out to be much more complex to implement in practice. It’s however in theory also more powerful. I did make some attempts to see what absurd would look like if it was based on durable promises but so far did not get anywhere with it. It’s however an experiment that I think would be fun to try!
The primary use case is still agent workflows. An agent is essentially a loop that calls an LLM, processes tool results, and repeats until it decides it’s done. Each iteration becomes a step, and each step’s result is checkpointed. If the process dies on iteration 7, it restarts and replays iterations 1 through 6 from the store, then continues from 7.
But we’ve found it useful for a lot of other things too. All our crons just dispatch distributed workflows with a pre-generated deduplication key from the invocation. We can have two cron processes running and they will only trigger one absurd task invocation. We also use it for background processing that needs to survive deploys. Basically anything where you’d otherwise build your own retry-and-resume logic on top of a queue.
Absurd is deliberately minimal, but there are things I’d like to see.
There’s no built-in scheduler. If you want cron-like behavior, you run your own scheduler loop and use idempotency keys to deduplicate. That works, and we have a documented pattern for it, but it would be nice to have something more integrated.
There’s no push model. Everything is pull. If you need an HTTP endpoint to receive webhooks and wake up tasks, you build that yourself. I think that’s the right default as push systems are harder to operate and easier to overwhelm but there are cases where it would be convenient. In particular there are quite a few agentic systems where it would be super nice to have webhooks natively integrated (wake on incoming POST request). I definitely don’t want to have this in the core, but that sounds like the kind of problem that could be a nice adjacent library that builds on top of absurd.
The biggest omission is that it does not support partitioning yet. That’s unfortunate because it makes cleaning up data more expensive than it has to be. In theory supporting partitions would be pretty simple. You could have weekly partitions and then detach and delete them when they expire. The only thing that really stands in the way of that is that Postgres does not have a convenient way of actually doing that.
The hard part is not partitioning itself, it’s partition lifecycle management under
real workloads. If a worker inserts a row whose expires_at lands in a month
without a partition, the insert fails and the workflow crashes. So you need a
separate maintenance loop that always creates future partitions far enough ahead
for sleeps/retries, and does that for every queue.
On the delete side, the safe approach is DETACH PARTITION CONCURRENTLY, but
getting that to run from pg_cron doesn’t work because it cannot be run within a
transaction, but pg_cron runs everything in one.
I don’t think it’s an unsolvable problem, but it’s one I have not found a good solution for and I would love to get input on.
This brings me a bit to a meta point on the whole thing which is what the point of Open Source libraries in the age of agentic engineering is. Durable Execution is now something that plenty of startups sell you. On the other hand it’s also something that an agent would build you and people might not even look for solutions any more. It’s kind of … weird?
I don’t think a durable execution library can support a company, I really don’t. On the other hand I think it’s just complex enough of a problem that it could be a good Open Source project void of commercial interests. You do need a bit of an ecosystem around it, particularly for UI and good DX for debugging, and that’s hard to get from a throwaway implementation.
I don’t think we have squared this yet, but it’s already much better to use than a few months ago.
If you’re using Absurd, thinking about it, or building adjacent ideas, I’d love your feedback. Bug reports, rough edges, design critiques, and contributions are all very welcome—this project has gotten better every time someone poked at it from a different angle.
2026-03-20 08:00:00
Trees take quite a while to grow. If someone 50 years ago planted a row of oaks or a chestnut tree on your plot of land, you have something that no amount of money or effort can replicate. The only way is to wait. Tree-lined roads, old gardens, houses sheltered by decades of canopy: if you want to start fresh on an empty plot, you will not be able to get that.
Because some things just take time.
We know this intuitively. We pay premiums for Swiss watches, Hermès bags and old properties precisely because of the time embedded in them. Either because of the time it took to build them or because of their age. We require age minimums for driving, voting, and drinking because we believe maturity only comes through lived experience.
Yet right now we also live in a time of instant gratification, and it’s entering how we build software and companies. As much as we can speed up code generation, the real defining element of a successful company or an Open Source project will continue to be tenacity. The ability of leadership or the maintainers to stick to a problem for years, to build relationships, to work through challenges fundamentally defined by human lifetimes.
The current generation of startup founders and programmers is obsessed with speed. Fast iteration, rapid deployment, doing everything as quickly as possible. For many things, that’s fine. You can go fast, leave some quality on the table, and learn something along the way.
But there are things where speed is actively harmful, where the friction exists for a reason. Compliance is one of those cases. There’s a strong desire to eliminate everything that processes like SOC2 require, and an entire industry of turnkey solutions has sprung up to help — Delve just being one example, there are more.
There’s a feeling that all the things that create friction in your life should be automated away. That human involvement should be replaced by AI-based decision-making. Because it is the friction of the process that is the problem. When in fact many times the friction, or that things just take time, is precisely the point.
There’s a reason we have cooling-off periods for some important decisions in one’s life. We recognize that people need time to think about what they’re doing, and that doing something right once doesn’t mean much because you need to be able to do it over a longer period of time.
AI writes code fast which isn’t news anymore. What’s interesting is that we’re pushing this force downstream: we seemingly have this desire to ship faster than ever, to run more experiments and that creates a new desire, one to remove all the remaining friction of reviews, designing and configuring infrastructure, anything that slows the pipeline. If the machines are so great, why do we even need checklists or permission systems? Express desire, enjoy result.
Because we now believe it is important for us to just do everything faster. But increasingly, I also feel like this means that the shelf life of much of the software being created today — software that people and businesses should depend on — can be measured only in months rather than decades, and the relationships alongside.
In one of last year’s earlier YC batches, there was already a handful that just disappeared without even saying what they learned or saying goodbye to their customers. They just shut down their public presence and moved on to other things. And to me, that is not a sign of healthy iteration. That is a sign of breaking the basic trust you need to build a relationship with customers. A proper shutdown takes time and effort, and our current environment treats that as time not wisely spent. Better to just move on to the next thing.
This is extending to Open Source projects as well. All of a sudden, everything is an Open Source project, but many of them only have commits for a week or so, and then they go away because the motivation of the creator already waned. And in the name of experimentation, that is all good and well, but what makes a good Open Source project is that you think and truly believe that the person that created it is either going to stick with it for a very long period of time, or they are able to set up a strategy for succession, or they have created enough of a community that these projects will stand the test of time in one form or another.
Relatedly, I’m also increasingly skeptical of anyone who sells me something that supposedly saves my time. When all that I see is that everybody who is like me, fully onboarded into AI and agentic tools, seemingly has less and less time available because we fall into a trap where we’re immediately filling it with more things.
We all sell each other the idea that we’re going to save time, but that is not what’s happening. Any time saved gets immediately captured by competition. Someone who actually takes a breath is outmaneuvered by someone who fills every freed-up hour with new output. There is no easy way to bank the time and it just disappears.
I feel this acutely. I’m very close to the red-hot center of where economic activity around AI is taking place, and more than anything, I have less and less time, even when I try to purposefully scale back and create the space. For me this is a problem. It’s a problem because even with the best intentions, I actually find it very hard to create quality when we are quickly commoditizing software, and the machines make it so appealing.
I keep coming back to the trees. I’ve been maintaining Open Source projects for close to two decades now. The last startup I worked on, I spent 10 years at. That’s not because I’m particularly disciplined or virtuous. It’s because I or someone else, planted something, and then I kept showing up, and eventually the thing had roots that went deeper than my enthusiasm on any given day. That’s what time does! It turns some idea or plan into a commitment and a commitment into something that can shelter and grow other people.
Nobody is going to mass-produce a 50-year-old oak. And nobody is going to conjure trust, or quality, or community out of a weekend sprint. The things I value most — the projects, the relationships, the communities — are all things that took years to become what they are. No tool, no matter how fast, was going to get them there sooner.
We recently planted a new tree with Colin. I want it to grow into a large one. I know that’s going to take time, and I’m not in a rush.
