My mom as a newborn in her mother’s arms, surrounded by my grandparents and great-grandparents.

I never knew my great grandparents. They left no diary, no letters, only a handful of photographs. Sometimes I look at those photos and wonder what they cared about. What were their days like? What made them laugh? What problems were they working through?

Then I realize it could be different for my descendants. A long-running blog like mine is effectively an autobiography.

So far, it captures nearly twenty years of my life: my PhD work, the birth of my children, and the years of learning how to lead Drupal and build a community. It even captures the excitement of starting two companies, and the lessons I learned along the way.

And in recent years, it captures the late night posts where I try to make sense of what AI might change. They are a snapshot of a world in transition. One day, it may be hard to remember AI was ever new.

In a way, a blog is a digital time capsule. It is the kind of record I wish my great grandparents had left behind.

I did not start blogging with this in mind. I wrote to share ideas, to think out loud, to guide the Drupal community, and to connect with others. The personal archive was a side effect.

Now I see it differently. Somewhere in there is a version of me becoming a father. A version trying to figure out how to build something that lasts. A version wrestling, late at night, with technology changes happening in front of me.

If my grandchildren ever want to know who I was, they will not have to guess. They will be able to hear my voice.

If that idea feels compelling, this might be a good time to start a blog or a website. Not to build a large audience, but just to leave a trail. Future you may be grateful you began.