Why I'm Building in Public (Finally)

I’ve been building software for most of my adult life. I’ve shipped products, scaled infrastructure, led teams, and started companies. And for almost all of that time, I’ve done it quietly. Behind the scenes. Head down, do the work, let the results speak for themselves.

That approach worked fine for a while. But I’m writing this today because I think that era is over, for me and probably for a lot of people reading this. And I want to be honest about why I’m changing.

The part I don’t usually talk about

I have imposter syndrome. Not the cute, self-deprecating kind that people mention in conference talks. The real kind. The kind that has kept me from publishing blog posts I’ve already written. The kind that makes me delete LinkedIn drafts because I convince myself nobody cares what I think.

If I’m being honest about where it comes from, I have to go back a bit. I was an awkward kid. Six foot four with red hair, so blending in was never an option. I was bullied a lot. I went to a private school that taught humility and meekness above all else, which meant I never really learned how to stand up for myself. My father died of a heart attack when I was five, so I didn’t get the advice a boy typically gets from his dad about how to navigate the world. I made a lot of mistakes finding my own way.

That background doesn’t go away just because you grow up and get good at writing software. It sits underneath everything. It’s the voice that says “who are you to have an opinion about this?” every time I think about posting something online. It’s the reason I’ve spent most of my career quietly doing the work instead of talking about it.

I know it’s irrational. I can look at the evidence objectively and see that it doesn’t hold up. But imposter syndrome isn’t rational. It’s a feeling, and feelings don’t care about evidence. So for years, the path of least resistance has been to stay quiet. Don’t put yourself out there. Don’t risk being exposed as the fraud you secretly worry you are.

I’m writing this because I’m done with that.

Not because I’ve conquered it. I haven’t. I’m writing this post right now and a part of my brain is screaming that this is embarrassing and that I should just delete the whole thing. But I’ve decided that the cost of staying comfortable is higher than the cost of being uncomfortable in public.

My mom taught me to never stop learning. She encouraged that in me from the beginning, and it’s the one thing that’s stayed consistent through every mistake and wrong turn. As I push into this next chapter, I want to honor her memory by doing what she taught me to do: keep growing, even when it’s hard. Especially when it’s hard. Put on the big boy pants. Learn to stand up for yourself, even if you’re a few decades late.

Why now

There are two reasons I’m starting to build in public, and they’re related.

The first is personal. I’ve spent too long in my shell and I know it’s held me back. Professionally, financially, in ways I’m still understanding. I’m good at building things. I’m bad at telling people about the things I build. In a world where visibility creates opportunity, that’s not a personality quirk. It’s a liability. I need to grow, and growth doesn’t happen inside your comfort zone. So here I am, outside of it, writing words on the internet for strangers to read.

The second reason is bigger than me.

I spend my days building AI tools. I’m the co-founder of Basic Memory, an AI memory platform. I’m building Hexnut , an AI phone receptionist. I write code with AI. I think about AI constantly. And one of the things I think about is this: as AI gets better at generating content, human connection online is going to get harder to find and more valuable when you find it.

We’re heading into a world where a significant percentage of the text, images, and even video you encounter online will be machine-generated. Some of it will be great. A lot of it will be indistinguishable from human-created content. And when everything looks real, the things that actually are real, written by a person with a name and a history and opinions they arrived at through lived experience, those things are going to matter more, not less.

I find that ironic and kind of beautiful. The people building AI are the same people who need to be the most visibly, undeniably human. Because if we’re not, then who’s going to trust any of this?

What building in public looks like for me

I’m not going to pretend I have a content strategy. I don’t have a posting schedule optimized for the LinkedIn algorithm. Here’s what I’m actually going to do:

I’m going to write about what I’m learning as I build. Basic Memory, Hexnut, client work, open source. Whatever I’m working on that week, I’ll write about the interesting parts. The wins, the failures, the things I figured out that I wish someone had told me. Practical stuff. Real stuff.

I’m going to share opinions about where AI is going and what it means for people who build software, run businesses, and work for a living. Not predictions. I don’t have a crystal ball. Just observations from someone who’s in the middle of it.

And I’m going to be honest. About what I don’t know. About what’s hard. About the fact that I’m figuring this out as I go, just like everybody else. If you want polished thought leadership from someone who has all the answers, there are plenty of people on Twitter performing that role. I’m not one of them.

The uncomfortable truth about authenticity

Here’s the thing about being authentic in public: it’s uncomfortable precisely because it’s real. Polished personal brands are comfortable because they’re controlled. You pick the highlights, you craft the narrative, you present the version of yourself that you want people to see.

That’s fine. But it’s also exactly what AI is about to get very, very good at.

What AI can’t do, at least not yet, is be a specific person who made specific choices and learned specific lessons and has a specific perspective that only comes from living a specific life. That’s what I’m bringing to this. Not expertise performed, but expertise earned. The messy, imperfect, still-figuring-it-out kind.

If that resonates with you, stick around. If it doesn’t, that’s fine too.

I’m Drew Cain. I build AI tools from Austin, TX. I’m the co-founder of Basic Memory. I’ve been writing software since I was young and I still haven’t gotten tired of it. And starting today, I’m going to be a lot less quiet about what I’m doing and what I’m thinking.

Thanks for reading. More soon.