There's something quietly magical about getting older in tech. Not older like legacy system older. Just old enough to stop obsessing over what you're not—and start appreciating what you are.
For a long time, I thought I was doing this career thing wrong. Not because I wasn't learning, or building, or contributing—but because I couldn't seem to stretch myself into the shape I thought the industry wanted me to be.
I've spent more time than I care to admit staring at PostgreSQL schema files like they were ancient scrolls. I've read the same Rails routing docs so many times I could probably quote them in my sleep. And yet, after all these years, I'm still a very mediocre backend developer. The kind of mediocre where you try something, it explodes, you walk away for six months, then come back and try it again like maybe it'll be different this time.
Spoiler: it's never different. It keeps blowing up when you do the same things over and over.
Chasing the Wrong Kind of "More"
For most of my career, I've been quietly convinced that I wasn't enough. Not full-stack enough. Not technical enough. Not infrastructure-aware enough. Not impressive-on-paper enough.
And so I chased things outside of my zone—not out of curiosity, but out of pressure. I thought if I could just cross that invisible threshold where I could say yes, I do backend too, I'd finally be the kind of developer people really wanted.
It didn't matter that I was building thoughtful, accessible, high-performing interfaces. That I was solving hard UX problems. That I could partner with design teams and translate nuance into real interaction. In my head, it all felt like just front-end stuff.
The Part I Almost Missed
Somewhere along the way, I started noticing something: The people I'd worked with—people I respect—kept recommending me for front-end roles. Not because I could "do it all." But because I helped them solve the kind of problems I actually like solving.
They weren't just being nice. They weren't just tossing me a bone. They were reinforcing something I didn't fully believe myself yet: That there's real value in being the go-to person for UI/UX development. That being focused, dependable, and passionate about a slice of the stack can be just as valuable as trying to cover the whole thing.
Thank God for these people. They saw things in me that I hadn't learned to see in myself. And they reminded me that being known for something—not everything—is a pretty incredible gift.
Turns Out, the Front-End Stuff Is the Job
What I didn't realize—or maybe just didn't let myself believe—is that this "front-end stuff" I've been doing for years? That is the job. It's not a stepping stone. It's not a placeholder until I become "a real engineer." It's what I'm good at.It's what I love doing. And it's the thing I keep showing up for, even when nobody's asking me to.
I don't have to brute-force myself into front-end work. I don't need coffee to get through a video on accessible components. I don't need willpower to finish a blog post about layout strategies or design tokens or container queries. I want to be there. That's the difference.
A Funny Thing Happened on the Way to "Full Stack"
And here's the twist: all those failed backend attempts? They're not regrets. They're blessings. Because every time I hit a wall in Rails or gave up on some half-finished Udemy course about database design, I ended up falling back into the thing I actually care about—building great user experiences.
And somehow, I still have a career in it. Somehow, people still want to work with me. Somehow, all those moments I thought I was falling short were actually moments of redirection—gently nudging me back to the part of the stack where I don't just survive, I thrive.
Why I Feel Like the Luckiest Guy in Tech
I don't say that because I landed some dream job or solved some billion-dollar problem. I say it because I finally see the value in the work I've been doing all along—the quiet, thoughtful, user-centered, front-end work that's kept me learning, growing, and contributing without burning out.
I'm lucky because I've found a path that feeds my curiosity instead of draining it. I'm lucky because I have a network of generous people who helped me see myself more clearly. And I'm lucky that my failed attempts at being something I'm not never fully pulled me away from what I actually love.
I was never supposed to be a great Rails developer. I was supposed to be a great front-end one. And that's more than enough.