This is the story of how one major change in my life led me to start thinking about object permanence.
Last week, my family dog passed away. We all knew it was coming; she’d been slowing down for a while. Her eyesight and hearing were mostly down for the count, and she took a lot longer to do the things that once came naturally. She was 14 and was surrounded by those who loved her most.
After her passing, her presence continued to fill our home; from the errant hairs she’d left behind, to her empty food bowl and bed, to her collar, which we’d laid across the mantle. Her absence was not a singular moment, but rather a continued and collective realization, jarring me into its being. The tasks were once automatic to me (Preparing her food at mealtime, jingling her leash when it was time for a walk) now left me dazed, a step behind, the absence of them worrying at me like a phantom limb.
It got me thinking about the things we cannot see, but which we know to be true. When people ask me what I do for work, I typically begin my answer in a roundabout way. I start by talking about Conseris. It only seems appropriate. This little passion project that’s grown into so much more has consumed so much of my time and attention for the past few months.
Nurturing a startup into existence is almost like caring for a dog; it relies entirely on you in the beginning. It teaches you about the joys of success and the pitfalls of failure. It has the distinct ability to make you frustrated beyond measure, not unlike coming home to your favorite pair of sneakers chewed up and rendered useless (true story) or finding the container of dog food opened up and scattered across the carpet (also a true story).
But then, there are days in which everything fits correctly. It may just be a tiny breakthrough, a fragment of sunlight. But you know that if you just keep chiseling away, one day, you’ll get where you need to be. It makes all of the trials and tribulations, all of the cups of coffee and sleepless nights somehow worth it.
And so, as I write this, I think of all of the things I cannot see right away, but which I know to be true. I know that what I am doing here is truly something special. When I think about all of the ways in which people can use Conseris to collect the fragments of data that connect to built their life’s work, little passion projects not unlike ours, I know we’re onto something really great.
Having Conseris in my pocket along the way, ready any time to help preserve and ignite that little spark of an idea, feels not unlike the old friend who I loved so much. There when I need it most and tucked away during all of life’s other moments. Never really gone.
Make Conseris the friend who’s always there; not always visible, but present, and ready to join you every step of the way.