When I’m building something, I’ve started asking myself one question more than any other: what’s the point?

Not rhetorically. Not as a way of doubting the work. Just a plain, honest question directed at whatever I’m about to do. What’s the point of this feature? What’s the point of this screen? What’s the point of this button, this animation, this loading state I just spent three hours on?

The answer usually comes quick. Sometimes it’s good. Sometimes it isn’t.

The thing is, it’s easy to stay busy without staying useful. You can ship features that don’t move anything. You can polish edges that nobody touches. You can spend a week on infrastructure that solves a problem you don’t actually have yet. All of it feels like progress because effort was spent. But effort isn’t the measure. Direction is.

So the question becomes a filter. And I try to apply it more than once.

Not just at the start of a sprint, but in the middle of a task. Not just before a decision, but after the first attempt. What’s the point? Does this still serve what I said it would serve? Or did I drift?

Drifting happens quietly. You start solving one thing and end up solving a more interesting adjacent thing. Not wrong, necessarily. But you should notice when it happens.

A few things I’ve had to relearn from asking this:

Product over feature. A feature is a means. The product is the thing people actually use. I’ve caught myself spending too much time making features comprehensive when they just needed to be good enough to serve the product. One sharp tool beats a Swiss Army knife nobody reaches for.

Function over form. I care about aesthetics. I think polish matters. But form that comes before function is decoration, not design. If it looks good but doesn’t work clearly, I’ve put energy in the wrong order. Get it right, then make it nice.

Understanding before monetizing. This one I keep relearning. It’s tempting to add a paywall early, to validate, to convert. And sometimes that’s right. But often, the moment I reach for monetization before I understand what’s actually valuable, I cut off the feedback I need. People who pay quietly are harder to learn from than people who complain freely.

Pay attention to detail, yes. The small things do matter. But sweat over the right details — the ones that serve someone, the ones that make the thing work better, clearer, faster. Not the ones that are just visible.

The question isn’t hard. What’s the point? Ask it early, ask it often, and be honest when the answer is thin.

That’s usually where the real work starts.