Rokuro, the Trail, and the Truth Beyond the Screen
I’m writing this from the Jersey side, looking toward where the city skyline is supposed to be, though, to be honest, it’s far enough away that I can’t actually see it. Most people in this area are fueled by overpriced espresso, but I recently found an amazing spot and have been finding my clarity in Afghan Chai. There’s something about that specific heat and spice that cuts through the noise better than any double-shot ever could.
By day, I’m a venture co-founder. But my work isn’t really about “sprints” or “algorithms.” To me, it’s a relentless pursuit of understanding human thought and questioning how we arrive at the truth. It’s about the “why” behind the user, not just the “how” of the build.
After the work day ends, you’ll usually find me in the gym or the pool, late into the night. My routines are a bit… different. While others might be training for “gold-plated” muscle size without mobility (no offense!). I’m focused on the kind of functional strength I needed back in my serious football/soccer days.
I’m often the only person in the gym balancing on a yoga mat or a balance ball, practicing surfing movements miles away from the nearest ocean. It looks a bit mad, I’m aware. But I believe in being hard on yourself and doing the “weird” things that actually matter. Whether it’s signing up for a trail ultramarathon two months after my first half-marathon or mastering a specific mobility flow, I’m interested in the craft of the self.
The Lacquer and the Rokuro
On my table sits a lacquer bowl and spoon sent to me all the way from Kyoto. It represents a different kind of “technology.” It’s an object that required time, specific humidity, and the steady hand of a master working the Rokuro (the lathe) to exist. It’s a physical manifestation of context.
Why am I starting this blog?
We are at a tipping point. We are surrounding ourselves with AI that can process everything but feel nothing (for now). As someone working in the heart of tech, I see a widening disconnect: we are building incredible engines, only to trap them inside glass rectangle screens that filter out the messiness and beauty of being human.
In Japanese architecture, the Engawa is the threshold. It is the veranda that connects the private interior of the home to the public world outside. It is neither fully inside nor fully outside, but a space where the two coexist.
I am calling this space Engawa (縁側) because I want to explore that very threshold: the interface between technology, philosophy, and the physical world.
In this space, I will be exploring:
- AI and the Human Grain: Exploring technology that respects the grain of human experience and productive friction: moving away from a world of seamless but soulless efficiency.
- The Liminal Threshold: Navigating the delicate balance between the internal self and the external world: exploring how these points of transition reveal entirely new values and experiences beyond traditional digital boundaries.
- Enrichment through Imperfection: Investigating ancient Japanese aesthetics that find deep value in the imperfect and the inefficient: ensuring technology exists to truly enrich the human spirit, not just to simplify it.
- Essential Wisdom and Mobility: Prioritizing essential, practical value over superficial gloss by bridging ancestral wisdom in craftsmanship with the philosophy of “Mobility over Mass”: refining the self within the finite limits of human time and energy.
I don’t want to build (or be) something that is just shiny on the surface. I am looking for the friction and the truth that only exists in the transition between states.
Welcome to the journey.
FAQ
Q: What is the core concept of “engawa” in this context? A: It is a metaphor for a “liminal space” in design—a buffer zone between humanity and technology that allows for contemplation and transition, rather than seamless automation.
Q: Why does the author praise “friction”? A: Because intentional friction (unlike bad usability) creates moments of pause and awareness, allowing users to retain autonomy and deeper engagement with the process.