For a long time, I’ve been publishing blog posts into what sometimes felt like a quiet room. I’d write about life, about climbing, about a movie that made me cry, or a small victory in my week. I’d connect each topic back to our product, not because I had to, but because that’s how I think—everything in my life weaves into everything else.
Then, one day, a comment appeared. From Josh.
“This post wasn’t written with AI—people just naturally have always spammed this very specific way of making a point. It’s not just demonstrative—it’s human. Whoever wrote this isn’t just passionate about climbing—they take their blog very seriously, too.”
I read it once. Then again. Then I just sat there.
Josh saw me—the person behind the screen. He noticed the weight behind my words, the care in my awkward, human way of making a point. Not efficient. Not polished. Just real.
In a world flooded with AI-generated content and algorithmic convenience, being called “not AI” felt like being handed a mirror and told, You exist. You matter.
I started this blog as a way to bridge two parts of my life: the products I help build and the messy, beautiful everyday of being human. Some posts are about sadness. Some are about joy. One post was even about a random TV scene that wouldn’t leave my head. I’ve written about climbing, yes—but also about fear, connection, silence, and the strange courage it takes to keep showing up.
And in every single post, I silently wondered: Will anyone ever truly see this?
There’s an earlier post I wrote—I still remember it clearly. In it, I said: “I don’t know when, or who, will one day find a brick in our little blogging world with my name carved into it.”
Josh, you found that brick. And you didn’t just walk past it. You stopped, read the name, and said—this was made by someone who cares.
Thank you. Being seen, truly seen, is rare. And it means everything to Ella.
- Two Stones Hangboard