You Don't Owe Anyone an Explanation
I take too long to make coffee.
That's what people tell me, anyway.
They watch me heat the water. Weigh the beans. Wait for the bloom. Pour in slow circles. And somewhere around minute four, they ask: "Couldn't you just... use a regular coffee maker?"
I could.
But here's the thing. I like this. The ritual. The craft. The small adjustments that turn an okay cup into a great one. The extra time isn't wasted. It's the whole point.
And I've noticed this same conversation happens everywhere I try to build something.
The Same Conversation Everywhere
When I was working on my novel, people asked why I was still "messing with it" after a year. Why I kept rewriting the same chapter. Why I didn't just finish and move on.
When I started building systems for how I organize my work, people wondered why I didn't just use what everyone else uses. Why I needed to tinker so much.
The message was always the same: You're spending too much time on something that doesn't matter.
But here's what I'm learning.
The things that don't matter to them might be exactly what matters to you.
The Pattern
There's a pattern here. And it shows up in writing, in business, in any kind of making.
When you're building something, you're going to spend time on parts that look invisible to everyone else. The structure underneath. The details that only you notice. The craft that makes it yours.
And people who aren't building will question that time.
Not because they're mean. But because they literally can't see what you're working on. To them, it's just coffee. Just another draft. Just a weird system in a notebook.
They're not wrong about what they see. They're just not seeing everything.
Where Creative Work Gets Fragile
This is where creative work gets fragile.
Because when someone you respect asks "why are you still doing that?"—it plants a seed of doubt. You start wondering if maybe you are wasting time. Maybe you should just use the Keurig. Maybe you should stop rewriting and call it done. Maybe your systems are overthinking it.
And sometimes, that doubt wins. The thing you were building quietly dies. Not because it wasn't good. But because you couldn't explain its value to someone who wasn't building it with you.
I've let things die this way. Ideas I stopped developing because I couldn't justify the time to people around me. Projects I abandoned because I got tired of defending them.
I'm trying not to do that anymore.
What I Keep Reminding Myself
You do not need to explain your craft to someone who isn't practicing it.
You don't need to justify your extra draft to someone who doesn't write.
You don't need to defend your morning routine to someone who's happy with chaos.
You don't need to prove your coffee ritual to someone who's fine with instant.
The time you spend isn't too much. It's what makes the thing good. It's what makes it yours.
The Difference Worth Noticing
This doesn't mean ignore all feedback. Some criticism is useful. Some people see blind spots you've missed.
But there's a difference between someone engaging with your work and someone questioning why you're working at all.
Learn to tell the difference.
And when it's the second one? You don't owe them an explanation. You just keep going.
Try this: Next time someone questions your "extra" time on something you're building, don't defend it. Just notice the urge to explain. Then ask yourself: Is this person building something too, or are they watching from outside?
That answer tells you everything about how much weight to give their opinion.
What are you building that you've been trying to explain to people who can't see it?