I’ve been thinking about keyboards lately.

Not in a mechanical switch vs membrane kind of way. (Though let’s be honest, there’s no argument to be had.) No, this is something else. Something more conceptual. Or maybe just sad.

I type all day. Code, messages, notes to myself I’ll never read again. And somewhere along the line, I started wondering if the keyboard is part of the problem.

It’s not expensive. It’s efficient. That’s not the same thing.

I tried to fix it the only way I know how: remapping keys. Caps Lock became Control. Escape moved to where my fingers already go by mistake. I even made a custom layout once where semicolon required a chorded combo, just to see if I’d stop overusing it.

It felt like therapy. Tiny, clicky therapy.

I told myself if I could just find the right layou, if I could feel good while typing, maybe I’d write more clearly. Maybe I’d write more, full stop.

Instead, I built a keyboard that’s ergonomically optimized for indecision.

The truth is, I keep trying to make my tools more “me,” thinking it will make me more me. But the keyboard is just plastic. The font is just pixels. The terminal prompt I’ve styled six different ways doesn’t actually know me.

All these little tweaks - fonts, dotfiles, themes - they’re not personality. They’re just preferences in costume.

I’ve been telling myself it matters. That how I code is a reflection of who I am. That my shell is my shrine. But lately, I’m starting to think maybe I’ve just been rearranging furniture in a room I never invite anyone into.

Anyway, my terminal font is JetBrains Mono now. That helped.