Journal

So here's the thing — I bought a domain name. My name. adamsobczyk.com. And honestly, it feels a lot like buying a piece of land.

Think about it. A physical address is limited. You can't build two homes at the same location. Nobody else can claim it once it's yours. A domain name works the same way — and there's nothing more personal than your own name. I felt like I had to grab it. Not because I had a plan, but because the address itself matters to me. It can't be replicated. It can't be repeated.

I bought the field. The ground. The home is not here yet. There isn't even an idea for a home. I don't know why I need one, or if I really do. I just felt like this address is important.

And to be honest? It's been a pretty fun experience. The moment it was mine, something sparked. All these ideas started swirling around — what should I do with this? What could this become? I love that feeling. The blank canvas feeling. The possibility.

I'm an entrepreneurial mind. I've built a couple of projects and startups in my life. Even in the company I work at now — a huge corporation — I'm kind of the entrepreneur within. Everyone sees it. It's not hard to observe. That restless energy, always building something. This website, this journal, it's a fruit of that same energy.

And what you're reading right now? It's not even writing in the traditional sense. I'm speaking to an AI, voice-to-text, raw thoughts flowing out. Then it goes through a system that transforms it into something readable. The fact that you're actually reading this — I'm genuinely impressed. I wouldn't read it. Some random guy's text? In 2026? When we live in an era of short videos and shrinking attention spans? Nobody wants to read anymore.

So yeah, this is kind of a hipster thing. But then again — I've always been a bit rebellious.

Consider this the intro. Enjoy.

Day one. And I'm already writing the second chapter. I don't know what to think about that.

But here's the fun part — from the moment I saw a friend's LinkedIn post with his own name as a domain, to the moment this website was live and working and looking exactly the way I wanted it to... one hour. One. Hour. That's it. The idea sparked, I grabbed it, I built it, and now you're reading it.

This is unbelievable to me. And I work in AI. I'm someone who can call himself an expert in the space. Though — and this is the honest part — I can't really tell you what I'm an expert in. AI is getting so wide as a term that saying "I'm an AI expert" is like saying "I'm a finance expert." Cool, but what does that actually mean? You're probably good at one very specific slice of finance. Or you're not really an expert at all — you just know a little about a lot, which is the same as knowing nothing.

If I had to pin it down, I'd say this: I know how to get things done with AI. Faster and better than what was possible before. Before the first ChatGPT release. That's my thing. The fact that a software release created a new era — a literal new chapter in the world — says a lot about the world we live in.

I'm just talking to a computer. The rest is being done automatically. And somehow, you're reading a finished product.

This whole experience is seamless. I spend maybe 15, 30 minutes on this. And definitely not on "writing" in the way you'd imagine. It's voice-to-text. Raw thoughts. The system does the rest. I know close to nothing about building web applications. I mean — not nothing nothing, but I'd never be able to do this without the tools I have under my fingers right now.

And that got me thinking.

Let's say you're building a house. You can build a pretty good one — but only with advanced machinery. Take away the tools, and you can't do it with your bare hands. So are you good at building houses? Or do you know shit about it because without the machinery you're useless?

I think I'm good at building web applications. Look at what I built. Look at how fast I built it. Maybe it's not the best house on the block, but it's standing, it works, and I like how it looks. The tools made it possible — but I still had to know what to build and how to direct the process. That counts for something. Right?

I keep coming back to the house metaphor. Maybe it's my roots. Maybe it's because building things — whether physical or digital — scratches the same itch.

But here's where it gets uncomfortable. This journal is deeply personal. My name is in the URL. My thoughts are on the page. A good AI system could read everything I've written here and build a pretty accurate psychological profile. Five years from now, someone could know exactly what I believe, how I think, what decisions I'd make, how to convince me of something. How to scam me.

That's a real risk. And I'm aware of it.

If I did a pragmatic risk assessment — negative outcomes versus positive outcomes — it tips negative. Logically, I should not be doing this. The downside is concrete and the upside is... vibes? Self-expression? Some vague sense of fulfillment?

I'm fully aware that I'm doing something that rationally doesn't make sense. And I'm doing it anyway. Which makes me irrational. Maybe that's just who I am.

So let's see how this unfolds.

Third hour. Three hours since this whole thing started existing, and I'm already on chapter three. If you're reading this, I hope you started from the beginning. Chapter one. These aren't standalone pieces — they build on each other. Like a book. That's the whole point.

In the last chapter I talked about the risk. How someone could read all of this and build a psychological profile of me. How that's objectively a bad idea. And I stand by that — it's still irrational. But here's what I've been thinking since then.

Every technology has a positive and a negative use case. The same data that could be used to scam me could also be used to understand me. Really understand me. And not just me.

Here's the thing — I started this journal without overthinking it. No business plan, no strategy. I just felt a need to do it. Couldn't even fully explain it to myself. But the need was there, and it was strong enough that I acted on it. That matters. Because if I felt it, and I'm not special — which I believe is a pretty safe assumption — then other people feel it too.

I am not special. And in this context, that's the most interesting thing about me.

Imagine this scales. Imagine hundreds, thousands of people doing exactly what I'm doing right now — talking into their phone, raw thoughts pouring out, and a system turns it into something structured. Every day. Every week. Over time, you'd build a massive database of real personas. Not survey data. Not focus group answers. Real, unfiltered human thinking captured over months and years.

Now imagine you could build psychological profiles from that. Thousands of them. Millions, eventually. Profiles that represent real types of people — how they think, what they value, what triggers their decisions. And then you go to Apple and say: "You're designing the next iPhone. You're debating the shape, the color, the features. Here are a million real psychological profiles. Run your concepts against them. See what resonates." Not with 100% accuracy — but with way more accuracy than whatever they're doing now.

That's a business. That generates revenue. That builds value.

And this is where the entrepreneurial brain kicks in and the rational brain tries to keep up. Because I know — I know — that ideas are cheap. I've been around the block enough times to understand that the idea is maybe 1% of the equation. Product-market fit is everything. It's the thing that kills 99% of awesome ideas. It's what separates a daydream from a company.

Product-market fit is everything. This is what kills all the awesome ideas. This is what separates dreaming from building.

So the question isn't "is this a cool idea?" — it obviously is, at least to me. The question is: can I validate it with minimal effort? And is the effort low enough that it's worth the bet? Because there are so many assumptions stacked on top of each other here that the whole thing could collapse at any layer.

But here's what I can do right now. I can be my own test case.

I'm going to keep talking. Keep feeding this journal. And then I'm going to try to build a psychological model of myself based purely on what I've said here. Then I'll test it. Ask it questions about things I've never mentioned — my favorite colors, what I like to eat, how I'd react in a specific situation. If the model gets it right, or even close to right, that's signal. That's a data point that says this approach might actually work.

And yeah — full disclosure — I'm recording this chapter while playing Call of Duty. That's the level of attention this journal is getting. But maybe that's the point. Maybe that's exactly what makes it authentic. You don't sit down with a leather-bound notebook and a fountain pen to capture your real thoughts. You ramble into your phone between respawns.

If this works for me — distracted, half-focused, talking into my phone while gaming — it works for anyone.

Will it work? I don't know. Maybe I'll mess up the implementation. Maybe the models aren't good enough yet. Maybe in two years they will be. But if it works, it validates the technical side. The business side is a whole different mountain to climb — and there are many, many assumptions between here and "this is a real company."

But fuck it. Let's see.