After eight years at STIM — helping hundreds of thousands of music creators get paid for their work — I’m stepping down as Head of Software Engineering.
It’s one of the heaviest professional decisions I’ve ever made. I’m walking away from a job I love, saying goodbye to my steady salary, with no plan B, and no guarantee of what comes next.
It was never the plan
When I accepted the job at STIM, after the majority of my professional life as self-employed, I told my wife I’d do it for maybe two years. Three tops, if it was really good.
That turned into almost a decade.
My colleagues have been the main reason I’ve stayed for so long. Whenever something has gone wrong, they’ve been there to help. Whenever something has gone right, they’ve been there to celebrate. And we’ve had a lot of fun in both situations.
My manager has been fantastic. She struck the perfect balance between giving me freedom and offering me guidance I’ve needed to grow, and I owe a lot of that growth to her.
The somewhat obscure music industry and the sometimes irrational copyright universe are deeply interesting domains. Many hairy problems, made more complex by a century-plus of legacy: technical and legal both.
STIM has an amazing culture. People take care of each other, and there’s a strong sense of a shared, important mission. The organization is built to adapt and modernize, not ossify, to which it owes its century-old success.
I have so many fond memories from my time here, and it will forever be a favorite chapter in my life.
The side projects that never went away
During all of these eight years at STIM, I’ve always had something going on the side; a SaaS product, various open source projects, a coaching business, a book podcast, a leadership community, to name a few.
There’s some diagnosis pending, I’m sure, but I’ve come to accept it as a fundamental part of who I am. I have a hard time just chilling, but I don’t see that as a problem. I’m just wired to always be working on something.
One huge reason for this is that these side projects give freedom a job can’t. Where a job has to produce a return for the business, a side project can be about you; your craft, or just the joy of making something new.
That said, some of these projects have also done well enough to earn me a decent side income. They were all extra jobs, though, rather than actual businesses — I was still trading hours for money, without leverage.
Except for this one particular project; a legitimate business, with real products, real customers, and huge potential. I will go into more details about it in a separate post, but it’s been growing steadily for the past year and a half, and I have no doubt it can grow exponentially more.
I want to see where it can go. I want to see if I have what it takes and can pull it off.
The problem is that it needs serious time and focus to continue growing. And I don’t have any left to give.
Leading software engineering at STIM has been more than a forty-hour-a-week job. Add a budding side business on top, and for the past year and a half I’ve woken up thinking of work, and gone to sleep thinking of work.
And work isn’t all of life. I train and compete in sports. I deep-dive and study various subjects. I nurture my network and community. I keep in touch with friends and family. All while trying to be a good father and husband.
Like one of my friends likes to say, “The day only has 28 hours. You have to choose how to spend them.”
Something had to give, and it was clear that it had to be my job at STIM.
What scares me
The decision was simple. Making it wasn’t.
For one, I’m not leaving a bad job. I’m leaving the best job in the world.
For another, the new road has no safety nets. No guaranteed paycheck. No certainty that I’m able to make this work. What if I realize that I don’t have what it takes after I’ve already quit my job?
Yes, I’m nervous. Anything else would be foolish.
Not so much for myself — I always land on my feet — but I have a family to support; a wife I want to spoil and two sons to provide for. What if I’m not able to make their only childhood as full as they deserve?
The thought is terrifying, almost oppressive.
But my children are also a huge part of the reason I’m doing this.
Recently, my older son went to his first ever BJJ competition. He’d been talking about it for weeks, working up his nerve. When the moment came, seeing the other kids he’d soon have to fight, he panicked and wanted to leave.
I pulled him aside and told him that whatever happened, even if he lost, he’d still win against his fears. Nodding, he took a breath and stepped onto the mat. An hour later, having completed his fights, it was a different boy who stepped off the mat. He’d grown from facing something scary, and was beaming with pride.
I’d lose the moral authority to push my sons through fear if I were not willing to live it myself.
So here goes.
I’m grateful for my time at STIM. I’ve learned a lot, experienced a lot, and gotten to know some amazing people I’m proud to call friends. To everyone I’ve shared this chapter with: thank you. It’s been an honor.
I have no idea how the next chapter will play out, but on June 1st, I turn the page to find out.