With @Plasma $XPL , it feels like holding your breath without realizing you started. Everything is technically ready, but something inside you is still listening for a reason to wait.
I used to think this tension meant something was wrong. A missing detail, an untested edge. Sometimes that’s true. But often it’s just the moment when control starts slipping. Once something ships, it doesn’t belong only to you anymore. Plasma XPL steps out of the protected space and into other people’s hands, interpretations, assumptions.
That’s where the discomfort lives. Not in the work itself, but in the loss of insulation. Before shipping, the idea is still warm from being held close. After, it cools. It becomes observable. Judged even when no one says anything.
I notice myself doing small delays. One more review. One more read through. Not because it will change much, but because it buys time with the version of Plasma XPL that only I fully understand. Letting go of that version is harder than I expected.
What’s strange is that this tension never fully goes away, even after shipping a few times. You don’t get immune to it. You just learn to recognize it sooner. It becomes a signal rather than a barrier.
Eventually you ship anyway. Not because the tension disappears, but because staying there too long turns it into fear. The release isn’t dramatic. Just a quiet exhale. #Plasma XPL moves forward again, slightly changed by the act of being seen.
That quiet tension before shipping isn’t something I want to eliminate. It reminds me that what we’re building has weight, and that weight deserves a moment of stillness before it moves.
