The Art of Breaking Things on Purpose
There’s a particular elegance to the way we interact with technology.
Most people use their computers to write emails, watch videos, and occasionally pretend to work.
But not us.
No — we belong to the rare species known as “enthusiastic self-sabotagers with admin privileges.”
While normal humans sip their morning coffee peacefully,
we wake up and think:
“What if today I break something on my computer?
Not by accident — intentionally.
For educational purposes.”
Some people attend therapy.
I open a terminal.
Some practice meditation.
I run a system update and accept my fate.
Technology teaches us many things —
patience, resilience, and the ability to laugh at ourselves
when absolutely nothing works
even though we “didn’t touch anything, honestly.”
Every time we break something,
we don’t panic.
We observe.
We nod.
We whisper the sacred British phrase:
“Well… that’s unfortunate.”
And then we begin the ritual:
Try to fix it.
Make it worse.
Fix another part by accident.
Break something completely unrelated.
Learn something meaningful, probably.
Pretend we planned it all along.
This little dance between human and machine
isn’t about achieving perfection.
It’s about curiosity.
About the thrill of taking things apart
(metaphorically… usually).
About the satisfaction that comes when
— purely by luck —
something suddenly starts working again.
We don’t chase stability.
Stability is boring.
Predictability is dull.
A flawless system is a museum exhibit, not a lifestyle.
One day everything will finally run smoothly:
no errors,
no mysterious warnings,
no kernel panics at 2 AM.
And on that day, we will sit back,
stare at our perfectly functioning machine
and whisper:
“Well… now what?”
Until then,
we break, rebuild, rethink, restart,
reinvent and occasionally reinstall —
not because we must,
but because this is who we are:
People who find beauty in solving problems
that didn’t exist half an hour ago.
And honestly?
I wouldn’t have it any other way.