JAN 14, 2027
I'm building for the moments we usually miss.
My grandfather had a war's worth of stories, and I let almost all of them disappear. Not on purpose. There was always a next visit, a better time, a version of me who'd sit down with a recorder and do it right. Then there wasn't. What's left is a handful of lines I can half-remember and a strong, specific regret that I know how the rest went and can't get it back. That regret is the reason there's a company. # Big moments defend themselves. Small ones don't. Here's the pattern I kept noticing after that. A big event comes with its own reminder to capture it. The wedding has a photographer. The graduation has a hundred phones up. The trip has an album more or less by default. The small stuff has nothing. No reminder, no ritual, no prompt. Someone explains how they actually see the world and it's gone by dinner. A joke becomes a running joke and no one can later say where it started. A place quietly turns into home and you only notice years after the fact. Those moments don't lose out because they matter less. They lose out because nothing is set up to catch them. The big ones can defend themselves. The small ones need help, and I couldn't find a tool that was actually on their
My grandfather had a war's worth of stories, and I let almost all of them disappear. Not on purpose. There was always a next visit, a better time, a version of me who'd sit down with a recorder and do it right. Then there wasn't. What's left is a handful of lines I can half-remember and a strong, specific regret that I know how the rest went and can't get it back. That regret is the reason there's a company. # Big moments defend themselves. Small ones don't. Here's the pattern I kept noticing after that. A big event comes with its own reminder to capture it. The wedding has a photographer. The graduation has a hundred phones up. The trip has an album more or less by default. The small stuff has nothing. No reminder, no ritual, no prompt. Someone explains how they actually see the world and it's gone by dinner. A joke becomes a running joke and no one can later say where it started. A place quietly turns into home and you only notice years after the fact. Those moments don't lose out because they matter less. They lose out because nothing is set up to catch them. The big ones can defend themselves. The small ones need help, and I couldn't find a tool that was actually on their side. # Lowering two kinds of effort So I've come to think of Zibby as a bet on lowering two specific efforts. The first is the effort to save something. If keeping a small moment takes more than a moment, it won't happen — not because people don't care, but because life is fast and the friction wins. So you can just talk. Say it the way you'd tell a friend and Zibby takes it from there. No blank page, no form, no production. The second effort is harder and matters more: the effort to come back. A memory you save and never see again is a slightly nicer version of a drawer you never open. The whole point is the return — the app surfacing the anniversary you'd have missed, the face you forgot was in that photo, the thread worth picking back up. Sometimes the best thing it can do is push you off the app entirely, into the phone call or the text to your sister. Save the small stuff cheaply. Make coming back worth it. That's the entire product, said plainly. I can't get my grandfather's stories back. I can build the thing that would've caught them. So what do you wish you had an easier way to remember? Be specific. Those are the answers I build from.