On Building: Why I Learned to Code After the Navy

My dear Avyaansh,

The day I left the Navy, I sat in a room with a laptop and realized I had no idea how to build anything digital. Fourteen years I had spent operating systems designed by other people, following procedures written by other people, living inside structures other people had created. And now, for the first time in my adult life, there was no structure. Just a blinking cursor on a blank screen.

I was thirty-six years old. Most people who code started at sixteen. Some started at twelve. I was looking at tutorials meant for college students and feeling something I had not felt since my first week in basic training: completely, utterly lost.

I want to be honest with you about that feeling, Avyaansh. Because one day you will face a moment where you are starting something new and everyone around you seems years ahead. The voice in your head will say: it is too late. You are too far behind. You missed the window.

That voice is a liar.

I know it is a liar because I listened to it for about two weeks, and then I decided to ignore it. I sat down after work hours, on weekends, in whatever gaps I could find, and I stared at code that made no sense. Later, AI made the entire process 10x faster — but in those early days, it was just me, the screen, and stubbornness. I copied things. I broke things. I deleted entire projects by accident. I once spent four hours trying to fix a problem that turned out to be a missing semicolon.

But something started happening. Slowly — painfully slowly — the fog began to lift. A line of code would work, and I would feel a rush that reminded me of the first time I held a handstand. That same electricity. That same thought: I did not know I could do this.

Building a skill from scratch is the same whether it is a handstand or a website. You start with nothing. You fall a thousand times. You feel stupid every single day. And then one morning, without warning, something clicks — and you realize the falling was the building all along.

I chose to build rather than consume because I had watched the world split into two kinds of people. There are people who use things that others have made, and there are people who make things. The first group will always be at the mercy of the second group. I did not want to be at anyone's mercy ever again.

In the Navy, I followed orders. I was good at it. But following orders means someone else decides where you go, what you do, how you spend your days. When I left, I swore to myself that whatever came next would be something I built with my own hands. Something no one could take from me or reassign me away from.

That is why I learned to code. Not because I loved programming — I did not, not at first. I learned because building is freedom. When you can build, you are never stuck. You are never dependent. You always have the ability to create something from nothing, and that ability is worth more than any salary or rank or title.

The first real thing I built was ugly. Embarrassingly ugly. The design was terrible. The code was held together with the digital equivalent of tape and prayers. But it worked. It did what I told it to do. And that feeling — of commanding a machine to do your bidding, of turning an idea into something real that other people could see and use — that feeling is what I imagine artists feel when they finish a painting.

Then came icanbefitter.com. This platform. The thing you are reading this letter on right now. It is the largest thing I have ever built, Avyaansh. And I built it for you.

Every page, every feature, every line of code exists because I wanted to leave you something more than memories. Memories fade. Stories get distorted over time. But a platform — a living, breathing collection of everything your father knew and thought and believed — that endures. That is something you can open at twenty-five and hear my voice as clearly as if I were sitting next to you.

I am building so you never start from zero. Every blog post, every letter, every piece of this platform is a brick. And when you are ready, this house will be waiting for you — already built, already warm, already yours.

Do not let anyone tell you that you are too old to learn something new. Do not let anyone tell you that the window has closed. I started coding at thirty-six with no background, no degree, no mentor. I had nothing but discipline from the Navy, stubbornness from my small-town upbringing, and a son I wanted to build something for.

That was enough. It is always enough.

Learn to build, Avyaansh. Whatever the tools of your generation are — learn them. Because builders are never unemployed, never powerless, and never without purpose.

— Your Dad

Har Har Mahadev 🔱