Obsidian and the draw of durable technology

These days, I’m inclined to invest less of my time, my trust, and myself in the enormous tech companies looming over us like a gathering storm. Their wares are glossy, but fleeting. And the cost is high—especially when it’s free.

My rebellion is simple: choose technology that respects me.

Durable technology is built on foundations that align the developer’s incentives with the user’s. Where both sides benefit and want to contribute to the relationship long-term. To me, that means things like:

• Embracing interoperability. If you have to trap people to keep them, you’re not offering enough value.
• Transparency of exchange. Profit should come from charging people money, not exploiting their data, attention, or relationships.
• Solving real problems. Too much technology exists to solve problems its makers invented, instead of addressing real human struggles.
• Investing in quality. As AI democratizes development, mere existence is no longer enough—craft matters.
• Serving the greater good. Not everything is about money; some things should exist to pursue principles over profit (hello, Signal).

It’s a flexible definition. Examples of durable technology don’t (and often can’t) adhere to each principle, but the more attention I see paid to these ideas, the more I trust that technology to be a genuine partner in my work and thinking.

That’s why Obsidian appeals to me. And its rich plugin architecture proves that choosing durable technology doesn’t have to mean sacrificing functionality.

The important thing is that I can choose. Obsidian doesn’t doesn't prescribe a workflow; it provides a canvas. When I first explored it, seeing other people’s elaborate setups was distracting. I only made progress once I accepted that complexity is optional.

I think of Gall’s Law: “A complex system that works invariably evolved from a simple system that worked.”

This desire to avoid unnecessary complexity is also why I haven’t used plugins like Dataview, or even the core Properties functionality that makes Obsidian work a bit more like Notion.

Besides, the more plugins I use, the further the system strays from plain text.

Why does that matter? My notes are the clearest picture of me that it’s possible to get. A photo shows how I look, but my notes convey how I think. What I care about. Who I am. When I see folks being cavalier about where and how they store their notes, it strikes me as careless.

Even separate from any privacy concerns, those notes—at least the ideas in them—are part of my legacy. They don't need to be eternal, but they deserve respect. I want to keep my notes as durable as I can, especially while I’m still using them. Today, I believe that state is primarily digital, and anchored in the longest-lasting file format ever devised: plain text.

It may matter only philosophically, but it still matters. If writing is thinking, then the tools we use to write shape the way we think. To me, that’s reason enough to choose them carefully.

The real question isn't just about technology—it's about being conscientious. Where else in my life can I choose tools that respect my autonomy, nurture my potential, and grow alongside me...instead of by consuming me?