There's a type of developer out there, and I seem to be one of them. These are people who can't just "settle into a normal job and calm down." Not because they're spoiled or perpetually dissatisfied, but because they understand too well that life can be assembled differently.

When I was still in Yekaterinburg, I worked in multiple realities simultaneously. University, my own main company, a social app, some financial ventures on the side. And at some point, it all collapsed. Plus burnout hit. For six months I just did nothing, traveled around Kyrgyzstan, and met various interesting people. And then I suddenly caught a strange feeling: no, I'm not finished, I can still do this. And fairly quickly I landed a serious position at a large company, where for a while I genuinely showed good results.

Enterprise, like it or not, knows how to give a person a foundation. It gives you a salary, predictability, the feeling that you're part of a system. After a period of chaos, it works almost like therapy. Especially if before that you had collapsed projects, instability, and a complete feeling that the ground had disappeared from under your feet.

But after a couple of years I understood a simple thing: big money doesn't cancel out stress. Yes, they pay you a lot. Yes, outwardly everything looks right. But inside you still start burning out. Because stability is not yet meaning. And a high salary is not automatic compensation for constant inner compression.

And this is where something appears that many employers for some reason don't want to notice. When a developer starts looking elsewhere, building something of their own, searching for new ideas, trying startups, moonlighting in a different direction — it's not always greed, disloyalty, or "lack of focus." Very often it's a signal that the person has either burned out, lost interest in the product, or simply doesn't see any living perspective in this job.

I'm a former startup founder, and I was always drawn to my own thing. Not because I don't have enough work, but because there's always this thought living inside: what if it works out? What if my own project one day takes off and gives not just money, but a sense of my own trajectory? Especially when you've already experienced how fragile life can be. After relocating in May 2022, I had to close savings, sell stocks, pull myself up in a new reality practically by hand. In such moments, the idea of "making something of your own" stops being romantic. It becomes an attempt to build yourself an emergency exit.

Then AI appeared, this whole new way of quickly assembling products emerged, and everything became even more interesting and more dangerous. Because previously there was a large distance between idea and implementation. But now an unsatisfied developer looks at this and thinks: wait, I can actually build an MVP, test a hypothesis, launch something myself. And after that, it's even harder for them to sit calmly inside someone else's product, especially if the product itself doesn't engage them.

Perhaps this was my mistake. I understood that I needed a stable income, but simultaneously kept reaching for doing something of my own. And perhaps it affected my main job too. But I think the problem here is broader and more interesting than just "should have focused better." People of my type already overwork. These aren't people you need to convince to work. They will work beyond the norm almost always. The only question is where exactly that energy goes: into one product, into three products, into their own startup, into an endless search for an exit, or into quiet inner burnout.

Paradoxically, I later ended up on projects where I was paid three times less, but the idea itself was more interesting. And the stress level dropped. Not because life became easier, but because part of the inner conflict disappeared. There was different stress there — about time, uncertainty, limitations. But there wasn't that feeling of selling too large a part of yourself for stability that doesn't make you calmer anyway.

I think there's an important thought here for companies. Paying programmers well is normal. It's not "overpaying for an IT person." These are people who know how to create value, learn quickly, and will almost always find where to apply their efforts. But if you see a strong developer constantly looking elsewhere, don't rush to think they're just ungrateful or greedy. Perhaps the problem isn't with them. Perhaps they've burned out. Perhaps they've long lost interest in your product. Perhaps they don't see a place in your system where their energy even makes sense.

And this is exactly the moment where companies usually choose the most convenient path: not to investigate, but simply to part ways. Not to ask themselves why the person lost interest. Not to think about what exactly in the product, the culture, the processes, or the management style repels even those who recently worked well. It's easier to believe that the market is big, people are replaceable, and metrics matter more than any human nuances.

But unsatisfied developers aren't going anywhere. They will keep searching for a solution that will improve their lives. Their own project, a new role, a different work format, AI tools, a way to break into autonomy faster. Not because they're capricious. But because the market still doesn't know how to give them two things simultaneously: stability and meaning.

And as long as people are still offered a choice between "earn well but slowly burn out" and "do something alive but live at risk," they will keep searching. Not out of stupidity. But because this is the honest reaction of a living person to a poorly assembled system.