I built the thing I couldn't find during my worst year.
In the autumn of 2022, I was three months into a burnout I didn't have language for yet. I'd tried Todoist, Things, Notion, Sunsama, a bullet journal, a whiteboard, three different Apple Notes systems, and a cardboard box of index cards on the kitchen counter. None of them worked. All of them made me feel worse.
The pattern was the same. I'd set up a beautiful system on a Sunday night. By Wednesday it was full of stale tasks. By Friday I was avoiding the app. By the following Sunday I was rebuilding it from scratch with a new template — and that ritual itself, I later realized, was costing me about 25 minutes a week, forever.
What I actually needed wasn't another list. It was something more like infrastructure — the kind of quiet, adaptive system that modern life already runs on everywhere else. Electricity doesn't ask you to re-plan your fridge every Sunday. Water doesn't guilt-trip you when you skip a shower. Why did my tasks?
I started sketching Lifr in a bedroom that still had moving boxes in the corner. The first prototype was a single question: what if the app knew how tired you were, and planned around it? The second prototype added rotations for housework. The third added energy matching. By the tenth prototype, three friends with ADHD had asked me to please, please not stop working on it.
Lifr isn't venture-backed. It's not sprinting toward a billion users. It's a small, opinionated, quiet tool for people who, like me, have lived through seasons where just staying afloat is the achievement. If that's you — welcome. There's a chair for you here.
— Alex