In which our developer learns that starting over isn't always a step backward
So here I was, armed with React Native and the hard-earned wisdom of my Swift misadventures. Starting fresh meant I could apply everything I'd learned (mostly what not to do), but it also meant staring at that dreaded blank screen again—the digital equivalent of a fresh canvas that somehow looks both terrifying and full of infinite possibility.
You know that moment when you're packing for a trip and realize you're trying to fit way too much into one suitcase? That was me with my original ListIt vision. The grand plan was to let users create their own custom categories—infinite flexibility, endless possibilities! Users could list anything: "Things That Smell Like My Childhood," "Movies Where the Dog Lives," "Restaurants That Don't Judge My Sweatpants."
But here's the thing about infinite flexibility: it comes with infinite complexity. The code was turning into a hydra—every solution I implemented spawned two new problems. Custom fields, dynamic validation, user-created schemas... it was madness wrapped in good intentions.
So I made the tough call: simplicity over sophistication. At least for now.
Instead of the wild west of custom categories, I opted for four noble houses: Music List, Watch List, Read List, and Go/Do List. These aren't just arbitrary names—they cover about 90% of what people actually want to track. Sometimes constraints breed creativity, like how Twitter's character limit made people masters of brevity.
The beauty of this decision? Each category could have its own carefully crafted properties. Books get authors and genres, movies get directors and release years, restaurants get cuisine types and locations. It's like having a well-organized toolbox instead of a junk drawer.
I did leave myself a developer's escape hatch—database versioning. Future me will thank present me when it's time to migrate from the simplified structure to the ultimate customizable wonderland. No mental breakdowns when loading old data into new structures, just smooth sailing.
Enter the factory/builder patterns, and suddenly coding became less like wrestling with spaghetti and more like assembling with Legos. These patterns are like having a wise mentor who quietly handles all the complicated stuff while you focus on the big picture.
Whoever invented these patterns deserves every coffee shop's finest brew. Seriously, if you're reading this, mysterious pattern pioneers, your lattes are on me. (Terms and Conditions Apply)
With the structure in place, building the actual features became surprisingly enjoyable. A filter page here, a browse page there—each category getting its own perfectly tailored genres and statuses. Want to see only the sci-fi books your cousin recommended? Done. Need to find that Italian place your coworker mentioned? Easy.
The crown jewel was supposed to be a circular carousel for browsing categories—imagine swiping through recommendations like you're spinning a wheel of fortune. I spent days crafting this modified FlatList beauty, dreaming of that satisfying infinite scroll where users could keep browsing forever.
Then Android happened.
For some inexplicable reason (read: probably something I did wrong but haven't figured out yet), Android decided my beautiful carousel was not welcome at this party. The animation stuttered, the scroll fought back, and users were left with a janky experience that felt more like a broken carnival ride than a smooth browsing tool.
Plan B: a simple modal. Not as flashy, but it works. Sometimes the elegant solution isn't the fancy one—it's the one that actually functions when people use it.
Right now, my white whale is deep linking. This is the feature that transforms ListIt from "yet another list app" to "that magic app where recommendations just flow." Once someone can send you a link, and that link opens directly to the exact movie/book/restaurant they're talking about, the whole app experience clicks into place.
It's like building a bridge between conversations and action. Someone mentions a great podcast, sends you a link, you tap it, and boom—it's added to your Music List. No typing, no searching, no forgetting. That's the dream, anyway.
While wrestling with deep links, the rest of the app exists in a state of beautiful functionality wrapped in placeholder colors. I'm talking about a color scheme that looks like someone let a kindergartner loose with digital crayons. But hey, that's intentional!
The motto here is function first, beauty later. No point obsessing over the perfect shade of blue when the core features are still finding their footing. The pretty colors will come once the bones are solid.
User accounts and login systems are sitting in the "Future Features" pile, right next to world peace and perfect CSS. The plan is to get the core functionality locked down first, then build the web version with all the fancy authentication bells and whistles.
It's a bit like building a house—you want to make sure the foundation and framing are solid before you start picking out paint colors and doorknobs. Version 2 will bring user accounts, cloud sync, and all those features that transform a simple app into a full-fledged platform.
So here we are: a functional React Native app with core features working, a few platform quirks to iron out, and a roadmap full of exciting possibilities. It's not the grandiose vision I started with, but it's something real—something people can actually use.
The journey from concept to code is rarely a straight line. It's more like a hiking trail with unexpected detours, scenic overlooks, and the occasional need to backtrack. But every step teaches you something, and every small victory builds toward the bigger goal.
Next up: conquering deep links, then polishing the UI, then... well, let's just take it one feature at a time.
Stay tuned for the next chapter.
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