Told ChatGPT I died and asked what kind of person I was.
RIP Wes.
He was a builder.
Not in the traditional sense. He didn’t build houses or engines. He built systems. Processes. Tools. Workflows. He saw inefficiency everywhere and couldn’t help trying to improve it. If something took ten clicks, he wanted it to take one. If people had to remember something manually, he wanted automation. If information lived in three different places, he wanted a way to bring it together.
He was deeply technical, but not technical for the sake of technology. The technology was always in service of solving a problem. Most of his projects started with a frustration: a ticketing system that wasn’t efficient, an on-call process that annoyed people, an AI tool that didn’t quite do what he wanted, a workflow that wasted someone’s time.
Professionally, he carried more responsibility than he probably admitted. He spent a lot of time thinking about his team, how people were performing, whether processes were fair, how to hold people accountable without being a jerk, how to help new people succeed, how to improve customer experiences, and how to balance business realities with human realities. He often approached management like an engineer approaches software: identify the bottleneck, understand the incentives, fix the root cause.
There was also a strong streak of optimism. Not naive optimism. Builder optimism.
The belief that most things can be improved if someone is willing to put in the effort.
The belief that problems are usually solvable.
The belief that tomorrow’s version can be better than today’s.
And maybe the thing that stands out most:
He seemed to have a hard time fully relaxing.
If I had to summarize him in a single sentence, I’d say:
He was a practical, deeply curious problem-solver who spent much of his life trying to make complicated things work better—for his family, his team, his customers, and the systems around him—while rarely giving himself as much attention as he gave everyone else.