Stop running your life
from memory.
miya.life is your Personal OS and AI assistant.

What is left, every month.

• Income beside the bills. Add a salary, a side income, anything on a schedule. Bills shows what comes in, what goes out, and names the surplus.
• Converted honestly. A yearly bonus and a weekly wage are both priced per month, the same way every bill is, so the comparison is real.
• The whole picture, unfiltered. Filters slice the bill views. The surplus panel ignores them on purpose: it is the truth of the month, not of a filter.
• Short months say so. When the bills outrun the income, the band turns red and says how short, per month and per year.

The syllabus, on the deadline.

• Dates that carry their paperwork. Tap any important date and attach the notes, the links, the photographed syllabus. FAFSA day holds the FAFSA link.
• Quick notes grow up. A one-line note from a lecture can take a longer version, links, and pictures when it turns out to matter.
• Links that behave. Paste bare addresses and they become tappable chips that open in a new tab, named by the site.
• Badges at a glance. A small mark on each entry shows what it carries: notes, links, files, counted.

Every date. As far as you ask.

• Every dated thing lands. Bills on their due day, terms beginning and ending, trips both ways, policies renewing, medication courses ending, plants due water, things you lent and want back.
• Computed dates too. Vehicle service and home care do not store a date, they earn one from the last time and the interval. The calendar does that arithmetic now.
• An agenda without a wall. It starts at two weeks. One tap adds a month, again and again, as far out as your plans go.
• The overflow is honest. A crowded day says how many more it holds, and the day view names every one.

A board full, in one move.

• Pictures first. A new card opens with the picture gallery ready, before you have typed a word. Add the photo, name it later, or discard and nothing is left behind.
• Add many. Pick a handful of images and each becomes its own card on whichever board you are looking at.
• From Photos, in bulk. Select photos in the Photos system and send them to any board, or to Everything. Each points at the original, nothing is copied.
• Then shape each one. Every card stays individually editable: title, caption, board, the goal it belongs to.

A PIN on just that one.

• Any system, each with its own switch. Hold a tile and turn on Require PIN. Lock Finance, Journal, Vault, Health, Messages, any of the seventy-eight, in any combination, while the rest stay one tap away.
• The same six digits. It is your app PIN, asked again at that door. Nothing new to remember.
• Open for the sitting. Enter it once and the system stays open until the app locks. Locking the app arms every door again.
• Three tries. Then the sheet closes. The lock screen rules still apply underneath.

Two rooms, two arrangements.

• Separate size maps. A tile you make large on the phone stays exactly as it was on the desktop, and the other way round.
• Inheritance until you choose. The phone starts from your desktop layout. The first phone-side resize gives it a board of its own.
• Reset clears both. Board reset returns both devices to the defaults, together.

Claude, ChatGPT, Gemini. Your call.

• Seven one-tap choices. Claude, ChatGPT, Gemini, Grok, DeepSeek and Mistral, each filling the address and a sensible default model, each naming the console your key comes from.
• Or anything compatible. Custom accepts any OpenAI-compatible endpoint: OpenRouter, Groq, a local Ollama or LM Studio, your own gateway.
• Your key, your account. A personal key overrides the shared model for your account only, and lives in your data.

Scenes that breathe.

• Every wall is alive. The silk and landscape scenes flow all day, and now visibly so: bands drift, light moves, the hour of the day colors the sky.
• Your own photos drift too. An uploaded wallpaper takes a steady, glassy sweep, and because it only glides, never rescales, the picture stays exactly as sharp as the day you added it.
• Calm on request. Appearance has a Reduced motion switch, and the device’s own reduced-motion setting is honoured everywhere: one still frame, never a blank wall.

Name it, precisely.

• A wheel of emotions, inside Health. Eight families of feeling. Tap the family it lives in, then the closest word inside it: not “bad” but Overwhelmed, not “fine” but Content.
• Precision is most of the value. A check-in is one tap and one word, with an optional line about what is behind it.
• Thirty days of pattern. Which families keep appearing, and every check-in listed with its moment, deletable one at a time.
• Private by nature. Check-ins carry the same protection as Cycle: never on shared views, never anyone else’s business.
• Doors nearby. A rough stretch reads differently after ten minutes of breathing or a page of writing, so Meditate and Journal sit one tap away.

Ten years out, if that’s the truth.

• Horizons as long as real life. A week, a quarter, a year, three, five, ten, or “life”. Or write your own: “By 35” saves exactly as typed.
• Onto the Vision Board in one move. Every goal has a button that puts it on the board, and every board card that is not tied to a goal can become one, opening the goal editor to take a target and a date.
• The cover comes with it. Sending a goal to the board asks for its picture right there: use one already attached to the goal, upload a fresh one, or skip and add it later.
• The picture and the progress, together. A board card tied to a goal shows that goal’s live progress under the image, which is the half a mood board cannot do.

Everyone, at once.

• Up to six people, voice or video. Start it from any group chat with the same call buttons, and everyone’s phone rings.
• Cameras stay off until turned on. Joining never switches your camera on for you. Turn it on mid-call and everyone sees you; turn it off and the call carries on.
• A tile for each person. Live video when someone sends it, their initials when they don’t, and “muted” on your own tile so you always know.
• People come and go. Join late, leave early, or decline. The call ends itself when the last two part, and it lands in your call history like any other.
• Honest about failure. If two networks cannot reach each other, the tile says so, rather than leaving you talking into silence.

A ring you chose.

• Six built-in patterns. Classic, chime, bell, digital, pulse and birds. Each one distinct enough to tell apart from the next room.
• Or upload your own. Any short sound file becomes an alarm sound under its own name, and joins the list for every alarm from then on.
• Each alarm remembers. The medication alarm can chime while the morning alarm sings, and the editor plays whichever you have selected before you commit.
• Yours to curate. A manage list shows every uploaded sound with its size; delete one and any alarm using it falls back to Classic rather than ringing silent.
• It still knows when to stop. Every sound, uploaded or built in, respects the same ninety-second mercy cap.

A card for each of you.

• More than one card. One for you, one for a child, one for the parent you help. A selector appears the moment there are two.
• Real lists, not one line. Allergies, conditions, daily medications, insurance lines and implants are each their own list: add as many as life requires, remove one without retyping the rest.
• The details that get asked for. Doctor and their phone, preferred hospital, primary language, blood type, organ donor, and who to call.
• Made to leave the phone. Print each card separately: one for the wallet, one for the fridge, because paramedics look in both places.
• Inside Health as well. The whole thing also lives as a tab in the Health system, beside medications and metrics, where this information naturally belongs.

Point the camera at lunch.

• Three ways in. Photograph the plate, scan the barcode, or type the food. Whichever is fastest at the time is the one to use.
• Estimates, and it says so. A photo gives a best guess at the food and its calories, labelled as an estimate, and every number stays editable before you save it.
• Rings, not a lecture. Calories count down from your cap, protein counts up to your floor, and the day is done when the rings say so.
• A month you can read. The calendar marks the days you stayed inside the budget, and the metrics tab keeps the streaks and the averages.

Two doors in.

• The share sheet. Share to miya.life from any app: a link goes to the Reader, a task, a note or the wishlist; a picture to Photos, a receipt to Expenses or a document to the Vault; text straight into capture.
• Your own address. Every account gets a private address. Forward a booking, a receipt, a newsletter or an invitation and it arrives waiting to be filed, with the calendar invitation inside it read for you.
• Nothing silent. Each arrival asks once where it belongs, and remembers nothing you did not choose.
• Shortcuts and tags. Long-press the icon for Capture, Talk or Scan, or write an NFC sticker that opens any of it in a tap.

Money and the rest, in step.

• Bank sync. An optional add-on, per connected bank per month, charged the day you link one. Transactions and balances arrive read only; unlinking cuts it the same day.
• One list. Every account in Money, typed or bank-fed, is an account in Finance too, carrying the live balance.
• Where the money goes. Name an income’s split or a bill’s paid-from after an account and that account shows what arrives and what leaves each month.
• No credentials here. The connection is Plaid’s, the token stays on the server, and nothing can move money.

Not an empty app.

• People. The phone’s own contact picker, or a .vcf from anywhere.
• Tasks. Todoist, or any spreadsheet with a Title column: due dates, notes, status and priority are picked up by name.
• Reading. The bookmarks file every browser exports, straight into the queue.
• Health and notes. Apple Health’s export for weight, steps and sleep; Evernote and Google Keep for notes.
• Money and calendar. A statement as OFX or CSV; an .ics file, or Google both ways.

The door out.

• A key of your own. Off until you switch it on. With it, anything you write can read your records and write new ones, over ordinary HTTP.
• Webhooks. Name an address and it hears the moment a record changes, filtered to the kinds you care about, every call signed so you can prove it came from your account.
• An archive you keep. Everything, as one file, posted on a schedule to a place you own. Give a passphrase and it arrives sealed; only that passphrase opens it.
• Sealed records stay sealed. Anything in the private tier is never handed out by the API.
• One press revokes all of it. A new key kills the old one immediately.

What to take, and what is running out.

• Today’s doses, ticked off as you take them
• Down to a fortnight? It says so, before the pharmacy shuts
• On your emergency card, readable without your PIN
• One of seventy-eight systems, and off until you switch it on.

What to watch, and who said so.

• Films, series and games in one list
• Who recommended it, kept
• Watching, want to, finished
• One of seventy-eight systems, and off until you switch it on.

The work life, not the company.

• Applications, and exactly where each one got to
• Who you met, so the thank-you is not generic
• The evidence you gather all year, kept the week it happens
• One of seventy-eight systems, and off until you switch it on.

A room, not a setting.

• Who. Everyone on your plan and everyone who shares a system with you, with their signal, whether they are sharing their location and how far away they are, and Talk and Directions a tap away.
• The week. The shared calendar, each event marked whose it is; chores grouped by person, yours tickable and theirs read-only.
• The money and the lists. The shopping list with a box that adds to it, and who owes whom, from the same arithmetic Bills keeps.
• Moments. What the people who share with you added in the last fortnight: photos, events, finished tasks, list items, recipes, notes.
• Sharing stays per system. Nothing of yours appears to anyone who has not been granted it; this page only gathers what already crosses.

Scan, and it is done.

• Your card. A QR that shows only what you switch on: your name always, then email, phone, where you are, what you do, and a line of your own.
• For people without the app. The code opens a plain page anyone can read, with a button to save you into their miya.life if they have it.
• Revocable. Renew the code and every copy already out there stops working.
• Scanning. The camera reads a card, a household invite, a link, or any QR; from a photo when the camera is not available.
• Household by code. A plan owner shows a code, the other person scans it signed in, and the seat is theirs. Good for seven days, renewable.

Linked, imported, or typed.

• Bank sync, if you want it. An optional paid add-on: link a bank through Plaid and transactions and balances arrive on their own, read only, charged per connected bank. The token lives on the server, never in the browser, and unlinking cuts it the same day.
• Import what your bank already gives you. Download a statement as OFX or CSV, which most banks offer in a couple of clicks, and bring it in. Imports are matched against what is there, so nothing lands twice.
• Or type as you go. Plenty of people prefer it, and it is the only way that never depends on anyone else.
• Everything still works. Budgets, debts with a payoff date, cash flow and net worth all read from ordinary records you own and can edit.

The accountant moved in.

• The whole app, in the app. Money opens inside miya.life, not as a link that throws you somewhere else. Same login, nothing to sign into twice.
• Or its own tab, when you want the room. One button opens Money full width in its own tab, and another copies the address for a bookmark.
• The two keep talking. Bills, paydays and minimums show up on the calendar, and the money summary rides on the main board.
• Included, not an upsell. Money comes with every plan, on the phone and the laptop alike.

A background that moves.

• Your own clip, behind the whole app. Pick a short video the way you would pick a photograph, and it loops quietly behind your board and every system.
• Silent, always. It never plays sound, and it stops the moment you choose a different background rather than carrying on unseen.
• Still if you want stillness. If your device asks for less motion, you keep the picture you chose, held on a frame instead of moving.
• It lives on your account. Clips go to your own storage alongside your photos, not into the small local cache.

Tiles that carry figures.

• A widget for a system, not just a shortcut. Add one and the tile carries that system’s own numbers: what the bills come to in the next fortnight, cash across your accounts, the next three things on the calendar.
• Read from your records, never invented. A system with nothing in it yet is not offered at all, so no tile sits there showing you a zero for ever.
• Sized to say the right amount. Small keeps the figure, wide and large add the lines underneath.
• Anywhere on the board. Drag one into any family, next to the systems it belongs with.

Arranged the way you read.

• Three ways to lay it out. Fill the screen, scroll sideways as a panorama, or stack the families down the page and read the whole thing top to bottom.
• Four sizes. Step the tiles from tiny to large. Tiny puts far more of your life on one screen; large is easier to hit with a thumb.
• Per device. The phone and the desktop can be set differently, because they are not the same screen.
• Families are yours to arrange. Step back to the groups and rename, recolor, hide or add one without leaving the board.

Every system, in order.

• Forward and back, from inside any system. A quiet rail sits at the edge of the screen and steps you through every system you have turned on, in the order you put them in.
• It never dead-ends. The walk wraps at both ends, so a demonstration keeps going instead of stopping at the letter V.
• Hands on the keyboard. Alt and the arrow keys do the same thing, which is what you want when you are showing somebody rather than tapping about.
• It counts for you. The rail shows where you are, so you know how much is left to show.

Every screen, read at a glance.

• Lists instead of walls. Your books, policies, plants and documents were tiles you had to read one by one. They are indexes now: a line each, in columns that line up down the page.
• Drawn marks, not clip art. Every category carries a mark drawn in the same hand as the rest of the app, with a color of its own, so a medical appointment and a car service are told apart before you read a word.
• The figures share a lane. Money, dates and counts sit in the same place on every row, which is what makes a page of them scannable rather than merely tidy.
• More on the screen. Panels, cards and rows were all tightened, so a system shows what it has instead of asking you to scroll for it.

A period has an end.

• Start and end, both recorded. Mark the day it finishes and the app stops guessing; until then it says plainly that it is still going.
• Fix the dates afterwards. Open any past period and set the real days. Shortening one drops the days that no longer belong to it, so the history matches what happened.
• Undo is there. Ending a period offers to put it back, in case the day was wrong.
• It stays on your device by choice. Cycle is left out of the shared board and the family feed unless you say otherwise.

The days, drafted for you.

• One button, a whole first draft. Miya reads the trip’s name, your notes and the places already on your wishlist, and drafts a day-by-day plan with times and meals.
• Every line is a real stop. Nothing arrives as a wall of text. Each suggestion lands as an ordinary itinerary row you can retime, move to another day, tick off or delete.
• It respects the trip you booked. The draft fits your actual dates, and your wishlist places are woven in rather than ignored.
• A draft, not a decree. It is a starting point you edit into your own trip, and you can always add stops by hand exactly as before.

Shows what you say it shows.

• Every kind of date, your call. Bills, warranties, exams, birthdays, fasts, reviews: each label can be shown, hidden, or given its own color, from a single settings sheet.
• Entries with their real names. The calendar says what the thing is, not just which system it came from.
• People you mean to call. Give a person a cadence and a gentle reach-out date appears when it has been too long, clamped to today once it is overdue.
• Reviews that book themselves. Choose a weekday and a day of the month, and your weekly and monthly reviews put themselves on the calendar with a countdown.

Behind its own code.

• A second code, just for documents. The vault can ask for a six digit code of its own, separate from the app lock, before it shows anything.
• It locks itself again. Leave the tab or put the phone down and the vault is closed on your return. Nobody browses your documents because you left a screen open.
• On when you want it. One toggle inside the vault itself. Off by default, and switching it off again is just as easy.
• Honest about what it is. This is a privacy screen against someone holding your unlocked device, part of the same layered approach as the app lock and two-factor sign in.

It names your best day.

• The shape of your week. Ninety days of your own completions, laid out by weekday, naming the day that carries you and the one that is quietest, so you can plan the light work there on purpose.
• Your habits, ranked honestly. The strongest habit next to the one that needs a smaller version, with the truth attached: a habit under fifty percent is usually sized wrong, not willed wrong.
• Filter everything by system. Tasks, focus, habits, money or health: one tap shows only that system’s panels, in Insights and in the Summary report both.
• Still earned, never invented. Every panel is computed from your own records, and appears only once there is enough to say something true.

See who you’re talking to.

• Camera or not, your choice. Start a call with video, or answer a video call with the camera off and turn it on later. Nobody is ever switched on without meaning to be.
• A self view in the corner. Mirrored, small, and the thing that actually tells you the camera is working before anyone sees you.
• It knows what it is being asked. A ringing video call says so, and offers to answer with or without the camera.
• Falls back rather than fails. No camera, or permission refused, and the call carries on as audio instead of collapsing.

Who’s actually around.

• Four states, told apart by shape. Online, busy, away, offline. Filled, hollow, ringed: not four shades of the same dot, because color alone is no use to a good many people.
• Appear offline, and mean it. Choose it and you are shown as offline to everyone, with no quiet exception for people who look closely.
• It goes stale honestly. A minute and a half without a sign of life and you are shown as offline, rather than green forever because a tab was left open.
• Held in memory, not stored. Where you are right now is not a thing worth keeping on a disk.

For hands covered in flour.

• One step, big enough to read from a step back. A recipe page is for choosing what to make. Cooking is a different posture, so it gets a different screen.
• The ingredients stay with you. Tickable, and already scaled to the number of servings you picked, not left behind on the previous screen.
• The screen stays awake. No more waking a phone with a wet knuckle halfway through. Where a browser will not allow it, the cooking still works.
• Finishing and recording are one gesture. The last step’s button says I made it, and asks how it went while you still remember.

A set at a time.

• It runs while you train. A clock, a row per set, and a tick as you finish each one, rather than trying to remember the whole session afterwards.
• The rest timer starts itself. The moment you tick a set, it counts down and chimes. No third-party timer, no guessing.
• What you lifted last time, on screen. Last time · Aug 5 · 57.5×8, 57.5×7, with your best beside it. You cannot beat a number you cannot see.
• It lands in Health by itself. Finish a session and the exercise log agrees with it, without a second entry by hand.

Never run out again.

• Running out is predictable, so it is predicted. How many are left, how many a day, and the date the bottle empties.
• The schedule counts. Something taken Monday, Wednesday and Friday lasts far longer than a daily one, and the arithmetic knows it.
• Ticking a dose takes one out. Unticking puts it back. Because the commonest reason to untick is that you tapped the wrong row.
• Only if you want it. Leave the count blank and nothing is tracked, which is different from a bottle with nothing in it.

Work that moves right.

• A column for every stage. Prospecting, proposal out, won, lost: read left to right, the way a quarter actually feels.
• Every column carries its own total. Not just how many deals sit in it, but what they are worth.
• Progress is a movement. Marking a proposal sent moves the card across the screen, rather than changing a word in the middle of a line.
• It tells you when it is fiction. Deals past their own close date are flagged, because a pipeline nobody prunes is just a wish list.

Closed when you walk away.

• A six digit PIN, always. Left alone, the app gives way to a clock over your own wallpaper. Coming back asks for the PIN if you set one, and a reload always asks whatever the delay is set to.
• You decide what it shows. It starts out showing nothing but the time. Turn on what is waiting if you want it, or counts only, which says how much without saying what.
• Lock now. A padlock in the top bar, or Ctrl Alt L, for when you are not waiting for the screen to go dark.
• Honest about what it is. This is a privacy screen, not encryption. It stops the person holding your phone. Your account password and two-factor are what actually guard the data.

Four systems, one screen.

• Six arrangements. Two side by side, a big left, three across, a wide top, four quarters, or four columns. Pick the shape and drop a system into each zone.
• Dividers that behave. Drag them and they catch at halves and thirds, so the result is straight without fiddling.
• From the keyboard. Ctrl Alt S for the layouts, Ctrl Alt 1 to 4 to jump between zones, Ctrl Alt W to close one.
• On a phone it becomes tabs. The same systems, one at a time, because four panes on a phone helps nobody.

One pick, and the whole board changes.

• Fourteen, in three families. Through the year: Spring, Summer, Autumn, Winter. Rooms: Ink, The Study, Deep water, Paper, Atelier, Workshop. Places: Harbour, High desert, Alpine, Night market.
• One choice sets six things. Light or dark, the accent pair, the wallpaper, what the tiles are made of, how close they sit, and what goes behind a system.
• The wallpapers are drawn, not downloaded. Broad bands of colour that travel across the frame, made in the browser, so a theme costs nothing to load and never stops moving.
• They can follow the calendar. Switch it on and the four seasons take turns, changing on the day the season turns. There is a setting for the southern hemisphere, because a theme that calls August winter is worse than no theme at all.
• Custom is still yours. Nineteen living scenes or a few seconds of your own video, forty-one tile materials, an icon of your own on any system, and any colour you like. Move one dial and you are back on Custom.
• Keep one, and send it. Save a look you spent an evening on, and share it as a short code anyone can paste. It arrives as one of their looks, applied to nothing until they tap it.

The board, made yours.

• Numbers you glance at. Eighteen of them, live: due today, overdue, bills to pay, habits done, people you have not spoken to. Tap one and you land where the number came from.
• Things you do in one tap. Add a task, write a note, park a thought, start a focus timer, ask Miya, search everything.
• A clock for any city. Search the world, not a short list. A small town is as findable as Paris.
• Your own picture. Upload one or take it from Photos. Tap the tile and it opens full screen.
• Any size, any color. Small, wide, tall or large, twenty eight named colors, and a slider for every other one.
• True colors, if you want them. A picture tile normally wears the board’s tint. One switch shows the photo exactly as it is, full strength, with just a whisper of shade behind the label.

Forgetting is not losing.

• A question you choose. Set when the PIN is set. Capitals and stray spaces do not matter, because nobody remembers exactly how they typed it a year ago.
• Or a recovery code. Twelve characters, shown once, for somewhere that is not the device itself.
• Guessing gets slow. A few free tries, then the wait grows, and it survives a reload so refreshing does not clear it.
• Signing out on its own. Optional, and off unless you ask. Locking holds the app; this ends the session so the password is needed again.

A tour that shows you, not a manual.

• A guided walk that demonstrates. Two hundred and fifty-seven steps across twenty-five chapters, standing on the real screens of all seventy-eight systems. It rings the exact control it is talking about, and the demonstrations happen live: a tile resizes, changes color, a menu opens, and everything is put back exactly as it was.
• Skippable in two sizes. Skip a step, or skip a whole chapter. It remembers where you stopped, and replays any time from the ? in the corner.
• Fifty five answers, searchable. Written as the questions people actually ask, including the awkward ones. A tour cannot answer the one question you arrived with; this can.
• Everything it can do, with where to find it. An index of the lot, each entry naming the screen it lives on.
• It says what it cannot do. Where something is a limit rather than a feature, it says so. Help that only lists good news is the kind people stop believing.

Nothing stands alone.

• Seventy-eight systems that know about each other. A task belongs to a project. A receipt belongs to a car. A gift belongs to a person. That was always true in the data and never visible.
• Now it shows, both ways. Open the project and its tasks are there. Open the car and the fuel and the service are there. Open the person and the gift is there.
• One tap across. Every connection is a button that takes you to the thing itself.
• Nothing to set up. It reads links you were already making by filing things where they belong.

Fast with a full life in it.

• Measured, not assumed. Every screen timed with fifteen thousand records in the account, which is more than most people will have in years.
• Long lists draw a page at a time. Five thousand tasks used to freeze the screen for most of a second. Now it is under a tenth, and flat however much you add.
• The calendar stopped asking twice. It was searching the whole store once per day cell. It reads an index now and opens ten times faster.
• Nothing hidden to get there. Counts are always the real ones, and the button says exactly how much is below.

Nothing fails quietly.

• A failed save used to say nothing. If the browser refused to write, everything typed since the last good save was gone on the next reload and nothing on screen ever mentioned it. That was the worst thing an app like this could do.
• Now it says what happened. In plain words, naming the actual cause, with the one action that helps next to it.
• And it says when it recovers. A warning that never retracts teaches people to ignore warnings.
• Being offline stays ordinary. It is not dressed up as an error, because it is not one. Your changes wait and go up when you are back.

Made for thumbs.

• Everything you tap is big enough. Segmented buttons used to be twenty one pixels tall. Every control in every system now clears the size a thumb actually needs, and only on touch, so a small desktop window keeps its tighter look.
• Quieter text got darker. Subtitles, hints and counts were under the readable contrast standard in both themes. All of them pass now.
• The keyboard stays where it should. Open a panel and focus moves into it, Tab cycles inside rather than wandering off behind, and Escape closes it and puts focus back.
• Icons that say what they are. Every icon-only button carries a name for a screen reader.

Kept on your account.

• They live on your account. Photos, wallpapers and the pictures you attach to things go to your own server, not into the small allowance a browser hands a website.
• The device keeps a light copy. Enough to open instantly and to keep working with no signal, without carrying the full library around.
• Nothing you add pushes anything else out. A new picture never costs you an older one.
• Every device sees the same library. Add a photo on your phone and it is on the laptop, because the account is where it lives.

Every tile. One sheet.

• No families, no group cards. Every system on one sheet, with a sort bar: your order, by name, by family, most used, recently opened.
• Drag it into place. A mouse drags the way the tile view drags; a finger holds a third of a second and lifts the tile.
• Edit sheet. A cross puts a tile away and a strip brings it back; a badge steps each tile through small, wide, tall and large, kept per device.
• The same look. The pills wear the tile material, light in light mode.

Read in ten seconds.

• The front door. Every open after the first lands on Today, and it reads top to bottom in one glance.
• Since you were here. How many things changed, and a sentence built from the receipts the flows and agents write: two renewals made their own reminders, a low pantry item went on the list when you said yes.
• The receipts. One button opens the log of what fired and why.
• Your sections follow. The affirmation and the panels you pin, in your order.

Records, and a page for the doctor.

• Records. A visit, a result, a procedure or a vaccination, with its date, who it was with, what was said, the letter attached.
• Who looks after you. Doctors, dentists and clinics with a phone number.
• Health summary. One printable page: who you are, what you take, what you react to, who to call, the last twelve months.
• Sealed. The records live in the private tier the server cannot read.

An order to learn in. Skills and pay.

• Curricula. Decks and readings you already have, plus steps you type, in the order to take them, ticked off with a bar.
• Skills. Rated one to five with where you want to be and the evidence; a skill below where you want it gets a deck started in Learn, on your yes.
• Pay. Every change with its date, the line, and the percentage since the first; sealed.
• Trips too. A booking that arrives by mail is offered to the itinerary of the trip that covers its day.

Decisions. Energy. Digital life.

• Decisions. The options, what you chose and why, a premortem, a review date, and the outcome when it comes.
• Energy. A level by the hour; the plan asks less of you on a low day and the best hours are named.
• Digital life. Every account with its two-factor and recovery; the Vault reads it, and Legacy lists what to close.
• Seventy-eight systems now. The site inventory and the app agree.

Read aloud. Who did what.

• Speak. Any page read aloud with the voice you already chose for Talk; the speaker sits in every header.
• The audit log. Under Settings, Data: who did what, when, with a timeline and an export.
• Every actor named. A flow writes its name; an agent writes its name; a capture and an import say so.
• Other assistants. One address and your key let an assistant you run elsewhere read and add records; sealed ones stay sealed.

From anywhere.

• The share sheet. A photo, a link, a screenshot or a line of text lands in Capture and is read for what it is.
• Your own address. Forward a booking, a receipt or an invitation; it files itself and asks once where it belongs.
• The shortcut. Long-press the icon for Capture, Today or Tasks.
• One call. A Shortcut or a script posts a record with your key; the paragraph under Integrations shows the call.

What the server cannot read.

• Sixteen kinds. Legacy, the emergency card, medications, dependants, digital life, decisions, facts, sleep, journal pages, medical records, pay, and more.
• A random master key. Wrapped by your passphrase and by a recovery code shown once; change the passphrase and nothing is resealed.
• Out of the assistant by default. Sealed records stay out of the prompt unless you open them for the sitting.
• Gates on every screen. A sealed system asks before it shows.

Your password, plus proof.

• A code, every time. Six digits from any authenticator app, on top of your password. Learning your password is no longer enough.
• Recovery codes. Eight single-use codes, shown once when you switch it on. They are how you get back in if the phone is gone.
• Everything else signs out. Turning two-factor on ends every other session, so an old laptop cannot linger.
• Turning it off is protected too. Disabling it, or making new recovery codes, needs a current code first.

A person, confirmed.

• Confirm, then start. Your 14 free days begin when you confirm your email, not when the form is submitted.
• Throwaway mailboxes are refused. Known temporary-mail domains cannot open an account.
• One free run per person. Deleting an account and signing up again does not hand out a second trial.
• A real address is your way back. It is what recovers the account, so it should be one you read.

A lock on the app itself.

• A passcode on return. Set one under Settings, Security. The app asks once per browser session.
• For shared spaces. A borrowed laptop or an unlocked phone stops being an open filing cabinet.
• Honest about what it is. It is a privacy screen, not encryption. Your password and two-factor are the real guard.

Exportable. Erasable.

• Everything, in one file. One button writes every record to a readable file you keep. No export fee, ever.
• Erase a device. Clear what sits on this device without touching the rest.
• No mining, no ads. We do not read your records, sell them, or train anything on them. There are no third party trackers.
• Yours to leave with. Nothing here is designed to make going somewhere else painful.

Cards never touch our servers.

• Stripe handles the card. Details go straight to them. Nothing about your card is stored here.
• Nothing to steal. A break-in here would find no card numbers, because there are none.
• Cancel by yourself. No phone call, no retention script. Close it from your account page.

Shared only where you say.

• Per system, per person. Grant Bills to one person and Calendar to another. Nothing is shared by default.
• Private stays private. What you have not granted is invisible, including to people on your own plan.
• Take it back any time. Revoking is immediate, and the other person keeps nothing of yours.

The appointment you booked in March

• Twelve kinds, one list. Medical, work, vehicle, government, each with a time and its own notes.
• Repeats are built in. A yearly renewal comes back on its own, forever.
• It reaches you early. Minutes or days before, whichever the thing deserves.

Your cycle, exiled to some other app

• One less account. No separate company, no separate login, no separate privacy policy.
• Private on purpose. Left off the shared home wall deliberately, and never mined or sold.
• Beside the rest of your health. Symptoms, medications and appointments in the same system.

Did I take it this morning?

• Each dose, ticked. Morning and evening are separate, so a half-remembered day is not a guess.
• It stops asking once you have. The nudge exists only while a dose is outstanding.
• Refills before empty. It counts down and tells you while the pharmacy is still open.

The subscriptions you forgot you had

• The burn number. What actually leaves each month, which is usually the surprise.
• Warned, not billed. Renewals surface days ahead, not on the statement.
• Paid writes the transaction. Finance stays honest without a second entry.

It broke a week after the cover ended

• Seventy days of warning. Long enough to actually make the claim.
• Receipts attached. The proof sits on the item, not in an inbox.
• Everything with a clock on it. Appliances, electronics, the boiler, the roof.

The booking is in an email somewhere

• One page per trip. Flights, rooms, cars and plans in the order they happen.
• Documents attached. The confirmation lives on the trip, not in a search box.
• It survives no signal. The plan, the lists and the smaller documents are on the device; the largest attachments stream when you are connected.

Someone needs your details and you cannot speak

• The facts that matter first. Blood type, allergies, conditions, medications, contacts.
• One screen, no digging. It is a card, not a folder.
• Two minutes now. For a moment you hope never comes.

The passport that expired before the trip

• Expiry is watched. Passports, licences, visas and registrations, counted down.
• The six month rule. Plenty of countries want six months left; you will know in time.
• Private by default. Sensitive documents stay yours unless you choose otherwise.

Caring for a parent out of your own memory

• Per system, per person. Share their health and appointments with a sibling, and nothing more.
• Five accounts, one plan. Everyone keeps their own private system underneath.
• Take it back any time. Revoking is immediate and complete.

Nothing knows about anything else

• One home screen. What is due, what is overdue and what is coming, across everything.
• They write to each other. A bill paid becomes a transaction; a pantry gap becomes a shopping item.
• One assistant over all of it. Ask a question and the answer comes from your real records.

Ask it here, about this.

• It knows where you are. The ✨ in a system header snapshots that system’s live records before answering.
• Three ways in. Summarise, ask what needs attention, or ask anything at all.
• The answer can stay. Save it to Notes in one tap, cleaned of formatting.

A briefing, before the day starts.

• Built from your records. Due, overdue and coming, across every system you have on.
• Not a template. It changes because your day changed, not because the date did.
• There when you arrive. Waiting on Home, or pushed to you if you asked for it.

A wrap, and tomorrow staged.

• What actually moved. A short account of the day, in plain words.
• Tomorrow, lined up. What is waiting, so the morning is not a surprise.
• Off unless you want it. Every daily touch is opt-in.

Say it. It files itself.

• Talk anywhere. The mic sits in the assistant and in capture fields.
• It answers aloud. Listening, thinking and speaking are separate states you can see.
• Natural language lands. "Dentist Tuesday 3pm" becomes a dated appointment, not a note.

Your own edition.

• Your sources. You choose them; nothing is chosen for you.
• An edition, not a feed. It ends, which is the point.
• Kept with everything else. What you save from it lands in your own systems.

It writes where you tell it.

• Any answer can become a record. A note, a task, an event, in one tap.
• It asks first. Nothing is filed behind your back.
• Private. Your records are not mined, sold, or used to train anything.

Thirty-seven things a tile can be made of.

• A material, not a color. The family decides the color. This decides how light sits on it, how deep it looks, and whether the wallpaper shows through.
• The range. Glass, liquid glass, frosted, ceramic, silk, satin, metal, copper, marble, stone, sand, wood, velvet, suede, denim, carbon, matte, linen, paper, pearl, opal, quartz, mist, cloud, dusk, aurora, nebula, holographic, bubblegum, sorbet, neon, ink, onyx and more.
• Both themes. Each one is drawn twice. In dark the plate is deep and the highlight does the work; in light the plate is pale and the shadow does. Switching theme changes the character of the board, not just its brightness.
• See-through ones know what they cost. Glass, liquid glass and frosted let the wallpaper through, and drop their blur while a clip is playing behind them, because blurring a moving picture behind seventy-eight tiles is the heaviest thing a screen can be asked to do.

Or give a single tile its own.

• Where it lives. In the tile's own menu, directly under its color. Right click, long press, or the dots.
• Only that tile. Everything else on the board keeps the surface it had. Useful for the one system you want to find without reading.
• Undoing is as easy as choosing. "Same as board" sits first in the list, and puts it straight back.
• It follows the board. Step back to the families and the tile keeps its surface there too.

Every system, in its own color.

• Seven groups. The day, health, money, home, people, what you are learning, and the work if you run one.
• One color each. It carries into the system itself: headings, buttons, even the ring on a field you are typing in.
• Step back. Pinch, or hold Ctrl and scroll, and the board collapses to the groups so you can cross seventy-eight systems in one gesture.

A tile tells you the thing, not a number.

• The item itself. “Dentist, Thursday 3pm” beats “two coming”.
• From your own records. Nothing is invented, and nothing is fetched from anywhere else.
• Your choice of number. Tasks can show open, due today, or overdue. Finance cash, in, or out.

Yours to move, resize and put away.

• Four sizes. A small square, two across, two down, or a square of four.
• Drag anything. A tile within its group, into another group, or a whole group into a new position.
• Put a group away. It leaves the board and keeps working everywhere else. One tap brings it back.

Tiles that are not systems at all.

• Clocks and weather. A clock for any of twenty-six cities, and the weather for any city you name.
• Anything you keep. A countdown, a note, a photo, or a search saved as a question.
• As many as you like. In the Custom band, or dragged into whichever family suits them, kept exactly where you drop them.

A key of your own.

• One letter, one system. Press it anywhere in the app and you are there.
• Or an action. Add a task, start focus, capture a thought, log a glass of water.
• Never while you type. It stays out of the way inside a field, or while search is open.

Rounded, or square.

• Your call. Appearance has both, and the choice reaches every tile at once.
• Custom tiles too. Clocks, weather, notes and photos take the same corners.
• Instant. No reload, no re-doing your board.

Any tile, any color.

• Independent of the family. Finance can be neon while the rest of Finances stays emerald.
• It travels. The color follows into the system itself, its dock icon and its menus.
• Undoable. Like every board change, one tap puts it back.

All seventy-eight. A few on the board.

• You have all of them. Seventy-three are on and usable from the first minute when you keep them all; a new account starts with seven and the rest wake as their data arrives; the five that wait, the four work systems and News, switch on when you choose them.
• A preset only arranges. It puts a handful on the front so you are not facing seventy-eight tiles at once.
• Change your mind freely. The choice is undoable, and you can skip it and arrange your own.

Kept up, not chased.

• Forgiving on purpose. A streak that punishes one bad week just makes quitting sensible.
• Said once. Three days, a week, a month. Then it leaves you alone.
• Real numbers only. “You moved 23 things along this week”, drawn from what you actually did.

The last thing, ticked.

• Tied to something real. Nothing is said unless something actually happened.
• Once each. No repeats, no confetti for opening the app.
• Quiet. A line that appears and goes, not a screen you have to dismiss.

If it has a date, it is in the calendar.

• Thirty kinds of thing. Anything with a date on it from any system turns up on the day.
• Labelled. Each row says what it is, and opens the system it came from.
• Birthdays repeat. Every year, rather than once in 1990.

One history, wherever you logged it.

• Log it anywhere. A session logged in Health shows in Workouts, and the other way round.
• Routines match. Build push, pull and legs once; start them from either screen.
• Counted properly. Sessions, hours, averages, how often a week, and each movement by name.

The ones you open the most.

• A band at the front. Beside Custom, before the groups.
• A shortcut, not a move. The system stays exactly where you keep it as well.
• One tap to set. From the tile’s own menu, on right click or from its control while editing.

Twenty-eight colors, three densities, two themes.

• Colour. Twenty hues, each shown as it will look in dark and in light before you pick it.
• Density and size. Comfortable, cosy or compact, with five text sizes.
• Or none of it. Classic restores the side panel layout exactly as it was.

Type it, and it is done.

• One box. Ctrl K, or simply start typing while you are on the board.
• It runs, not just finds. Pay a bill, add to the list, make a task, start a timer, log a glass, jot a note.
• Undo included. Every command can be taken back from the message that follows it.

One list of what needs you.

• Every system, triaged. The Attention panel reads whatever you use and lines it up, most urgent first: an overdue bill, a late dose, a streak about to break, a trip three days out. Every row is one tap from the screen it came from.
• Next up. The big card picks the single most useful thing to do right now. Press later and it steps aside for this sitting; nothing is rescheduled behind your back.
• How full is today. A small line adds up what today still asks: tasks with their estimates, the meetings ahead, habits left, against how much day remains. It turns red when the asking outgrows the day.
• Systems you skip stay silent. Nothing you do not use is ever mentioned.

The boring part does itself.

• Trips prepare themselves. Add a trip and two tasks appear on their own: book travel a week before, pack the day before.
• Refills land on the list. A medication running low writes one refill onto the Shopping list, once, and not again while the first is still open.
• Only ordinary records. Rules add things you can edit or delete like anything else, and each one switches off in Settings.

Today so far writes itself.

• A quiet receipt. The morning dose, the finished tasks, the meetings that have passed, in the order they happened.
• Counted, not listed. Water, focused minutes and habit ticks sit in one line under it.
• Zero extra typing. It is assembled from what you already logged, so keeping it costs nothing. Off by default; turn it on from Home in one tap.

Doses, ticked off.

• A day view. Every dose due today on its own line, marked taken with a tap.
• A month at a glance. The calendar shows which days were fully covered.
• It follows up. A late dose shows on the front page, and running low puts a refill on the Shopping list by itself.

Your calendar imports in one file.

• The standard file. Schools, teams and other calendars export .ics; Settings, Data imports it whole.
• Repeats survive. Weekly and monthly patterns come across as real repeats, with their end dates. A pattern too unusual to carry imports as its first occurrence, and the app says so before anything is written.
• No doubles. Import the same file twice and duplicates are skipped, counted, and reported.
• Ordinary events. Everything lands as events you can edit or delete like anything else.

One tap from the board.

• The obvious action. Tick the top task, mark the next bill paid, log water, mark shopping got.
• You stay where you are. The board never leaves the screen.
• Always undoable. Nothing here is a one-way door.

When this happens, do that.