A Eulogy for Vim

Summary

Vim is important to me. I’m using it to write the words you’re reading right now. In fact, almost every word I have ever committed to posterity, through this blog, in my code, all of the docs I’ve written, emails I’ve sent, and more, almost all of it has passed through Vim. My relationship with the software is intimate, almost as if it were an extra limb. I don’t think about what I’m doing when I use it. All of Vim’s modes and keybindings are deeply ingrained in my muscle memory. Using it just feels like my thoughts flowing from my head, into my fingers, into a Vim-shaped extension of my body, and out into the world. The unique and profound nature of my relationship with this software is not lost on me. I didn’t know Bram Moolenaar. We never met, nor exchanged correspondence. But, after I moved to the Netherlands, Bram’s home country, in a strange way I felt a little bit closer to him. He passed away a couple of years after I moved here, and his funeral was held not far from where I lived at the time. When that happened, I experienced an odd kind of mourning. He was still young, and he had affected my own life profoundly. He was a stranger, and I never got to thank him. The people he entrusted Vim to were not strangers, they knew Bram and worked with him often, and he trusted them. It’s not my place to judge their work as disrespectful to his memory, or out of line with what he would have wanted. Even knowing Bram only through Vim, I know he and I disagreed often. However, the most personal thing I know about Bram, and that many people remember about him, was his altruistic commitment to a single cause: providing education and healthcare to Ugandan children in need. So, at the very least, I know that he cared. I won’t speculate on how he would have felt about generative AI, but I can say that GenAI is something I care about. It causes a lot of problems for a lot of people. It drives rising energy prices in poor communities, disrupts wildlife and fresh water supplies...