There comes a point in every architect’s life when you realize that designing buildings is somehow easier than rebuilding a website.
I know. It doesn’t make sense.
Give me a 200,000-square-foot medical facility, a stack of code books, twelve consultants with conflicting opinions, and a contractor asking for seventeen RFIs before breakfast. I can work through that.
Ask me to move a website from Joomla to WordPress, and suddenly I’m standing in a digital demolition zone wondering who approved the original plans.
The project started innocently enough.
“We should probably update the website.”
Those simple words have launched countless construction projects, renovations, and, apparently, technological adventures.
The existing Joomla site had served CSINext faithfully for 15 years. Like an older building, it had character. It also had quirks. Lots of quirks.
Some features worked beautifully.
Some features worked occasionally.
Some features worked only during a full moon while facing north and sacrificing a cup of coffee to the technology gods.
Over time, plugins accumulated like additions on an old building. One solved a problem. Another solved the problem created by the first one. A third solved the problem created by the second one. By the end, nobody was entirely sure what half of them did, but everyone agreed that removing any of them would likely trigger an event visible from space.
As an architect, I’m familiar with renovation surprises.
Open a wall and discover a pipe where no pipe should exist.
Remove a ceiling and find structural members that appear to have been installed by someone working entirely from memory.
Websites are no different.
Behind every page is a hidden world of extensions, modules, templates, databases, and settings that seem to have evolved naturally over time like a coral reef.
I did a lot of research as the Joomla site has become more of a challenge from a maintenance standpoint. When you are working with the number one Content Management System (CMS) on the web, it is bound to have growth problems. CSINext is, like all of the CSI chapters, is run by volunteers. I narrowed the next evolution of CSINext, being blog heavy to WordPress. The migration to WordPress was supposed to be straightforward.
That’s when I made my first mistake. Nothing involving technology has ever been “straightforward.” The process felt remarkably similar to renovating an occupied building.
First, you document existing conditions. For this step, I had the entire Joomla database. Who wrote the article, what category and the date it was posted.
Then you discover the existing conditions aren’t actually the existing conditions. Then you spend several hours trying to understand why.
At one point, I was convinced a particular feature or data point had vanished completely.
Three days later I would find it.
It was hidden inside another archive, yes, I do plenty of back ups.
Architecturally speaking, it was the digital equivalent of finding a mechanical room hidden behind a bookshelf.
Then came the hackers.
Apparently, a website on the internet is like an unattended jobsite. Someone is always trying to climb over the fence. Always applying the security patches. Checking data for integrity. For a website to be 15 years old, CSINext never had a data breach. Thankfully we have our Domain host providing extra layers of security.
Every morning became a bit like a construction site walk.
What broke overnight?
What strange thing appeared on the homepage?
Why does a website dedicated to construction specifications suddenly want to sell designer handbags?
I would repair one issue only to discover another lurking around the corner.
Again, very much like construction.
The funny thing is that WordPress and Joomla aren’t really that different from two building systems.
Both can produce excellent results.
Both have passionate supporters.
And both have users who will happily explain why their choice is superior while providing absolutely no assistance in solving your current problem.
As the migration continued, content began moving over.
Thousands of posts.
Articles.
Photos.
Comments.
Years of accumulated history.
Suddenly, the project felt less like a technology upgrade and more like restoring an old building.
The goal wasn’t simply to create something new.
The goal was to preserve what mattered while making it easier for future generations to use.
That’s a challenge architects understand.
We do it all the time.
When a historic building is renovated, nobody notices the hidden infrastructure that makes everything work. Visitors see the finished product.
The same is true with websites.
Nobody sees the database cleanup.
Nobody applauds the plugin updates.
Nobody celebrates the successful migration of 5,000 images.
They simply arrive at a page and expect it to work.
And honestly, that’s exactly how it should be.
Success is often invisible.
After months of troubleshooting, rebuilding, testing, re-testing, and occasionally staring at content that seemed written in an ancient dialect, the new site began taking shape.
Pages loaded faster.
Navigation became simpler.
Features worked consistently.
Most importantly, the website started feeling less like something that needed constant maintenance and more like something people could simply enjoy using.
Of course, no project is ever truly finished.
Architects know that.
Building owners know that.
And website administrators learn it eventually.
The day after completion, someone will request a new feature.
A plugin will need updating.
A browser will change something.
Technology will continue its relentless march forward.
That’s not failure.
That’s life.
Whether we’re designing buildings or rebuilding websites, we’re really doing the same thing.
We’re creating places for people. Some are made of steel and concrete. Some are made of code and databases. Both require planning. Both require patience. And both occasionally make you question your life choices.
Still, there is something satisfying about watching a project come together.
A little frustrating.
A little exhausting.
A little chaotic.
And somehow, in the end, worth every minute.
Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to go update a plugin.
What could possibly go wrong?
…and now for something completely different.
Trypophobia is the fear of closely-packed holes. Or, more specifically, “an aversion to the sight of irregular patterns or clusters of small holes or bumps.” No English muffins for them, then!
