When Passion Isn’t Enough: Small Linux Projects, Big Problems

In countless articles, you’ll hear that one of Linux’s biggest selling points is its incredibly diverse ecosystem of distributions. And it’s true—there are hundreds of distros out there, covering just about every tech need you can imagine.

Whether you’re an audio engineer looking for a fine-tuned workstation, a gamer needing optimized performance, a developer running containerized apps across platforms, or managing servers of all kinds, there’s a Linux distro tailored for you.

However, here’s something you don’t often see mentioned: a massive chunk of that variety—approximately 80% or more—comes from a particular corner of the Linux world. I’m referring to these one-man-show projects, or others built and maintained by a small team of developers.

As I’ll explain, while these can be a lovely territory reserved mainly for distro hoppers, they can also be a bit of a gamble—especially if you’re not fully aware of what you’re getting into. In the sections that follow, I’ll break down why diving into this part of the ecosystem can be risky for the average Linux user.

The Hidden Risks of Small Linux Distros

Let’s clear something up right from the start—this article isn’t a dig at small Linux projects. In fact, they’re a big part of what makes Linux so exciting and full of possibilities. The real focus here is on newer users who dive into Linux for the first time, get swept up in all the options, and then later realize that maybe they picked the wrong distro for their needs.

I hope that this article helps folks make a more informed choice upfront—so they can avoid that kind of disappointment down the road.

Here Today, Gone Tomorrow

The biggest issue here is straightforward—when a distribution depends on just a single person or a small group of enthusiasts, it typically fades away (in the best-case scenario) within a few years. Sure, there are exceptions (hats off to Mr. Volkerding), but honestly, those just prove the rule.

Here’s how it usually goes: a passionate Linux enthusiast comes up with what they think is a game-changing idea for a new distro—something they truly believe could be the next big thing in the open-source world. Their excitement is through the roof, and they dive into the project with everything they’ve got.

If things go well, they manage to bring a few like-minded folks on board. After putting in a ton of hard work, the project finally comes together. And then comes the big moment—they announce to the Linux community: there’s a brand-new distro in town.

Everything starts better than expected—it’s exciting, even kind of magical. But sadly, that’s usually when things start to go downhill. A bunch of curious Linux users, especially distro hoppers, jump in to try out the shiny new distro. And, like with any new project, they quickly start encountering issues.

Soon enough, forums and Git repositories begin filling up with bug reports and fix requests. Initially, the developer is still riding the wave of excitement and starts patching things up. But the bugs just keep coming—one after another. What felt like a fun side project yesterday now starts feeling more like a full-time job.

Before long, that initial excitement starts to fade, and burnout creeps in. The developer begins to realize that putting together the initial release was the easiest part of the process.

Meanwhile, real life doesn’t stop—and now they’re spending over 12 hours a day on something unlikely to grow, with no team or other contributors to share the load. So, they hit a breaking point and quietly stepped away from the project.

Sometimes there’s an announcement saying the project’s shutting down—but a lot of the time, there’s not even that. Fast forward a year, and when you try to visit the project’s website, the domain’s just… gone. That’s it. End of story.

There’s another common scenario as well—when a developer gets the idea that no one else has done this before and sets out to create a new distribution with a package manager that tries to unify every existing one into a single, all-in-one solution. And to top it off, it’s immutable and even comes with a built-in AI assistant that can tell you exactly how long to fry your bacon in the morning.

More often than not, these kinds of projects end up being personal playgrounds for developers to sharpen their technical skills. But before long, after gaining some experience and taking a fresh look at what they’ve built, they start to realize that maybe things weren’t done in the best possible way. So, having learned a lot in the process, they shut down the project and announced that they’re moving on to the next “revolutionary” idea.

As you can see, in every one of these cases, the result is the same—the project gets shut down. The reasons behind this are pretty obvious. If a project fails to attract more developers to help share the load, it’s honestly unrealistic to expect that one person—or even a small team—can sustain a Linux distribution for years on end.

Because, well… life happens. Bills don’t stop showing up. Your girlfriend (now your wife) understandably wants you to spend more time getting the nursery ready and actually buying baby stuff, not chasing down a bug reported by someone in the Philippines (no offense—awesome country, by the way). Or maybe it’s something like, “My girlfriend and I are moving to the West Coast, and for the next six months to a year, I won’t have the time to maintain this project.” That’s totally valid, too.

You see what I’m getting at—without a community, a distro doesn’t stand a chance. Hitting that sweet spot where enough volunteers get involved in development? That’s something only a handful of projects have pulled off. And, of course, there are also those backed by companies with paid staff helping out—but that’s another story.

Increased Security Risks

Security is another significant concern when it comes to small projects that rely heavily on the free time of just a handful of developers. One common issue is that these projects often decide, for whatever reason, to reinvent the wheel. For example, they might build their own wrapper around an existing package manager that already works just fine without it.

The problem is that these kinds of custom solutions are usually quite experimental and haven’t been thoroughly tested over time. And if the distro doesn’t attract a wider user base, it’s not unusual for things to go without updates for long stretches. They just sit there in the system. That’s risky, because without regular updates or broader testing, it’s hard to know whether something is truly secure or stable enough to rely on.

A much unpleasant—and riskier—situation occurs when the distro in question is built on top of a major Linux distribution, which is almost always the case. Why? For most small projects, creating an entirely new distribution from scratch—with its own package base, management tools, and all the associated components—is simply not realistic. It’s a massive amount of work that’s usually way beyond what a single developer or a tiny team can handle.

Now imagine this: a new distro pops up, built on Fedora 40. The lead developer is enthusiastic and full of energy. But then—as we talked about earlier—real life kicks in. A year passes, and the developer quietly steps away (understandably so), leaving the project to fade away. Meanwhile, its package repositories are still tied to Fedora 40, which has long since reached end-of-life and is no longer receiving updates.

The danger here is that a new or casual Linux user might stumble across the distro, see a screenshot with a flashy wallpaper, think it looks “cool,” and decide to install it—without realizing what they’re getting into. What they end up with is a system full of outdated packages, completely exposed to dozens of security flaws, which brings us to the next section.

Support? Don’t Bet on It

I’ll keep this one short. Let me put it plainly—even if it might already be obvious. No matter how well-intentioned or passionate the effort is, a Linux distro maintained by just a handful of developers simply can’t offer the same level of support you’d get from a distro backed by a larger team. Important security issues may not get patched as quickly, and custom tools or features will likely take longer to develop and improve.

Plus, if you run into an issue, good luck finding a well-documented fix—because the odds are pretty slim. Like, if you ask, “How do I stop certain packages from updating in Arch?” you’ll find a clear, accurate answer in just a few minutes.

But if you’re wondering, “How do I get Packzilla to do automatic updates on Out-Of-This-World Linux?”—well, that answer might be stuck in limbo forever. Or maybe, just maybe, the one developer behind it stumbles across your post on Reddit… a year and a half later. You get the idea.

And finally, when it comes to documentation, very small projects usually fall short—either there’s none at all, or what’s there just isn’t up to par. The reason is fairly straightforward: good documentation takes a bigger team, with people who are focused on writing and actually know how to do it well. That’s just not something a solo developer or hobbyist, no matter how passionate, can usually pull off on their own.

Ecosystem Compatibility

Let’s talk a bit about compatibility. In most cases, distributions created by a single passionate developer tend to revolve around one specific tool—usually the one that sparked the whole experiment in the first place. The process typically goes like this: take an existing distro, add the new tool, swap out the theme and wallpaper with something from the internet, and call it a brand-new distribution.

The problem? That tool is usually something obscure and unrelated to the well-established, battle-tested ones trusted by the broader Linux community. So, when you choose to run one of these small projects, you’re locking yourself into using that odd thing—one that, as we mentioned earlier, may never actually get the updates or improvements it needs. Before long, you’ll likely run into annoying bugs and hit a wall with its development. Honestly, it’s just not worth the headache—better to save yourself the trouble right from the start.

Years of Data Lost in Seconds

And last but definitely not least, one of the biggest problems with using a distro that’s built around a developer’s experimental passion is the risk of losing your data. There’s a real chance you could end up saying goodbye to years’ worth of important stuff—whether it’s work projects, cherished family videos, or that music collection you’ve been building forever.

An update—or maybe a new option—gets added to the “amazing” custom tool, but it wasn’t properly tested. It’s supposed to do one thing, but something totally different happens instead… and of course, when it all goes sideways, there’s no one around to take the blame. The result: all of your precious data could vanish in a flash. I’m not saying it will happen—but are you ready to take on the extra risk that it might?

Don’t also underestimate the chances of just restarting your computer and suddenly being hit with a bunch of error messages you don’t understand, leaving you unable to boot into your system. And if you don’t have someone tech-savvy nearby who can either fix it or at least help you boot up with a recovery tool and copy your important data to a safe external drive, well… then you’ve got a real problem on your hands.

Now, to be fair, things can go wrong even with proven, well-supported names. However, the chances are way lower. With larger projects, software quality control is usually much more thorough and professional, which significantly minimizes the odds of encountering a major bug that could bring down your system.

Here’s how I’d put it—my advice? Never, and I mean never, rely on a small Linux distro with no solid track record for your main, day-to-day system. Just because it’s the latest “innovative” idea from some developer’s mind doesn’t mean it’s ready for your trust. It’s really not worth the risk.

Conclusion

This conclusion’s going to be a little different (and longer) from my usual ones. Over 20+ years ago, I was in the same boat some of you might be now—totally fascinated by the range of choices the Linux world had to offer. And believe me, back then, the options were a lot more limited than what we have today. I learned a few hard lessons in those early years. And honestly, for the past 15+ years, I can’t recall ever losing any important data—because I made it a rule to stick with names I trust.

Now, that doesn’t mean I have blind faith in even the well-known ones. That’s why I’ve always lived by the 3-2-1 backup rule. But that’s a whole different conversation. As for small Linux projects? I’ve always welcomed them… in my virtual machines. And only when I felt something was truly promising would I even consider installing it on bare metal—but even then, just on a test rig. Depending on them for my daily desktop? That’s something I simply can’t imagine.

You can call me old-fashioned—I won’t argue, you’d be right. And when it comes to servers, I get really old-school. Just because some new distro pops up from developer X and a couple of friends—even if it’s based on a rock-solid RHEL (Alma and Rocky, don’t worry, this doesn’t apply to you—you check all my boxes)—doesn’t mean it’s anywhere near ready to touch my servers.

What’s more, even well-established Linux names (forgive me) often fail to meet my specific requirements, whereas OpenBSD, as a firewall, or FreeBSD (blessed be ZFS) performs better for certain use cases.

Be smart, not impulsive. Just because something new claims to offer a “never-before-seen” experience doesn’t mean you should jump in without thinking it through—especially if it’s coming from an enthusiastic experimenter announcing the emergence of yet another Linux distro.

What matters at the end of the day is keeping your data safe—or your company’s information and services, if you’re doing this professionally. In this field, that’s what truly counts. And that’s just not something you can count on from a one-man-show project or a tiny team.

I understand that this article may not be particularly pleasant for some developers who sincerely pour their sweat, tears, and blood into projects and dreams of creating a Linux distribution that benefits the open source community—and yes, that can happen. So, I have nothing but respect for them. However, that doesn’t exclude something I believe in—prove yourself first, and then you’re more than welcome in my home.

Small projects—especially Linux distributions—definitely have their own kind of charm. They often bring unique features to the table that, for one reason or another, don’t make it into the big-name distros. But because they’re usually pretty experimental, it’s not a great idea to rely on them as your main system.

At least not until they’ve shown they can be trusted—by making predictable moves, building a solid track record, and most importantly, attracting a strong enough community to prove they’re offering something valuable. That said, they’ll probably always have a place in the hearts of distro hoppers—and honestly, that’s a good thing.