What I Did and Didn't Do
There is a piece of software out there called "Pidgin," once called "Gaim." It is an almost all-purpose Internet chat client, which allows users to log into many different instant message services at the same time. I use it to connect to AOL Instant Messenger, MSN Messenger, and Gtalk. Though I used to IM pretty heavily on my personal time in the past, it has more recently been relegated to work purposes. Specifically, myself, or somebody who works with me, doesn't want to get up in order to speak to someone. Instead, we IM them our question, and usually get a pretty quick response. This is especially useful for exchanging bits of code, URLs, and any number of the thousands of non-sensitive bits of information computer folks must keep at close hand in order to be functional. I say, "non-sensitive," as, though we use it for largely professional purposes, this class of software is pretty explicitly forbidden by our computer usage policy. Happily, our system administrators turn a blind eye to this in light of the usefulness of the tool (in the hopes that we truly are using it for professional purposes).
Now, to further establish, it's the darkest time of year in Anchorage. I, and a few hundred thousand other employed residents of this beautiful state, go to work in the dark, and return home in the dark. We see, potentially, a few hours worth of daylight, mostly within the moments we're outside for, say, lunch, or any other daylight excursions. I, myself, rarely take lunches, instead normally having to work through lunch to finish one thing or another, or to take panicked calls from east-coasters whose close-of-business deadlines grow ever-nigh just as my lunch hour starts. Comes with the job description, I suppose. I go out for lunches so rarely, in fact, that I have a large box of oatmeal prominently displayed on my desk (via Costco), so that I can keep my blood sugar high enough to produce, proofread, and correct thousands of lines of code in languages that very small percentages of people understand.
Additionally, I eat a good deal in the course of a day (and some of it healthy). In the morning, I eat a bowl of Oat and Raisin cereal (with banana slices), a serving of Yoplait yogurt (either the oft-bemoaned Harvest Peach, or generic Strawberry), a glass of Odwalla Superfood, and two Gummy-vites (I am twenty two years old). Normally, I look forward to breakfast (being probably my most wholesome meal of the day). I probably enjoy most the Superfood. I probably enjoy least the Harvest Peach yogurt. Today, I had the last Harvest Peach of the pack I bought. This is usually a joyous occasion, despite my not much liking this flavor of yogurt. It means, well, smooth sailing from here on out. No longer do I have to suffer the Harvest Peach (note that these are the thoughts of a very groggy twenty-two year old, and are thus fall under default "good vs. evil" problem-solving-mode). I am groggy due to the fact that I woke up at four, damn near fearing for my life due to something I had dreamt. I had, apparently, immediately decided it was not worth remembering, as not only did I immediately forget it, but immediately tried to get back to sleep. Which I did not. And, while eating my breakfast, the adrenaline chill remains.
I started going to the gym back in October. This was after I had tried doing pushups/situps on my own for about a month either after waking up in the morning or before going to bed at night. I found that this wasn't working at all, as I wasn't getting any cardiovascular activity. I started out well, as you can imagine, working 15 minutes on machines, 20 minutes on the treadmill, 20 minutes on a bike. I went about every other day, until I didn't. I went about every two days, until I didn't. Now I cannot necessarily predict when I go. However, when I do, it is both an alleviation of guilt (as I'm finally getting my money's worth out of my overpriced membership) as well as an exercise in guilt/rebellion, as I refuse to fill out the sign-up sheets for the treadmills, bikes, or ellipticals, which I pay too much for, and thus warrant the flustered/judgmental looks from those who have as well, but staked claim for their (maximum) half-hour segments.
A few weeks ago, about five minutes into a twenty minute run:
Older Lady: "Sir, did you sign up for this machine?"
Josh: (Takes off headphones) "Excuse me?"
Older Lady: "I said: did you sign up for this machine?"
Josh: "No, I'm afraid that I didn't."
Older Lady: "What?"
Josh: "No, I did not sign up for this machine."
Older Lady: "Oh, ok. Well, we'll try this one out. If it's broken, we'll have to trade."
I keep on running at 5.5mph with 1.5% grade. She powerwalks. I normally avoid conflict. Not only for obvious reasons, but also that I relive the conflict, over and over in my mind, until I have exhausted all possible outcomes. It is a very inefficient use of my time. I could have been thinking about places to travel, projects to start, languages to learn, etc. Instead, for the remaining fifteen minutes of my run, and for days ensuing, the Older Lady and I had lengthy conversations about how the list was an empty construct, serving no purpose in the event that even one person does not pay it heed, and thus should not be considered a viable solution to the problem of my gym overselling their equipment. That said, if the reader has ever come into conflict with me, and even if I managed to hide somehow hide it, the reader should know that I dwelt on that conflict in much the same way. I think the term is hyperfocus. Or being soft-skinned. I'll just call it a flaw.
And another: pride in one's work. Of which I am terribly guilty. An article I read a while ago listed ways on how to spot a "good programmer" when trying to hire one. One such way was to determine whether programming was a passion of the interviewee's, or whether it was just their profession. I am pretty confident that I am a "good programmer." Whether that is true, by the article's consideration, or by my own determination, is less important, in this case, than the fact that I believe that I am. This belief, thus, is what secures what pride I have in my work, and drives me to not only make myself better, but also to realize when my work has become suboptimal.
It was my understanding when I graduated college that my (believed) proficiency in my field could solve a lot of problems. I viewed myself as a sort of universal tool to be applied in my industry. I even privately remarked at one point that my skills were marketable anywhere in the United States, perhaps the world. I am glad, now, that my hubris has been worn down some, even through in some places, leaving things raw and exposed in the light of the problems I couldn't overcome.
I have learned now that software engineering, as a career, has very little to do with Computer Science, from an academic standpoint, nor programming, from a technical standpoint. It is, instead, solving conflicts between people. I did take a class specifically for "software engineering," which I did not enjoy immensely for unimportant reasons, but they did tell us this, flat out. My data structures and algorithms professor told us this as well, followed by his sincere hope that we did not become software engineers, as he believed we could do much better. I remember smiling at the humor of the statement. And now, eight months into my software engineering career, I realize that no amount of technical prowess can survive mismanagement. I won't go into how or why. I can only state what I believe, and argue my point.
And thus, due to a fault of my own, I take pride in my work. And less so when I am unable to do my job to the best of my ability. This becomes a daily conflict. I dwell. I can focus only on my inabilities, thus undermining my confidence as a programmer, thus my self-confidence, and my emotional well-being. Folks starting asking me if I'm OK at work. If something is wrong. If there's anything I'd like to talk to them about. Last time this happened, I was depressed for a few months winter of junior year in high school.
I tell them my project is failing. They tell me my project is suffering.
It is dark outside. I haven't slept much. My thoughts are reduced to good vs. evil, binary style problem solving. I'm conflicted, out of shape, possibly depressed. I wish biking wasn't such a temptation of fate during the winters here. Otherwise, I'd still be going up and down the hillside, looking like a fool and all the happier for it instead of trading passive aggressive conversation with Older Ladies. I wouldn't feel the world was small and dark and angry and crowded and cold.
I have a thing about words. You may have noticed. I have a big thing about words. I try to choose my words carefully. As I imagine other people do. Failure evokes inability, shortfall, surrender, defeat. In the computer world, it usually implies that something has irreparably broken, stopped, and must be restarted or replaced to resume functionality. Used commonly in phrases like, "Failure to accomplish a goal," "Fail to meet requirements," "Failing miserably." Suffering evokes pain, strife, agony, potentially for a prolonged period of time. One can suffer from a condition, a disease, or alternatively, be a synonym for "undergo" or "be subjected to."
I told them they had an interesting choice of words. There are two implications to "failing" and "suffering" that are important here. First: to fail, one must first try to do something; to suffer, one doesn't have to do anything. Second: failure implies a cessation of trial, suffering implies no such thing.
If my project is suffering, it is being made to suffer. I do not wish to suffer. I do not wish to be made to suffer. I wish to do good work, and to take pride in my works. I wish to develop a good product from which many people can extract benefit. And this is why, at the end of my day, I sat for a while before closing down Pidgin (usually the last program I stop before going home), staring at its "Quit" icon, which is a red arrow pointing out a doorway leading to the black unknown, wondering how I'm going to tell my bosses that I no longer wish to be employed there.
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