On the one hand, I want to be a great programmer. I want to be highly skilled and capable in my field, and I want to become a technical go-to person in software. On the other hand, I do not love computers, or programming, or work. They are merely interesting, things that I typically enjoy studying, and activities that I’m relatively happy to spend my time doing provided monetary compensation (in most cases).
I make no apologies for this. I’m a bit of a sell-out in this regard. But I have some larger ideas to share.
For one, I’m fucking tired. In an effort to be “great”, I place the expectation of “greatness” on my shoulders. And I’ve been doing this for the past 12 years. For technology, it’s been the past five. You simply cannot learn everything there is to know about technology. And you probably wouldn’t want to if you could, because you pay for it in blood. Your life is paid for in time. (disclaimer: I stole this phrase from a blog. It seemed relevant).
What makes me proud about my sell-out-ism is that I’ve recently reached a rather personal revelation: you don’t actually have to give a shit about technology outside what someone is willing to pay you for. This is brutal practicality, and will make the stoutest good Christian Protestant Patriot cringe slightly at the thought that good, honest work wouldn’t be done for it’s own God-given Virtue, but fuck you, you don’t know me.
(one should realize when I’m in good spirits and it spills over into my writing)
Yes, it’s true. As a programmer, I actually, to my astonishment all these years later, do not have to give a shit about technology outside of what somebody is willing to pay me to know. Indeed.
Which is why I plan to do something radical: take a break.
It occurs to me, if I can write without offending the world too much, that I don’t actually have to become a great programmer. There are a few orders of importance here, that I should review:
- You must know enough to keep your job.
- You must know enough to get another job.
- You must know enough to keep another job.
- You must be valuable to many other employers into the future.
The truth is that if you can pull #1 off, you don’t actually have to care about the others. Now, that’s not a very resilient system, so I don’t advocate for it, but I can’t tell you how often I’ve been terrified I don’t qualify for #4 when #1 is right in my face.
I am, at last, finally at a job in which I can learn real programming, on the job. It’s nice. In fact, it’s so nice, it should be one of the most relieving things I’ve ever experienced: I no longer have to spend my free time learning, because I get to be paid to do it on a regular basis. Madness!
I had to realize lately that all this minimalism, all this large savings rate, is part of me reaching out desperately for the life I’ve always wanted to live. To let go of the some of the structures I’ve built in my head. A casting off of things, of busyness, of obligations, of clutter, of distraction, to become, to live, to breathe, the life I’ve always wanted. And it doesn’t always succeed, but it seems always to be part of the longing. An expression of it.
I get why people come home and watch TV. Because work can be soul-sucking. But what’s sad is that more than work has been the obligations I’ve placed on myself. To be passionate about a subject. To excel in it. To care more about things that I really don’t care much about.
I want my time back. Rejecting the social norms of how to spend money is my way of telling those obligations, some from the outside, some from within, to fuck off. In my heart of hearts, I don’t care about greatness. I just want to be cool with who I am. If I could pull that off…my life might just be amazing.
What if I never crack the six-figure barrier in salary? It doesn’t matter. I mean, let’s just be brutally honest here: If I’m making good money with my current skills, what’s the worst that happens if I never upgrade those skills but stay employed in software? Global 1%er here, who cares? Naturally, I will improve, because that is a part of who I am, and I will certainly gain experience on the job, too. My point is that I’ve done so much to stress myself out, and none of it was truly necessary. I am king of the Sunk Cost Fallacy. I have always been a learner, yes, but certainly not the sharpest of learners.
You. Pay. For. Your. Life. In. Time.
Let’s hope we’re using our time the way we really want to.