43. Always Take Only Wrong Turns
I made a major life pivot many years ago. My background was in creative endeavors—writing and leading retreats—but I became fascinated with cryptocurrency. Bitcoin came onto the scene, and then Ethereum. I saw it as the next big thing for humanity and wanted to get involved.
I've always been somewhat technical. Growing up reading Tolkien and playing Dungeons & Dragons, I was no stranger to tomes, technicalities, and rulebooks. The transition from paladins, wizards and dragons to computers wasn't difficult. Although we tend to lump computers in with science fiction, it’s not much of a leap to see them as fantasy-esque devices. Assuming humans designed computers (rather than receiving inspiration from wise aliens, fallen angels, or a backwards-aging Merlin of Silicon Valley), you can see how parts of the human psyche have shaped our interaction with these systems. The same hearts and minds that yearn for spells to heal, empower, and charm have been involved in engineering how these things work.
I made the career transition—dropping everything and, after a phase of disciplined self-study, completing a software engineering bootcamp. I climbed the rungs from beginner stuff to advanced full-stack JavaScript (a wonderful language, never listen to anyone tell you otherwise), and eventually Java and Android development. I landed a job at a large financial services company in a corporate environment, doing middleware API development, developer tooling, and documentation overhauls.
Alas, friends, I didn't stick with this career change. I attended another bootcamp, this time in Ethereum development—the world of blockchain, crypto, and smart contracts. In tandem with this, I was already becoming less enthusiastic about coding nonstop from dawn to dusk.
But really, nonstop coding is not remotely what software engineering really is. It finally dawned on me what people always said: software engineering appeals to those who like to solve problems.
No worries, I thought. I like to build things. Of course, I prefer building with my hands—underground hobbit-style houses, tiny houses on wheels, pottery, and anything in between.
No worries, I thought. I love to write, and that's a kind of building, isn't it? Poetry, after all, is making in the truest sense.
Living in the bowels of financial services middleware, I realized I hated it. I could do it for a couple of hours a day, but I had envisioned it being more like a wizard’s life. I thought working with code was more about creating—and maybe it is if you're very good at it—but I suspect systems have a way of being fiddly no matter how advanced you are. It's a bit like the nefarious way cords tangle themselves; separating them means methodically disentangling each wire. That’s what software engineering felt like to me.
These days, I write. I work freelance for companies I respect in a capacity I love, I work as a writing coach (which is pure inspiration), and I write creatively—revising a science fiction novel that has been near the finish line for months. I'm also pursuing a love of pottery, and I aim to scale it into a professional endeavor in the near future.
So what does all this mean? At various points, I really thought I was X or Y. “I’m a retreat facilitator.” “I’m an off-grid homesteader.” “I’m a developer.” What I'm slowly growing to admit is that all and none of these are true. I have all sorts of things I love to do, and I'm okay with going as deep as I can with each of them as I'm able.
I have a voice that says it's crazy to do X after I've done Y. If I wake up, go to the gun range, and then tell the guys I'm off to spend the rest of my day making pottery, it's kind of funny. It doesn't make any sense. And I don't really care.
This journey has taught me that not only is it OK to have diverse interests and pursuits, for me it’s been essential to pursue things well beyond what would seem reasonable to do. I wholeheartedly endorse that others do the same.
It would be a shame to life a life that made sense, wouldn’t it?