This is a beautiful talk, one that addresses something I’d felt strongly about since I started thinking seriously about my professional life back when I was studying at Temasek Polytechnic.
I remember sitting in the lecture hall, listening to an entrepreneur who had been invited to speak to us business students. During the Q&A, I couldn’t help but ask if his business success had come at the price of family.
I can’t quite recall what he said, but I suspect it had something to do with it not being quite the answer I had hoped: “no”.
It’s been more than a decade on. Having been through two years of National Service, another two overseas at UWA (University of Western Australia), marriage, and five years of relatively productive work, my question remains. Still unanswered.
But this time, the perspective’s a little different. I’m asking it from the inside. I’m living the answer, writing it as I go along. So far so good, but I think I’ve got a little bit more capacity for that weirdness; that abnormification; that passion to burst onto the scene.
So when my child questions why I haven’t lived my dream, I won’t have to say, “because of you.”
The extent of my nerdiness was only realized this after reading the following excerpt from the book “Decisive” by Chip Heath (I find it a really good book, by the way):
In our quest to convince you of the merits of a process, we realize we’ve been facing an uphill battle: It would be hard to find a less inspiring word in the English language than “process.” It’s like trying to get people giddy about an algorithm.
…and vehemently disagreeing with it. Because I’m inspired by process (and systems; and the like), and get giddy playing with algorithms!
Programming and Cooking
I can hardly fathom a more exciting afternoon than one in which after hours of programming, scripting, and coding that seem to be going nowhere, with the swish of a “compile and run” magic is revealed: the completed program; website; or basic scripting routine, coming together and working like a charm.
For non-programmers who are looking and longing for a similar experience, I say look no further than your kitchen. In cooking, a similar joy can be found. Many times I’ve found myself in the kitchen preparing dishes that look nothing like what they started with.
One of my favourite “how can this be that?!” revelations can be found in one of my favourite Chinese dishes called hor fun.
Especially if it’s the first time you’re trying to cook it, almost all the way through to the last couple of steps where you pour in the cornstarch solution and the egg, you’d be questioning if it’s really going to be turn out like you think it should turn out to be (before that, the dish just resembles a really sad attempt at kway teow soup).
I find it a great analog to programming. Where you start off with various ingredients that don’t appear to mix together too well, and where you’re trudging through tough periods based on nothing but faith and the hope that it’s going to work out in the end.
It’s no wonder that many computer and programming books come with titles like “Recipes” and “Cookbook”.
It’s funny how life feels so different; how life can appear so different.
Depending on whether it’s The Public Face; The Private Face; or The Face that Nobody Sees but Ourselves.
This latter face nobody understands. Even those closest to us, who understand us in ways the outside world never would, never would. Only we would understand.
But even then, that’s not always true.
Creating on the iPad… it’s just not the same as creating on the computer.
When on the iPad, I’m far more a consumer. Typing is laboured, and sharing isn’t as easy. If I see an image on Facebook or Linked In, and I want to share that with my Google+ followers, it’s not straightforward at all.
Consumption, though, is far easier. I read a lot on the iPad (it’s essentially replaced my weekly visits to the library); viewing images are a joy (whoever invented pinch-to-zoom should be knighted); and browsing through music on the Spotify app is quite the adventure.
The funny thing is that all this consumption without sharing irks me. Every time I experience something I like, I want to share that with somebody. Everybody. But because of the difficulty, I park it in my mind. I bookmark it. Tell myself, “I’ll share that later,” knowing full well it probably isn’t going to happen.
A look through my iBooks app shows pages upon pages of highlighted material and notes, all of which during the time of highlighting and noting was something I was just dying to share, but which I haven’t.
That’s why I’m bitching about it here, typing this on my MacBook Pro, with my iPad’s Spotify app providing beautiful background music.