You really don’t want to become a programmer.
How do I explain to you that programming is an endeavor of passion?
You look at it and see text on a screen and a good paycheck.
I see problems begging for solutions.
You see tasks to be completed.
I see mountains to be scaled, and wells to be dug.
You think, “I could sit at a desk and poke at a computer all day.”
I forget there is a desk, what day it is,
or that my chair’s been broken since I started here.
You try and do the tasks set before you.
I work binary clay into sculptures,
sometimes bland and functional,
sometimes grand and fanciful,
but always striving, always trying to become.
You don’t want to be a programmer.
You either are one or you aren’t.
No school can teach you to love.
They can only give you skills.
And, what good is knowing how to sculpt
if you don’t find wonder in the David?
You’ll spend your days chiseling at stone.
Clink. clink. clink.
I’ll spend my days striving for beauty.
You’ll go home bored and unfulfilled.
I’ll go home thrilled.
It’s like drugs for us. There’s an adrenaline rush.
We solve it! We did it!
You… you get to move on to the next task.
You don’t want to become a programmer.
We’re born, not made.
It is passion, and skill, and art.
We’re obsessed with the problems.
We love, and hate, the insanity of the bugs
that offer themselves up to us.
“Why does it do that?! That makes no sense!”
we cry with mock outrage, secretly thrilled.
The hunt is on.
You… “You’ve got another problem with your app,
and, oh yeah,
you’ve got 20 minutes before they need to demo it.”