This is something I’ve been thinking about a lot lately, and I’ve not really given it a voice except to Berta and maybe a couple of others.
I’ve been writing code for a pretty long time. 25 years now, actually. Sure, a lot of that is not professionally, but I think it’s relevant in that programming has never been a tinkering kind of hobby with me. Programming is not something that I picked up like many people do a musical instrument in their childhood and then forget when they get older.
To give you an idea of what I mean, know that I didn’t go to college to learn programming. I went to school to be a math teacher. And when that didn’t work out, I turned my passion for programming into a career, which has worked out fairly well for me, thank goodness.
And that’s what it is, really, a passion. I don’t have much formal programming training. I never needed it. And that doesn’t really bother me - or does it?
Although I’ve personally built reasonably large software projects used by Fortune 50 companies, I still occasionally feel that twinge of doubt. Am I really capable of this? What really makes me an expert at this? An expert? - Ha!
It feels very strange when people start to trust my word on these things. I suppose that with demonstrated experience you earn that kind of respect. It’s just odd when people who I respect look to me with that kind of respect. I mean, I’m glad - I just wonder what I did to deserve it.
I wonder at what point people who do consulting in any field come to reconcile themselves as experts at what they do, enough that they accept money for their services and feel good about it. It’s not that I feel bad about taking the money, just sometimes… I’ll explain.
I’ve been told before that I don’t charge enough. The explanation for why I should be allowed to charge more is: For my clients to do what I have done for themselves, they would need to somehow acquire all of the training, experience, and natural ability that I have, and then apply it to the problem. Although it might only take me ten minutes to perform a task for them, it could take them days, or it might take less time and not be done as well. So certainly ten minutes of my time is worth some greater fraction of their time’s value to do the same thing.
Still, I wonder if I’m really worth all that.
Some recent personal projects have brought some of my own skills into question for me. It’s not that I have to prove I can do the work - I know I can do it. I think it’s that I need to prove it to people who also know this discipline well. I want them to see me as successful and seek my input and insight. Do I think that I’ve earned that level of trust from them? I have not yet, and I’m trying hard. I hope I will.
I just wanted you to know that sometimes I feel really confident about my abilities. Top notch, top of the world, I’m so great I can do no wrong. But I sometimes have doubt. I feel like a big kid, and when I look in the mirror I don’t really see myself as the accomplished 30-something coder that other people see.
I look in the mirror and remember that kid who didn’t play outside with the other kids, but hacked endlessly on a Timex-Sinclair to get an animated graphic of ET to appear. I don’t see that kid, but he’s still here. He just has bigger projects, and better equipment, and people who apparently rely on his skills. It’s kind of freaky.
It’s a bit like that movie, Searching for Bobby Fischer. He’s so great at chess that losing a game can really throw him. Well, I’m pretty good at programming, but it turns out that my self-perception of that skill is pretty fragile.
I’m not sure what the lesson is here. “It’s ok”? “I’ll overcome it”? Sure. Of course. I guess I just thought it was unusual to have these thoughts, and wanted to make mention of the oddity.
