#drchuck

A couple years ago, I decided to re-introduce myself to programming/development. I'd had exposure to front-end web development and design, but I think when I was younger (especially pre-uni) the idea of actually programming intimidated me, like it was something only really smart people did, and even then, you had to be well off (i.e. have had access to computers at home growing up. It didn't help that the resources/community around programming weren't what they are now). Nonetheless, the idea of programming as a creative act - the idea that I could use logic and language to build things - was always appealing to me. However, this interest took a back burner to academic pursuits for a number of years. I dabbled in front-end development again while working in oil and gas (since it was relevant to my job at the time), but only in a limited way (and there wasn't really much programming involved), since I was still in school and (at the time) committed to the academic track.

Fast forward to 2013-ish, when I started dabbling in the field again, after working a couple of contracts and unfulfilling and/or precarious jobs post-university. Due to financial constraints and disability-related reasons, I couldn't see myself going back to the emotional and financial shitshow of university to pursue credentials, no matter how much I genuinely loved the world of "pure" intellectual activity. I remember at the time feeling like the gates to academia had been closed off forever (mostly because I couldn't afford to go back, as the institution had sucked dry the non-trivial amount of money I had earned working in oil and gas) - but I had no idea what to do next. Without university, I didn't know who the hell I was, or what being "successful" looked like, or even if there was anything worth doing that wasn't academia. At the same time, my particular ennui was perfectly in step with that of hordes of millennials, who had done the "right thing" by going to university, and finding themselves on the other side of that experience with a ton of debt, working mundane jobs for which they were horribly overqualified.

Somewhere in the midst of that, I started to write tiny programs. In 2015 I took courses from Dr. Charles Severance's Python for Everybody track on Coursera. It was obvious the prof put a lot of thought into making the course accessible to nonprofessionals without dumbing down the material. I had done a few Codecademy tracks and tried other MOOCs at that point, but something about Dr Chuck's approach resonated with me. I was always somewhat dismayed with the copy-paste style of so many introductory tutorials, but this course eschewed that kind of superficiality, while progressing in a thoughtful way. It advanced quickly enough to keep my interest, and because the earlier lectures, textbook chapters and exercises provided a solid grounding in each topic, I felt prepared to tackle more the complex ideas as they were introduced (some courses introduce too much complexity too quickly (without adequately covering fundamentals), which can get frustrating. Others were too elementary/boring for me, since I had some exposure to the subject). He also steps through all the code examples, so students understand what’s happening line by line - this is extremely helpful as the code gets more complex, and helps students learn to read and think about programs they encounter. This was the first course that really helped me feel grounded in the fundamentals, that introduced me to the problem solving and debugging skills I now use all the time when I write programs. Through these courses, I gained a sense of efficacy and mastery, which fuelled my interest and motivated me to keep going.

But I think what also kept me going was something more fundamental. Like I said, I always appreciated programming in a formal sense, kind of like how a person can appreciate the beauty of math, even if it can sometimes be intimidating. I think the cold, specific syntax, the tractability within the complexity of logical systems - offered a kind of reprieve from the uncertainty of the post-uni world. If the foreseeable future seemed to consist of economic precariousness punctuated by contract work, the IDE was a gateway to a world where there was some kind of meaningful correlation between effort and outcome. If I worked at the problem, eventually the error messages would go away and the program would work. What's more, I could even improve the program, write different programs to solve the same problem, and at the same time deepen my understanding of language constructs and idioms. Line by line, I was solving a (small) problem - but also carefully crafting a solution, putting something into the world that didn't exist before. In some sense, it didn't matter how much things were imploding around me, I could open up a command prompt and explore this complex, yet fascinating world - and because it was inherently logical, learn to understand it, learn to make my way through it. Those little programs helped me rediscover the creative drive, curiosity and sense of efficacy that I thought I'd lost.

And now, two-ish years after writing these programs, I'm working in the industry, programming in a limited way, but still programming. I'm surrounded by incredibly smart people who give zero fucks about credentials, bureaucracy, and hierarchy, and are willing to teach me anything I'm willing to put in the effort to learn. When I worked in creative and academic fields, "do it for the love" was often (but not always) used to justify all kinds of bullshit, poverty wages, and emotional strain. Now I can do what I love, but actually make enough money to live my life. I no longer feel ashamed to have a disability that sometimes makes it hard for me to do things the way everyone else can - I have a surprising amount of leeway to work in my own way, as long as I get things done. For the first time in my life, I'm part of what feels like an actual meritocracy, and not an institution biased around reproducing the privileges of the people who started out ahead.