Autumn update

Autumn is upon us. It's time to pack away the sunwear and prepare for a more productive season. I'm always struck how ready I am to begin working again at the end of a hot summer. There's a certain energy abound in the autumn season that begets sitting in cafes, tap-tap-tapping away at your computer, doing the mental work that got cast aside in the throes of summer.

I've gone through several transformations in the past few months which have informed my perspective in autumn. Chief among these is becoming newly single, foisted into a period of my life where I once again am able to reunite with myself. At times, it's felt like an early midlife crisis. At others, it's felt like a rejuvination. Either way, it's been an incredible period of growth. If you're going through a breakup right now, just keep in mind that often the biggest strides are made when you're at your lowest.

Being single has taught me that no matter my relationship status, I still have to face myself. It's tempting to imagine that a partner can save us, but our problems persist in spite of them. In fact, sometimes being in love can inhibit our growth by distracting us from the difficult work that needs doing.

My career, for the past months, has been on a well-deserved and much needed hiatus. As I wrote back in March, I went on a self-imposed summer vacation in order to see what I could discover and learn during a period of no work. Surprisingly, it's at times been quite difficult to maintain my sanity without needing to be of service to others. The first few weeks were hell; my life had always been arranged around work. With nothing to fill the void, I tended to fill the time with bad habits. After a couple months though, I got into a routine filled with workouts, bike rides, novels, and drawing:

That said, I think, as of today, I'm ready to go back to work. I feel like I've taken the time I need to decompress, redefine some things that needed time and space to redefine, and to explore and experiment with new lifestyles, ideas, cultures, and perspectives. It's funny how, in spite of resenting and renouncing the workaday world so much, I find myself returning to it for a sense of purpose and dignity. I'm not sure I'll ever feel at home in a nine-to-five traditional job, but I think it's imperative to feel needed and to have a purpose outside of myself.

If you or anyone you know needs top-notch Rails or React engineering help, head on over to read about my engineering services and send me a message.

Learning to be alone

For years, I've actively battled my introversion. It has always seemed like I wanted to spend most of my time alone, but I denied this because I thought it would lead me to become antisocial. Extroversion is our culture's default mode, and sometimes it feels like I'm not supposed to want to loaf around doing nothing all by myself.

This past weekend I attended a music festival with my friends. It was three days and two nights of camping in close quarters and time engaging with groups. Within a few hours, I was exhausted. Several times I retreated into the tiny confines of my tent to read and think on my own. For most of the weekend I found myself sitting alone on the sidelines of the festival, not wanting to engage. I thought I was a loser, a recluse, a loner. It was a blow to my ego to think that I couldn't hang in this environment.

On my way home, I stopped at a cafe in Salem for some breakfast. There, I Googled "introversion" on my phone, and stumbled upon the /r/introvert subreddit. I suddenly felt at home! Here's a community of over 100,000 people who feel generally the same way I do about socializing. It's not antisocial to want to spend most of your time alone—it's introverted!

I usually shy away from actively pursuing labels to add to my identity, but "introvert" has become a label flag I'll proudly fly. For my entire adult life I've been trying to fight my tendencies to spend time alone, to have a deep internal life, and to avoid group situations like the plague.

I spent over a year in a relationship with a partner whose personality was so different from mine in this regard. In spite of our best efforts, we just couldn't make it work because I always wanted to spend more time "alone together" than she did. I really took that personally, thinking I was somehow deficient. Now I realize I really do need a partner who wants to make the relationship her #1 priority, like I do.

This week I've noticed a certain tranquility in moments spent alone in cafes reading or writing. Instead of feeling the typical guilt or shame I'd feel when I was alone and everyone else was gabbing away in the background, I realize now that I loathe small-talk and much prefer to have a few meaningful social interactions instead of constantly exhausting my social energy on mundane conversations.

If you're an introvert struggling like I was, I can assure you you're not alone! There are plenty of kind, intelligent, quiet introverts like us who can't wait to sit in cafes with you, headphones on, doing our own things, together.

I got rid of my home office

Today I got rid of my home office. I had a six-foot beheamoth of a desk in my living room with a giant monitor that pierced your soul.

I've spent the past several months quietly deliberating whether or not to pull the plug, and every time it came down to a sense of fear that I'd somehow be lost without it. That a laptop might not be enough. That I'd be a less serious engineer if I worked at the kitchen table.

Now a credenza stands where my desk once stood, its surface covered in plants, candles, a lamp, and a small speaker. Now when I have my morning coffee, I no longer look across the room overwhelmed at all the busyness I'll soon endure. Instead, I sit transfixed on the fractal nature of my spider plant, and realize why I'm here in the first place.

Anticulturalism

There's a lot of talk about multiculturalism these days. Well, I'd like to offer an alternative: Anticulturalism.

Multiculturalism is the idea that we ought to celebrate the cultures of the world and welcome them all into our communities. Anticulturalism is the idea that culture divides us from one another and binds us to arbitrary tradition, and that we'd be better off without it.

Where the culturalist will do as the group does, the anticulturalist will follow their own intuition. They will forge their own path, produce their own traditions, and create their own ideas.

To be an anticulturalist is to reject the idea that we should continue doing things a certain way because that's how we've always done them. It's celebrating diversity not at the level of the group, but at the level of the individual. It is taking responsibility for our own thoughts and actions.

The anticulturalist doesn't waste their time reading the news or following politics because they realize the inadequacy of policy to rectify the world's ills. Instead, their crusade is one of liberating those around them from the cultural chains that bind them, so that they too can become empowered to define the course of their own lives.

Usually in the name of pride, the culturalist blindly follows the norms and traditions handed down to them, even if they do not serve their own interests. While the culturalist talks about fictitious entities like "freedom" and "justice" and "purity", the anticulturalist realizes such abstractions aren't real. To be an anticulturalist is to reject archaic narratives that use abstract language to justify the wielding of power over others.

Culture takes us out of the animal body and reduces us to a matrix of loyalty and compliance through language. By refusing to participate, we become free.

Terrible employee

I'm a terrible employee. You don't want to hire me to work in your office. I'll show up late. I'll leave early. I won't attend meetings. Sometimes I'll take two hours in the middle of the day to go sit in a park or ride my bike. It's not that I'm not doing my job—I'll probably excel at whatever project you give me. No, it's just that I'm a terrible employee.

I love to work. In fact, it's been hard, over the course of the past month of sabbatical, to not compulsively look for gigs. I love the challenge of a new project. I love to sink my teeth into new technologies. I love to know I'm useful to somebody.

But I can't do that at your office. It's nothing personal. You probably built a fantastic company culture. You play ping-pong and have free snacks and give your employees excellent benefits. But it's not for me.

Sometimes I like to spend long, luxurious mornings writing and sipping coffee. I love midday walks, making myself lunch, and the serenity of owning my own time.

I love the creativity that comes in those moments sitting alone in my apartment. Ironically, the most valuable thoughts and ideas tend to come when we're doing the dishes or taking a midday shower. If I work in an office, I wouldn't do either of those things.

"But Teejay, don't you need a salary? You could make $XXX,XXX/year plus excellent health benefits if you took a job in your field!" I could, and I have. I was miserable. I lived to work. I was addicted to my salary and bought things in a misguided attempt to distract from my misery. I drank. It wasn't for me. I'd rather make half a salary per year consulting part-time and loving it than spend 50 weeks per year glued to a desk.

When you're addicted to recurring income, you acclimate to certain luxuries. You buy new things each month. You eat out constantly. You take exotic vacations. You justify all of these things in the name of "deserving it" or "enjoying yourself" or "living a little". But in reality, none of these things have ever brought me contentment. They might bring you contentment—and that's great. But they're not for me.

So, if you're thinking of hiring me to work in your company, don't. I'm a terrible employee.

GTD & The Artist's Way

This week, my partner handed me a copy of The Artist's Way by Julia Cameron. I was a big fan of the book in my early twenties, and in 2013 filled four Moleskines with daily morning pages per the book's recommendations.

As I've been revisiting the book this week, something stuck out to me. The author suggests that, in the process of writing morning pages each morning, we clean the cobwebs out of our mind's attic and are more able to think and create as a result. To me, this idea is strikingly similar to the recommendations of David Allen in his landmark productivity book Getting Things Done.

The central argument of Allen's book is that we're walking around with all these ideas and tasks rattling around in our brains, and that our brains aren't suited to this task. It's better to get all those thoughts and ideas and tasks out into a tool you trust you'll come back to regularly.

Gee, doesn't that sound a lot like morning pages, only with a business productivity bent? What if instead of my todos being a repository only of the things I have to do, they also included all the things I've ever wanted to do as well? Wouldn't it be fun to have a running list of all the things, whether realistic or outlandish, that you've ever thought of doing?

So I made a task list in OmniFocus called "Someday". I started small: Start a personal wiki. Then I got a bit more lavish: Take a trip to San Francisco. Eventually, I dreamed bigger: Renovate an old church to live in. Take a rustic cruise to Alaska. Get a doctorate in computer science.

Wow! I'm not sure I've dreamed that big since I was in college. It's so easy to get caught up in the duties and responsibilities of our day to day life and miss out on the romance of our imagination in the process. By giving myself permission to dream big and let go of my preconceptions of what is "realistic" or "responsible", I'm expanding my horizons and regaining my sense of imagination and creativity.

My hope is that eventually, I'll feel confident enough to promote these imaginings out of my "Someday" list and into my "Current" list. Time will tell.

My analog summer

Last week, I packed up my (virtual) things and waved goodbye to my last bit of consulting work before the summer begins. It's been a very long time since I had a good, long block of time with no real plans. I'm excited at the possibilities for personal enrichment and renewal.

In exploring what it will mean to take a true summer vacation, I've been thinking about how my digital devices often take center-stage in my mind's eye, and how I'd like to spend the summer exploring the tactile and the sensory, out here in the real world.

With that, I've been re-evaluating how I use technology and whether there are ways I can more often cross the digital-analog divide.

As well, I've been re-evaluating my relationship with giant tech companies and seeing whether there are some David alternatives to my current Goliath service providers.

My hope is to re-ignite the magic of computing and creativity I remember from the mid-2000's. There was a certain spirit about that time—one of decentralization, of do-it-yourself hacker activism—that I think has been lost in the age of big tech.

Gave away my Apple Watch

I bought an Apple watch a few months ago because it looked neat and I thought it'd be cool to track my activity. But I found that it only ever served to further distract me from the present moment. I'd receive text messages directly to my wrist, which would distract me from whatever I was doing and provoke me to dig into my bag for my phone to reply. I'd be in my workout class and get a text, only to ruminate over it for the duration of the class and know I soon had to respond.

When my parents came to Portland to visit me last week, I thought I'd send my Dad home with my Apple Watch, since he enjoys the Apple ecosystem more than I do. So far, I've really not noticed that it's gone.

Phone optional

Generally, I've carried my phone everywhere I go, and you probably do too. The expectation that we're always reachable has become part of our social fabric. When did we ever agree that it's not optional to carry a device that enables anyone to reach us at any time?

I've been experimenting with leaving my phone at home most of the time. It has required a bit of extra planning with my family and friends, but so far the results have been generally positive. I feel more present and attentive to the details of the outside world. I have to ask others for directions or the time because I don't have a device in my pocket with all the answers.

When I do bring my phone out into the world, I try to keep cellular data off and make sure it's always in my backpack, so I'm not constantly tempted to check it. I also keep my text message notifications off so I treat texting more like email and don't get distracted. Phone calls still get through, in case someone needs to reach me due to an emergency.

Pen & paper notetaking and todos

Does anyone remember the Hipster PDA? My friend Alex Weber introduced me to the concept during college way back in 2004. The idea is simple: Carry a stack of index cards held together with a binder clip and use that to take notes and log todos.

I've been a die-hard OmniFocus user for years, but it bothers me that I rely upon proprietary software for a basic life function. So far, I'm enjoying the simplicity of carrying note cards, and the versaility of always knowing I have some paper with me for notetaking.

No more paid streaming services

The pursuit of art is half its charm. I have fond memories of feeling victorious when I'd bought a CD I'd been looking for or trading music and movies with friends. Scarcity, while inconvenient, also encourages collaboration and community. By being forced to go out into the world to find new media, I interact with more creative people and get to support them directly.

As well, there's something magical about owning your own media. The fact I cancelled my Spotify account this month and now have nothing to show for it speaks volumes to how these services seek rents from users for limited access. When you buy DRM-free files directly from the artist, you both support the artist directly and get access to their work forever.

I'm excited to continue to question the way I use technology and hope my journey inspires you to do the same!

Summer vacation

This year, the stars have aligned to give me the opportunity of a lifetime: I'm taking a summer vacation.

After five years of persistent saving, planning, building and dreaming, I'm in a position where I'm able to take the months of May through August away from client work to indulge in personal pursuits.

My plan has a few key objectives.

I want to learn to become comfortable with boredom and uncertainty. By making myself unavailable for client work for a period of a few months, I think I'll be able to sink my teeth into some sweet, sweet boredom. I'll wake up and my day will be unstructured. I'll have to define my own objectives. I'll be free to write, to read, to sit and stare out the window.

I'm excited to practice reducing my day-to-day expenses. With the luxury of full, empty days, it's unlikely I'll have the knee-jerk idea to just go out to eat instead. Not constantly serving clients, I'll be armed with the decision-making capacity to become an even more effective home economist.

I want to enjoy Oregon's lush and diverse landscapes. So often during the summers have I wanted to venture out to explore Sauvie Island or take a day trip to the coast, only to be pulled back into client work and unable to enjoy its majesty. This summer, I want to give myself permission to explore unencumbered.

And as well, I'm eager to push the big reset button on my life and business. I've engaged in flurries of writing about and promoting my business, but making it a full-time job for a few months ought to bring about some massive changes and allow me to see things more clearly than when in the day-to-day cycle of client work.

School's almost out. Time to play!

Do it slowly

In the pursuit of having what we want now, we often set ourselves up for never having it at all.

Risking your entire savings to start a company wrecklessly means you've compromised your security in the pursuit of rapid growth, instead of growing slowly while maintaining other sources of income.

Buying a Mercedes on credit (or worse, leasing it) will get you the car you want now, but your future self might not be able to afford the payments. Buying a lightly used Mercedes with cash from the person who bought theirs new on credit, only when you can afford to do so and maintain your financial independence, will mean you can drive a Mercedes forever.

Trying to deadlift 400lbs when you haven't set foot in a gym in a decade means you're likely to wind up doing irreversible damage to your body. If instead you work with a trainer to learn how to deadlift 90lbs safely, and over the course of several months, you'll eventually get the strength you desire.

Marrying the person you just met online six months ago might get you a spouse now, but you're less likely to have built a foundation of trust. You're more likely to divorce, or worse, spend your life with someone whose company you dislike.

The true reward of living is in the process—not the outcome. The gratification from having exerted effort to achieve life's rewards is far greater than the rewards themselves.

A chicken with its head cut off

On my path toward financial independence, I notice my financial awareness comes and goes in waves.

At one extreme, I'm devoted to my frugal lifestyle. I cook at home. I only go to cafes for $4 coffee when I'm meeting friends. I invite friends over for dinner. My partner and I cook. I take inventory of my things and use what I have.

But then, there's the other extreme. I call it the chicken with its head cut off extreme. I mindlessly buy $4 coffee after $4 coffee while I work, distracted by the tiresome surroundings of a crowded cafe. I go out to lunch at restaurants whose food is great, but which has worn on me as I've eaten there so many times. I buy clothes not out of necessity or comfort, but to evoke a sense of fashion. I buy gadgets to fill a void in my heart that could have just as easily been filled by a ten-minute meditation.

In the FIRE community, there's rightful enthusiasm for the position of f*ck you. But at the mindless, consumption-oriented end of the spectrum of financial acumen lies a different position: the position of f*ck it. The proverbial chicken with its head cut off.

In striving for financial independence, we tell ourselves we're on a path toward "freedom." But the very notion of freedom is meaningless if not properly defined. After all, the position of f*ck it, the position of a chicken with its head cut off—that sounds awfully free. It's doing whatever you want whenever you want to. And fundamental financial independence ideal—the idea that you'll be hyper-frugal and save today for a better tomorrow—sounds like the opposite of freedom.

So maybe "freedom" isn't the right word. Maybe what we're striving for is autonomy. The sense that we're in control of our lives, as much as we can be. That we're free to say no. That we control our time, even if that means we relinquish the convenience of meals out and the perceived prestige of fancy cars.

Would you say a chicken with its head cut off is autonomous? I don't think so.