I recently began studying tàijíquán (“tai chi”), the Chinese martial art.
Many years ago I spent a year or two pursuing shōtōkan karate. Shōtōkan, by most standards, is a “hard” martial art: it opposes force with force, using low, stable stances to deliver direct strikes.
Tàijíquán is an internal art, mixing hard with soft. To most observers (and most practitioners!) it’s entirely a soft, slow-moving exercise form. To quote Wikipedia:
The ability to use t’ai chi ch’uan as a form of self-defense in combat is the test of a student’s understanding of the art. T’ai chi ch’uan is the study of appropriate change in response to outside forces, the study of yielding and “sticking” to an incoming attack rather than attempting to meet it with opposing force. The use of t’ai chi ch’uan as a martial art is quite challenging and requires a great deal of training.
(Other martial arts are soft, but more immediately applicable: jujutsu, judo, and wing chun, for example.)
I see some parallels between the hard/soft characterization of martial arts and the ‘lifecycle’, if you will, of software engineers.
You might find it hard to believe (HTML needs a sarcasm tag, no?), but I was once a young, arrogant developer. I’d been hired at a startup in the US on the strength of a phone call, I was good at what I did, and there was an endless list of problems to solve. I like solving problems, and I liked that I could impress by doing so. And so I did.
I routinely worked 14-hour days. I’d get up at 7, shower, and head to the office. After work I’d go out for dinner with coworkers, then work until bed. I had no real hobbies apart from drinking with my coworkers, so my time was spent writing code. It’s so easy to solve problems when you can solve them yourself.
Eventually, after one too many solo victories over seemingly impossible deadlines, I was burned out.
Hard martial arts are very tempting, particularly to the young and able-bodied: they yield direct results. The better you get, the harder and faster you hit.
The problem with hard martial arts is that the world keeps making newer, tougher opponents, while time and each engagement are conspiring to strip away your own vigor. It takes a toll on your knees, your shoulders. Bruises take longer and longer to go away.
The software industry is like this, too. It will happily take as much time as you give it. Beating that last hard problem by burning a weekend will only win you a pat on the back and a new, bigger task to accomplish. Meanwhile your shoulders hunch, RSI kicks in, your vision worsens. You take your first week off work because the painkillers aren’t enough to let you type any more. You find out what an EKG is, what a sit-stand desk is, what physical therapy is like.
And while it looks like you’re winning — after all, you’re producing software that works — you’re accruing costs, too. You’re spending your future. Not only are you personally losing your motivation, your vitality, and a large part of your self, but you’re also building more software. Either you have to own it, or nobody really does. Maybe someone else should. Maybe it shouldn’t have been built at all. You think you’re winning, but you won’t know until later. And all along, your aggressive approach to building a solution alienates those around you.
A soft martial art tries to use your opponent’s strength and momentum against them. It yields and redirects. Ultimately, it asks whether you need to engage at all.
Hard martial arts eventually force you to confront your own fragility: “I can’t keep doing this”. So does software development, if you’re paying attention. You need to learn to ask the right questions, to draw on the rest of your team, to invest your time in learning and tools, in communication, and above all to invest in other people.
As the quote above suggests, this takes practice. But it works out best in the long run.