The Freemans settled Alabama before it was a state. And I’m extremely proud of my Southern heritage. Like most Southerners, I make a lot of buttermilk biscuits. I don’t want to brag, but they’re delicious.


2 cups All purpose flour

1/4 tsp Baking Soda

1 Tbsp Baking Powder

1 tsp Salt

6 Tbsp Butter

1 cup Buttermilk

Preparation Steps

1. Preheat oven to 450 degrees.

2. Combine dry ingredients into food processor.

3. Place butter in cubes in freezer to keep very cold until use.

4. Cut butter into flour until it resembles coarse meal.

5. Add buttermilk until just combined. It should be very wet. Add more buttermilk if necessary.

6. Turn dough out onto floured board.

7. Do not knead or roll. Gently pat the dough until it's 1/2" thick.

8. Fold dough 5 times and pat out until 1" thick.

9. Use round cutter to cut biscuits.

10. Place on cookie sheet next to each other.

11. Bake for 10-12 minutes until golden brown.

12. For freezing, place uncooked biscuits on cookie sheet in the freezer. Good for up to a month. To serve, heat in the oven at 450 degrees for ~20 minutes.

Growth in Fear

I didn't grow up with much. I never went hungry — my wholly unscientific litmus test of poverty — but financial security is not something I've ever experienced.

There's this moment in my memory where the scene means much less than the emotional impact. One thing I've learned is that our brains lie to us — morph memories. I was probably 14 or 15. I stood in the home of my friend, Amy. Her father was a Navy officer and tough on her. I stood in the kitchen with Amy, our friend Jill, Amy's mother and Jill's father.

 We apparently couldn’t afford a hairbrush. (Laugh! This is heavy.)

We apparently couldn’t afford a hairbrush. (Laugh! This is heavy.)

I don't know what preceded the moment and I don't actually know how it played out. Sometimes, when something awful is happening, my senses dull themselves. It's as if I don't hear everything and don't see everything. Maybe our brains lie to us to protect us.

Jill's father said something. I wish I could relay the words to you now. But the implication was clear. Because I was poor, I was nothing.

I had known I was poor for many years prior to that. Children are much more adept than we give them credit. And it's hard to describe the shame you feel when you don't have money.

Especially for children, I think, because there's nothing you can really do. You're a victim of your parents' misfortune. And there's a conflict in your mind. You love them. But is it their fault you're poor?

I can't answer that question, but I can tell you this. That moment, in Amy's kitchen. The look of horror on Amy's mother's face. The feeling of my heart plummeting into my stomach. The realization that I was less than. That moment will stay with me forever.

The truth is I had a lot more than most. While we came close to homelessness, family loans kept a roof over our head. While we bankrupted, my father was able to find a job. While the car we drove was old and didn't have heat and shook like a cheap motel bed, we had a car. While food was limited, we didn't go hungry.

Anyone who's grown up without financial security knows what an impact it has on you. It's like a brand, forever imprinted on your soul. It's a hard thing to shake. Even if you have money later in life. Because the fear, the knowledge of what life is like in that situation sits on your shoulder, quietly reminding you how close we all are to the streets. Simply buying groceries without adding up the total before you get to the register is a privilege.


I think we all assume things we shouldn't. (Myself included. I'm no less guilty of this than anyone else.) We attempt to compare experiences — which is impossible. How do you compare hardship and pain? There's no universal measure. And this is not the oppression olympics.

I think we all owe each other a lot more grace than we give. And yet tech is small. There is gossip and cliques. How do we balance the human need to be heard and understood with our deep desire to fortify the lines between our tribes?

A Culture of Vulnerability

I've been thinking about this for some time. If you've been paying attention, you'll have noticed some of this has seeped into various talks I've given. I think if we're going to build a culture of acceptance and safety and trust, we have to build a culture of vulnerability. A safe environment where we don't have to be anything but our best selves.

And your best self varies greatly day-to-day, right? Some days my best self is more or less a titan of impossible feats. Other days I can barely manage to check email. We are not the machines we work on. We are human and broken and flawed and yet... beautiful.

I think trust is a lot like that bridge in Indiana Jones. Only the penitent man shall pass. You have to show vulnerability to receive it.

When I first mentioned this idea to James Turnbull, he offered wise counsel. How could people be comfortable sharing without recrimination? And how do you build that culture? He commented that the person first showing the vulnerability takes a huge personal and professional risk.

The Hard Truth

James is right. I wish he wasn't. But he is.

How many of us suffer from anxiety or depression and hide it? How many of us have been at the bottom of a Twitter dogpile? How many of us are scared to be our whole selves because it doesn't fit some standard prescribed by society or our small world of tech?

I guess what I've realized is that if I want this culture of vulnerability, I have to go first. And this is my attempt to be vulnerable with you. To share the parts of my story that have been obfuscated by different narratives.

Why I'm in Tech

I get this question a lot, because I have an odd background. I did not play video games in utero. I did not build a server farm from my parents' garage at 8. I did not teach myself Fortran at 15. And my story doesn't take away from those of you whose stories are classically associated with computer science. None of our stories are better or worse than the next. It's additive. Life, in many ways, is a write-only database.

I wanted one thing as a child, and that was to be president of these United States. I know, I was a simple girl with small dreams.

 My mother took this photo in the Museum of Natural History for the Washington Post.

My mother took this photo in the Museum of Natural History for the Washington Post.

 My hero and me.

My hero and me.

Growing up in DC infects you with a passion for politics and a deep belief in the steady effectiveness of bureaucracy. I've loved politics for as long as I've been breathing and had zero intention of doing anything with computers other than play the occasional game and chat with friends on AIM.


I've always been ambitious, but I worked hard in college because I had no choice. There was no money. I took out loans. I worked multiple jobs (thank you Old Navy and UCF). I did as much as I could to position myself to succeed. But, as anyone with a humanities degree will tell you, life isn't friendly to those of us who love history and words and people.

I met my (now ex-) husband at school. We were RAs in the same community. I hadn't dated much as a teenager but I always said I would marry the smartest man I met. And I did just that. He was brilliant and funny. I fell in love.

Dowdle_B-0219 copy.jpg
Dowdle_A-0143 copy.jpg

Job Hunting In The Recession

I graduated school straight into the recession, and — much to my dismay — no one gave a shit I wrote a thesis on Iran's nuclear program.

Luckily, I had taken a bunch of unpaid internships (I was busy) and had earned the trust of several influential people in Orlando. I did what I've always done, I pounded the pavement. I needed a job and surely someone needed me.

I landed a temporary gig at a PR agency. My boss could only be described a sociopath who, as a middle-aged man, lied about his ownership of the company and only hired 20-something pretty girls straight out of college. Our office had to be on the 9th floor because it was one floor higher than the competition. We couldn't bring Pepsi into the office because he only supported Coke. The man was a nutjob. I resigned from that position a week before the entire office was laid off.

My next job was only slightly better. I worked in PR and community relations for one of the largest hospitals in the country. I struggled to balance my young and naive desire to move fast with the slow churnings of a large organization. I loved my colleagues but struggled to connect with my boss. It was my second job in a row I'd had conflict with my supervisor and I began to think I was the problem. (In some ways I was. I had a lot to learn. Still do.)

When my ex-husband was offered a job in my hometown of DC, I was eager to move home. I'll never forget my last day at the hospital. The vice president came out to the elevator and asked if I was becoming a "kept woman." Bet none of you boys have been asked that.

My Time As A Housewife

We moved to DC. Into a beautiful apartment next to Key Bridge. My ex was an engineer and I could take a break from working. And then I languished.

I felt like a failure. I was clever, I had worked hard and yet there I was again — worth nothing.

I'm a big believer that people need work. Without it, we struggle to find purpose and fall into a lull of unchallenged existence. I struggled. I found work here and there as a fundraiser for small nonprofits. But I was unhappy. I was searching for a joy I couldn't find.

I tried several times to start a business with my family. That, like any entrepreneur will tell you, failed. I took art lessons. I searched for alternative careers. And I watched too much TV. I had become a kept woman after all.

Editing Emily

And then one day I received an email. A mutual friend from my PR days had recommended me to edit a self-published book for publication on Amazon. I said yes. I was trying to pay off my student loans and could use the extra money.

I undercharged and did a fairly terrible job. I'm lucky she paid me at all. But I enjoyed it. It was relatively simple work and it gave me freedom. I didn't have to show up in an office. I just did the work. And I knew I could improve.

So I kept doing it. I found more clients who had written a book, wanted to self-publish and needed help. I researched grammar. I learned how to format books for Amazon. I figured out more about the process of self-publishing. I started blogging for authors. Then a few entrepreneurs wanted me to blog for them. I liked that even more than editing — often terrible — books. (Ask me about alien smut.)


And suddenly I had a tiny business: Editing Emily. For three years I ghost wrote blogs for professional organizers, etiquette experts and tech entrepreneurs. It was an interesting client list and I learned a lot of semi-useless information — which, if you know me, comes at no surprise.

Slowly, with tons of practice, I grew into a good writer. And then a great one.

Editing Emily wasn’t anything special. I didn’t make millions and I didn’t write for big name celebrities. But I had built something out of nothing and, for that, I was proud.

My Daughter

 I think this is the only photo of me pregnant on the internet. Enjoy.

I think this is the only photo of me pregnant on the internet. Enjoy.

 My midwife, Jo, weighing my daughter.

My midwife, Jo, weighing my daughter.

In Spring 2014, I "felt" pregnant. My ex didn't believe me. But my body felt different. I took a test — and (not) surprise! — I was pregnant. The pregnancy was relatively easy and I had a quick home birth (about which I could talk for at least an hour so be careful I don't corner you if you ask).

Giving birth was the first time I felt truly powerful. My body felt less like something to be criticized and objectified and more like a symbol of ferocity and strength. (I recognize birth stories encompass a wide set of experiences. If you ever need to talk about yours, I am here for you.)

And then the reality of the early days of parenting hit.

 My daughter at 3 months old. Look at that hair!

My daughter at 3 months old. Look at that hair!

I didn’t know it yet, but I was suffering from a postpartum complication called postpartum thyroiditis. My pregnancy gave me Hashimoto's — autoimmune thyroiditis. I was hyperthyroid and by the time I went to the doctor several weeks later, my resting heart rate was 120. I was hot, filled with rage and wanted to die. I remember sitting in a bathtub, trying to get a moment of silence away from the endless needs of my newborn. A moment to be alone. A moment for my body to be mine and only mine once again.

I kept thinking about what it would feel like to drown. To have the water sting my lungs. To accept death. I didn’t want to commit suicide. That required action. It was too violent in some way. I simply wanted fade away. To vanish and be forgotten.

New moms need a lot of love. And if you know one, I can't tell you how much she might need you to just sit with her. Be there in the loneliness with her. Give her permission to stop pretending it's all sunshine and baby toes.

I didn't take maternity leave — one of the great mistakes of my life. (Yet very on brand.) I missed only one deadline, the day I went into labor. That sentence is ridiculous and shameful. Take your maternity and paternity leave, please. And fight for it in your workplaces.

An Ultimatum

 I literally wrote articles like this.

I literally wrote articles like this.

Weeks past and it became apparent that writing while my active baby squirmed in my arms was going to be more or less impossible.

My ex-husband issued an ultimatum. I could stop working to care for my daughter full-time. Or pay for childcare out of my salary exclusively. Real partnership, right? It was one of those moments that created a typhoon of emotion for me and one he likely doesn't even remember. Words can be empty and powerful at the same time.

I made probably $35,000 a year. Far short of what I needed to pay the $2,200 per month for daycare in Arlington.

I sat on a sidewalk in Northern Virginia sobbing on the phone to my mother. I held my daughter in my lap. It was early spring. The breeze still cut through my clothes but the sun was out and enough to suppress winter’s chill.

My tiny baby was precious, as all babies are, but she was also in that phase of her life where she was completely unforgiving. Quick to scream and difficult to soothe.

I sat crying to my mother about how hard it was, how tired I was, how much I needed something — someone — to be there for me. To support me. To care for me.

In that moment I had a realization. I was wholly financially dependent on another human to survive. I couldn’t support my child and myself in DC independently. My work was admirable but not valued. At least not valued in the way an engineer was.

My Decision

And in that moment I decided this fact wasn’t acceptable. Not for me. And not for my daughter.

 The last photo of my daughter and me in the room in which she was born.

The last photo of my daughter and me in the room in which she was born.

I found a Ruby meetup in Arlington (I owe them so much for their kindness) and I started a class on Codecademy. A few months past and I began looking for a code school. I considered the ones in DC or NYC but everyone at Arlington Ruby said I should go to Turing, in Denver.

And that's what I did. We packed everything, I said goodbye the room I gave birth to my daughter in and we left. My daughter was 6 months old. (Ask me about hunting down dry ice on a cross-country drive to transport breastmilk.)

That first night in Denver, I was scared. What had I done? Was this all a terrible mistake? But it didn't matter. The decision was made. And a month later, I started school.

Learning Ruby

 My daughter wearing a Turing shirt and my disaster of an apartment.

My daughter wearing a Turing shirt and my disaster of an apartment.

I spent seven months entrenching myself in something which I had no experience in and for which I had no natural inclination. I made another decision. I wasn't going to quit. The only way I would have left Turing is if the staff had kicked me out.

And I can't tell you how powerful that was. The decision to stop saying "no" to myself. To keep pushing until some more powerful outside force stopped me. It was freeing. I took the brain capacity I would normally dedicate to worry and fear and instead dedicated it to learning.

I wasn't the most brilliant person in my class, far from it. But I live by a saying, "Hard work beats talent when talent doesn't work hard."

At some point through school I realized my previous career had been a waste. I felt like a failure. Again. In what way could writing, the one thing I knew I was good at, help me as a software developer?

I couldn't have been more wrong.

Elbowing My Way Into Tech

I worked my ass off and, knowing I needed a job, pushed hard in the final weeks to get as many interviews as I could. By some miracle, I landed four offers. Please don't mistake this for a measure of my talent as a developer. It is, more than anything, a result of knocking on dozens of doors. Of putting in the work. Something of which we are all capable.

My first technical interview not only included whiteboarding but an 8-page paper program I needed to debug. Seriously. They handed me 8 pages of printed paper and asked me to debug it. Few technical interviews scare me now because when that's your first experience, the only step forward is simply to buckle the fuck up.

The job I chose was a job in Java. The entire interview process I kept confirming they knew I didn't know the language. Not even close. But I learned. You can always learn.

A Crumbling Marriage

My relationship with my partner entered a kind of stasis while I was in school. We were two ghosts passing, talking only about our child, work and school.

When I graduated Turing, and started my first job, the crevasses between us became apparent once again.

We started marriage therapy. But repairing years of damage and hurt — initiated and felt by both sides — is hard. More than hard. Through a series of events and discoveries, it became apparent the marriage was not healthy for either of us.

I used to sit, staring at my daughter while she slept, tears quietly pooling until they broke the threshold of my eyelid and pounded the sheets. I wondered how a divorce would break her. What damage I was choosing to inflict on her. Because it was a choice. And it was my fault.

But for the first time in my life, I could afford an apartment of my own. I still wasn't sure how things would play out in the divorce so I chose a pretty shitty apartment, but it was mine nonetheless.

My First Talk

Just before I moved out, I had my first talk accepted to three conferences. Humpty Dumpty: A Story of DevOps Gone Wrong was angry-typed in a closet while pumping (I was still breastfeeding) after my third horrible interaction with the ops team at my job. I, apparently, do my best writing when I'm feeling things.

The day of my first talk, I was terribly nervous. And incredibly sick. My first audience was a group of Ukrainians. Lovely people. But they don't smile. Ever. I panicked when the display didn't work quite right, rushed through the talk and did an embarrassingly poor job.

The second audience were Swedes, not exactly the easiest to make laugh. A Swedish chuckle is equivalent to an American belly laugh. But I did make them chuckle! I moved too quickly and wasn't well paced, but my performance was pretty good.

 My third time giving my first talk, Humpty Dumpty: A Story of DevOps Gone Wrong, at DevOpsDays Madison.

My third time giving my first talk, Humpty Dumpty: A Story of DevOps Gone Wrong, at DevOpsDays Madison.

The third audience was DevOpsDays Madison. That conference and its organizers will forever be special to me. People thought I was funny! And it was there that I fell in love with public speaking.

It's true that I'm naturally comfortable performing as court jester to get you all to laugh and feel things. But so much of my ability to speak is my ability to write. All my talks are written, word-for-word in the notes. There are no bullet points and general direction. That works for a lot of folks. Just not me. I choose words purposefully. I select imagery intentionally. It's scripted storytelling.

Developer Relations

Like many women in tech, I began to experience some gender discrimination at my first job as a backend engineer. I was the only woman on a team of 14 and, especially as a junior, that can highlight some really shitty behavior.

After about my 8th meeting with "HR," it became woefully apparent I needed to move on and I did what I've always done, I knocked on doors. I asked folks to coffee. I let people know I was "casually looking."

Brandon West just so happened to put a note in a DevRel channel that he was about 6 weeks away from hiring a developer advocate. Two mutual friends made introductions. I met him at a stereotypically Denver coffee shop and we chatted. I summarized that meeting in the Intersection of Life + Career.

It was a great fit. I got the opportunity to write more talks and practice speaking. I learned how quickly travel can burn someone out and I deeply appreciate Brandon taking a risk on me — one I hope paid off for him as much as it did me.

Recently, Jason Hand — a close friend and one of the great advocates of my career — moved to Microsoft. And I got a message from Steve Murawski.

What's Next

Which brings me to my next role. I feel humbled and undeserving, but I'm thrilled to announce I'm joining the CDA team at Microsoft as a CloudOps Advocate.

Saying that won't get old for a looooonnnng time. The team at Microsoft has built out a phenomenal group of advocates with an extremely diverse set of skills. I simply can't believe I get to work with them.

I think in many ways Microsoft has helped legitimize Developer Relations and highlight what a phenomenal role it can play in product development.

And that's what I'm going to focus on. I want to do a lot less talking and a lot more listening. I want you to find me and reach out. Tell me what you love about what we're doing and where you think we can improve. You can even tell me where you think we absolutely suck.

I think it's important as advocates we remember that we don't talk at engineers, we speak on their behalf.

Just Keep Swimming

This tome of a blog post is a (perhaps too) verbose way of saying this: I am fundamentally not special. I'm not brilliant. I'm not particularly talented. I simply work hard. And I've been incredibly blessed with countless opportunities.

At any point along my journey, a snapshot could have painted me a failure. And yet here I am. Still standing. Still growing.  

I believe kindness and hard work are worth much more than raw intelligence. I believe we, as engineers, are forming the future. We are developing systems that will make decisions for humanity. And the ethical implications of that are weighty, to say the least.

We have an opportunity to fundamentally impact our world's future. We can fight on behalf of good or — whether from maliciousness or laziness — we can allow bad actors to infect our work.

Whatever you do, don't quit

The people who lose at life are the people who quit. So just don't quit. Keep marching, even when the steps are so slow and small they're barely noticeable. Velocity is much less important than progress.

We are survivors. All of us. We have suffered and overcome. We have survived divorces, deaths, depression, cancer, rejection, racism, sexism, homophobia. We have had doors slammed in our faces. We have had our hearts broken. We have trusted. And been betrayed.

But we are still walking. And together, we are a tribe. A tribe of survivors. With the scars to prove it. In every scar lies a story. A story of resiliency.

I have survived — thrived — in large part because of this community. This loving, hopeful, wonderful community.

And I wonder sometimes what our workplaces would look like if we could build a culture of vulnerability. A culture of raw truth. A place free of judgement. A place safe to cry. A place where mistakes were forgiven quickly and without the whispers of gossip.

My ask is this. That you never quit. That you give vulnerability freely and you accept the vulnerability of others with grace and love. That we support each other.

This community is small. But we are mighty. And I wonder how much more powerful we’d be — how much better our engineered solutions would be — if we dropped the facades of our Instagram accounts and practiced acceptance. Of ourselves and of others.


Thank you for being my light in the dark. Thank you for dragging me through the tough times with your notes of encouragement, your GIFs and your jokes. You have brought me laughter in the midst of tears.

And I only hope I can be a source of joy and encouragement for you. That I can use my voice to speak for you. To drive our industry and our culture forward. To represent you. And, ultimately, to tell your stories.

Community Management

Our industry is centered around community. Which is funny given our origins as basement-dwelling, anti-social nerds. 

But here we are. In the throws of CDD: Community Driven Development

Think about it. We've got language communities. And open source communities. DevOps communities. Even companies manage the communities around their APIs and tools. 

My job, as a developer advocate, is largely communicating and engaging with communities of developers. 

Communities in tech. 

So imagine you've got a pool of developers. (The engineers pictured are obviously frontend developers because of their smart dress.)

Every developer belongs to many communities within the greater industry. 

Don't believe me? Let's break this down visually. 

Language communities

Engineers typically identify with a specific language or stack. You've got some Ruby guys. Some React gals. Some stubborn Ember folks.

And if you're thinking, "But what about full-stack engineers?" First, I think that's largely bullshit. Second, even engineers who call themselves full-stack are part of a full-stack community. 

 Community by language

Women in tech

Due to the disparity between genders — folks who identify as male and folks who don't — women have begun to group together on teams. And for large part, this is AWESOME. Women can amplify other women and people who identify as another underrepresented group. 


People of color

If you think there's a gender disparity, hold onto your butts. People of color are woefully underrepresented in tech. And, rightfully, have begun to band together and support each other. 

Management + Individual contributoRS

CTOs, VPs, project managers, product owners, team leads. These roles have different challenges than those of individual contributors. And often, due to shared perspective, managers of all types form their own community in tech. 


OPS + Dev Communities

This is a division as old as time. Well, at least in Unix time. 

You've got the folks who build the thing and the folks who make it run. While DevOps culture is taking hold, many teams still divide themselves into groups like this. 

ops vs dev.png

Just kidding. Zero teams have five operations folks for ten developers. Like, zero. In the whole world. Null. Nil. Nada.

But that's a whole other blog. 



People who hate frank

My apologies to the Franks reading this. Hugs.

There are communities whose bond is as simple as a shared hatred for a manager or colleague. Or even a popular persona in the industry. 


And then there's the most insidious form of human grouping: cliques.

The best friends. The "work wives." The moms. The grumps. The people who like to work in the dark and the people who want the freakin' lights on like professionals.

(Not that I've literally had this argument. Did you know OSHA requires offices to have 30 candle-feet of illumination? Ask me how I know that.)


Best friends in communities serve a critical purpose. We need people to talk to, confidentially. And no, at work that's not your manager. Having a buddy does wonders for making the occasional slogs bearable. 

Cliques start to become a problem when two powerful people within the community become enemies. Or, make a personal feud public. 

And then people take sides. It compounds. And suddenly the community is split. Each member defending the person for whom they've taken up the flag. 

This is where community management bleeds into crisis management. 

What makes a great manager.

A lot of people who are smarter than I am — and many who are dead — have written at length about what makes a great manager.

These are my personal beliefs cultivated by my experience as a manager and as an employee and validated by the many people I've talked to about a variety of crap situations through which they've endured. Feel free to rail on me in the comments below. 

Every manager has faults. We're all human. No one is coming in and making everyone happy while also managing a rewrite and increasing sales by 400% year over year. If someone says they can do that, they're either a liar or have a wildly inaccurate view of themselves and their capabilities. 

The best managers have faults they can hire for. 

If you don't have 15 years of architecture experience, guess what? You can hire someone who does. If you've never strangled a monolith and deployed containerized microservices, guess what? You can hire someone who has. If you hate running standup every morning and JIRA makes you want to take your eyes out with a hot spoon, guess what? You can hire someone who hops out of bed every morning bright-eyed and ready to write 53 user stories. 

If you're managing a community, you're usually not hiring anyone. But you do recruit volunteers and contributors. 

You can't hire for leadership and you can't hire for communication. And that's what distinguishes a great manager from a mediocre one. 

Leadership comes in a few shapes and sizes. There's not one prescription. But the result is loyalty and respect. And the gift of leadership is wrapped in the skill of communication — tailoring your words and message to your audience. 

The triad of community management.

There are three central components to community management. What I have very cleverly named the "3C's: Cheerleading, Conflict Resolution and Curation.

  • Cheerleading: Get out your pom-poms. Because encouraging folks and being the most excited and enthusiastic person on the team is your job. The moon reflects the sun's light. You aren't a moon. You are the goddamn sun. Which means you need to make your own energy and spread it like a virus. (Kinda like conference plague.)
  • Conflict prevention and resolution: Guess what? People fight. A lot. We rub each other the wrong way. We disagree. We feud. Grab your gavel. You are the Judge Judy of your community. This is possibly the most critical role you'll play as a community manager. Because even the most tight-knit communities will war inwardly. It's your job to control the blast radius. 
  • Curation: I'll only speak for myself, but a community manager shouldn't be the smartest person in the room. That's a shitty community manager. Your job is to recognize talent, amplify it and create space for people to shine.  

The 5 rules of managing communities.

1. Remember that everyone is a human. 

Humans have feelings. Humans have wounds. Humans aren't rational. 

Many times when I've had conflict with a friend or colleague, there's much more than the current argument fueling the fire. Often — and this should never be used to undermine someone's position — there are other experiences acting as triggers.

Perhaps you attacked someone who had been bullied as a child by someone who looked like you. Perhaps you made a joke that brought back hurtful memories of a previous experience. 

Acknowledge that people are flawed, broken and wonderfully made. 

2. Validate feelings. (Even when you don't think they're valid.)

Here's the thing. Feelings aren't rational. They're not accurate. Sometimes they're not even legitimate. But there is no greater way to undermine communication in conflict than to invalidate feelings. 

All feelings are valid. Because they're just that. Feelings. 

It wasn't until the start of the scientific revolution in 1543 that "truth" began to be aligned with "fact." But it's not. 

Hume's fork builds on David Hume's 1748 work, An Enquiry Concerning Human Understanding

All the objects of human reason or enquiry may naturally be divided into two kinds, to wit, Relations of Ideas, and Matters of fact. Of the first kind are the sciences of GeometryAlgebra, and Arithmetic ... [which are] discoverable by the mere operation of thought ... Matters of fact, which are the second object of human reason, are not ascertained in the same manner; nor is our evidence of their truth, however great, of a like nature with the foregoing.
— David Hume, An Enquiry Concerning Human Understanding

Hume's fork divides statements into two groups:

  • A priori: Knowledge independent of experience. 
  • A posteriori: Knowledge dependent on experience. 

A fact is a priori, but a truth can be a posteriori. Feelings are truths dependent on experience and must always be validated. Regardless of the facts of the situation. 

3. Practice empathy and kindness. 

People remember kindness. I can list off a dozen times I've been in a position of weakness and someone extended kindness to me — without expectation of reciprocation. That grace earned my loyalty. And you can bet when those people need help, I will be first in line. 

There is a difference between niceness and kindness. Niceness is a state of being. Kindness is a characteristic. To be nice is to be pleasant. To be kind is to be considerate.

Not everyone who is kind — including myself — is always nice. In fact, sometimes my words can cut deep. Often in defense of people or causes I care about. And bullies? Well, bullies will never be spared my harsh words. Because I don't mind going toe-to-toe with an asshole. And I will never tolerate repugnant behavior in my communities.

You can choose to be unkind. To be uncaring. But there's a price. You may never make a mistake. Because the minute you do, the moment you falter, people will gladly watch you fall and revel in your loss of reputation.  

4. Set clear expectations and consequences.

Conferences have codes of conduct not to be punitive, but to clearly state the behavior expected of attendees. Communities require a similar standard. I don't think every community needs something as formal as written rules. But if you manage a group of people, you must be consistent in the behavior you find acceptable.

Life is nuanced so some level of subjectivity can be expected. But make your expectations as objective as possible.

"Treat others with respect" can be interpreted in many ways. 

Instead, try something more direct.

Before you submit a pull request or comment on someone else's code, think to yourself, 'How would I feel reading this about something I built?' Then think to yourself, 'How would I feel reading this in my first engineering job?'
If the language you use — verbally or in writing — is derogatory, belittling or harmful, you will be put on probation for three months during which your communications will be reviewed prior to publication. 

Give everyone a fair shake. Before I put my daughter in time out, she receives a warning. A clear statement of the behavior I find unacceptable and the consequences that will follow. "You've chosen to not pick up the toys when asked. If you continue to not pick up the toys, you will be put in timeout."

The only offense that is exempt from a warning is physical violence. When my daughter hits the dog, it's an automatic timeout. Go directly to Jail. Do not pass Go.

We're certainly not toddlers, but the same basic structure works — even for adults. If someone acts like a jackass for the 657th time, but has still not been given a clear warning, you are failing to manage your community.

Even though they have behaved inappropriately hundreds of times, disabling their access to your community is not the right course of action. This will breed resentment, instill in folks a fear that they could be cut off without warning and create a sense of unfairness. 

5. Engage in direct conflict

This feels weird, right? Wouldn't happy communities never have conflict? No. Negative. Absolutely false.

Do you know a single healthy marriage that doesn't have it's fair share of conflict? Have you never fought with your best friend — the person you trust most in this world? Is your Thanksgiving table free of side eye and people shifting in their chairs when your crazy uncle brings up politics?!

Direct conflict is a gift. One that should never be disrespected. Conflict requires energy — a lot of it — and vulnerability. It requires engaging with someone you probably would really rather not face. 

When someone in your community fails to meet the expectations set, have a conversation. In private. Allow them the opportunity to save face, own their mistakes, learn and move on.

Shaming someone — embarrassing them publicly — will always have negative repercussions. Studies show the root cause of murder — the thing that takes someone over the edge from I hate them to Colonel Mustard in the library with the candlestick — is embarrassment. When someone is shamed, they feel a rage unlike any other. 

Never gossip. Ever. Absolutely no one wants to feel talked about. It just feels shitty. It feels like a betrayal. I have a saying I sometimes fall short of. "I don't talk shit behind your back. I talk shit right to your face."

Give the gift of honest, real, hard conversation. 

Finally, absolve the crime. If every sentence is a life sentence, the system doesn't work. Allow people the grace of forgiveness when they make a mistake and make it right. 

Respect is earned.

Fear is a powerful motivator in small bursts. But eventually Caesar gets a knife in the kidney.

Respect is the only way to persuade folks over the longterm. And respect must be earned. And that starts by walking the walk. You must serve as the canon of the kind of person you wish to have in your community.


Dr. Seuss Guide to Code Craftsmanship

I have a two-year-old daughter who adores Dr. Seuss. And as I was reading Cat in the Hat for the 214th time, I realized Dr. Seuss had it all figured out.

His words are odd. The cadence confusing. But there’s a gem hidden in all his children’s rhymes.

You see, Dr. Seuss would have made an excellent engineer. Because great code isn’t about choosing the perfect method name or building out 95% test coverage. All that is great, but it doesn’t make great code.


It likely never feels that way. There’s a rhythm to software development that goes something like this:

  1. “Easy. I’ve got this.”
  2. “Uhhh, maybe not.”
  3. “HALP! I have no idea what the f*ck I’m doing.”
  4. "How did I not think of that before?"
  5. “I AM A GOD.”  

This process is okay if you’re comfortable having a mild psychotic break every sprint. I’m not.

I think we’re going about it all wrong. Putting ourselves — our egos — above our code. No judgment. I do it too. We’re human. It’s okay. 

But I think we can bypass our egos and the emotional ups and downs it produces. 

Imposter Syndrome

If you haven’t heard of imposter syndrome, it’s a concept describing high-achieving individuals — like you! — who struggle to internalize their accomplishments and experience a persistent fear of being exposed as a "fraud."

And if you think I don’t feel like a total fraud every time I stand up in front of a crowd at a conference, you’re wrong. 

I think any thoughtful, intelligent person deals with self-doubt. Some of us deal with it a lot. 

A few months ago, I did something pretty stupid. I volunteered to demonstrate a mock technical interview in front of 100 students.

My motivation was pure. Students at Turing, the code school where I learned to program, are terrified of technical interviews. Because they’re scary. Right?!

(And junior engineers seem to think seniors code like Neo.)

So my mentor, Ian Douglas, and I thought we’d show them what to expect. Ian would throw some tough questions at me and I’d illustrate how to handle questions you don’t know the answer to. 

I don’t normally quote Mike Tyson, but he has one great saying I love. “Everyone has a plan until they get punched in the mouth.” 

Dr. Seuss.019.png

Ian asked his first question and I froze. I realized that 100 people were staring at me. Expecting me to know the answer. And that all of them would leave thinking I’m an idiot. 

Which left me looking a lot like a sad pug — can we make #sadpug a thing?! It was scary, but I muscled through it as best I could. Like every technical interview I’ve had, I left feeling a bit down. The quiet but persistent whisper of doubt left me skeptical of my technical abilities. And I started wondering again if I was really cut out for engineering.

This feeling was reinforced when I found out a student had expressed disappointment at my performance to Ian. He thought my answers were weak and, if it were a real interview, I should not be offered the job. 

Gonna be honest, I cried. 

Because it fed into all the doubts I’ve had over the last year. When I graduated Turing I had a lot of success in the job search. I was offered 4 jobs which made me feel extraordinarily lucky and wonder if I somehow oversold my talent in those interviews. 

But the last year hasn’t been easy. I’ve struggled. And I’ve worried constantly that I haven’t been growing fast enough. That I had beginner’s luck. That I won’t be able to get another job. Certainly not one I love. 

Imposter syndrome isn’t limited to me or you or this industry. Imposter syndrome is a human problem. There’s something called negativity bias. And it’s played a crucial role in keeping humans alive all this time. Basically, if we hear a noise in the dark, our brains assume it’s a lion about to eat us. Not a mouse scrambling through the grass. 

Negativity bias is awesome if predators are an everyday threat. But we don’t have to worry about being eaten much these days. These days, negativity bias adds stress and anxiety to our lives. Certainly to mine. Who’s had a good day only to wonder what disaster is awaiting you around the next corner? As if we can only have so much good before it’s balanced out by something terrible.

Like many of you, my heroes are the extraordinary men and women in history who stood up against a fearsome power and overtook it. The little guy going toe-to-toe against the giant. And, against all odds, winning. 

I love stories of underdogs. I actually think we all do. Because it’s fundamental to American culture. We were founded by rebels and embody the attitude of we’re gonna make it on our own — no matter what it takes or how hard it is. 

It doesn’t matter the risks. It doesn’t matter the odds. We believe, as a people, that hard work can overcome just about anything. 

I like to think sometimes about what it felt like to be Caesar standing before the Rubicon or Hannibal facing the Alps. I picture strong, confident men. Filled with hubris and might. Commanding enormous armies filled with men loyal to their cause and their cult of personality. 

But I know how their stories ended. They — in that moment — did not.

Abraham Lincoln might never have been president. (He had lost 8 elections prior.) George Washington could have been hanged for treason. And Rosa Parks might have decided to sit where she was supposed to.

It’s easy to look at historical figures and think how courageous they must have been. How sure of themselves they were to take the action they did. They weren’t. Like each of us would be, they were scared. Afraid they would fail.

Dr. Seuss

Dr. Seuss started life as Theodor Seuss Geisel. His first book, Mulberry Street, was rejected 27 times. 

Walking home from the book's twenty-seventh rejection, with the manuscript and drawings tucked under his arm, he ran into a friend from Dartmouth College. His friend — Mike McClintock — had been made editor of children’s books that morning at Vanguard publishing. 

Geisel said later “If I’d been doing down the other side of Madison Avenue, I’d be in the dry-cleaning business today.” 

It may feel as if all your accomplishments can be attributed to luck. And everyone else’s to their intelligence and hard work. That’s not true. Every success story is a little of both. 

So if we know this is the reality, how can we feel like it in our everyday lives? Dr. Seuss has some hints. 


Find A Mentor

Sometimes the questions are complicated and the answers are simple.

I firmly believe that your mentors should be people outside of work. It’s important to remember that humans are motivated by different things and sometimes it creates a conflict of interest. 

For example, your boss — as awesome as he or she may be — will likely not recommend you ask for $20,000 more than you currently make because he or she does not want to pay you that. Whereas someone without that conflict of interest may recognize that you’re currently underpaid. 

I have 2-3 mentors in tech whom I trust implicitly. Whenever I need encouragement, honest feedback or career guidance, I call them. They’re generous with their time and believe in me as a person and as a professional. 

That all sounds great. But how do you go about finding a mentor? 

My best advice is to be vulnerable. Do the scary thing. Reach out to people you respect and ask them to coffee. Mentorship doesn’t have to be a formal arrangement. It can be an organic friendship between two professionals. 



Why fit in when you were born to stand out?

People talk a lot about the importance of networking. But, to me, networking conjures an image of a silver-tongued salesman with slicked back hair working a room and collecting business cards. I don’t know about you, that’s not my kind of thing. I’d rather sit at home and watch Netflix. 

So let’s not call it networking. Let’s call it connecting. And that requires vulnerability — the foundation of genuine relationships.

There are jerks in this world. And being vulnerable is risky. Everyone in this room has had their hearts broken. We’ve been hurt. Exposed. Rejected. That’s why we have walls. To protect us. 

But there are an extraordinary number of wonderful human beings that walk this planet. Those are the people I’m asking you to be vulnerable for. Those people are good and kind and trustworthy. They deserve to know you.


Be You

Today you are You, that is truer than true. 
There is no one alive who is Youer than You.

The real you. Nobody is better at being you than you. Seriously. Your authentic self is a 1000% better than you acting like someone else. If you spend your time thinking you need to be different, you’re cheating yourself — and the world — of something amazing. You. 

The freedom you will feel when you are authentically you is flabbergasting. Plus, the rest of us get to know someone pretty freaking cool. 


Stay Curious

You have brains in your head. You have feet in your shoes. 
You can steer yourself any direction you choose.

If you haven’t read Mindset by Carol Dweck, I really can’t recommend it enough. It’s a life-changing book about growth mindset and enthusiastically learning new things without fear of being “bad” at it. 

It rejects the notion that we are limited to our god-given talents and instead focuses on the ability to learn new skills. Even if we’re initially pretty terrible at something. 

I think a great way to exercise this concept is to constantly try new things and take lessons in random subjects. I have a friend who takes improv and another who’s in salsa classes.

A few years ago, I decided to get my motorcycle license. Will I ever own a motorcycle? Probably not.

But, much to the chagrin of my mother, I wanted to prove to myself that I could do it. I showed up to a classroom of adrenaline-junkie 18-year-olds and one recently retired man. I didn’t exactly fit in. But guess what? It was a blast. It didn’t matter that I looked like an idiot. And, to be clear, I definitely looked like an idiot. But I had fun and I learned something new. 

You all are here, which means you care about learning and growing. Never let that be extinguished. If learning fuels you, make sure you make it a priority. Which brings me to...


Keep Learning

The more that you read, the more things you will know.
The more that you learn, the more places you’ll go.

Negotiate an educational stipend. When you start a new job, ask what the budget is for conferences. And don’t accept “it’s as needed” as a response. It blows my mind how many of my peers have to beg their boss for a $150 ticket to a local conference when sales and marketing regularly spend $2000 on booze for potential clients. 

Developers must adapt to changing technology. That means constantly learning and absorbing information. Your job isn’t to pump out 40 hours worth of code every week. Your job is to be a subject-matter expert and continuing education is a huge contributor to your success in that role.


Take Small Risks

If you never did you should. These things are fun, and fun is good.

If you want to learn a new technology or implement a change at work, do it. It’s better to beg for forgiveness than ask for permission. Create a proof of concept and then advocate for it. 

And don’t be afraid to fail. Everyone in this room has or will bring down the site at one point in their career. That’s awesome. Because that means you’re trying. You’re doing something. Keep doing that. 

And when you do fail, publicize it.


Publicize Failure

Today was good. Today was fun. Tomorrow is another one.

This is admittedly a weird one. But start sharing when you screw up is especially a great idea for those of you who are senior or principal engineers. 

It’s the best thing you could do for your team. When people I respect tell me their mistakes, it sends the signal that it’s okay to take risks and fall flat on your face. And you’ll be amazed at the response. You’ll see your team share lessons learned and become more collaborative.

A culture of being “right” all the time is toxic (and all too common). Collaboration will nosedive, silos will develop and people will cover their tracks when something goes wrong.


Celebrate Your Successes

Unless someone like you cares a whole awful lot, nothing is going to get better. It’s not.

I like to keep a “Yay Me!” file. Whenever someone sends me a nice note or emails my boss about what a great job I did on something, I save it in my “Yay Me!” folder. 

The alternative to this is to keep a gratitude journal. And before you scoff at the image of a diary on your nightstand, hear me out. Taking the last 5 minutes of your day to jot down the 3 things you were most grateful for that day is a surprisingly helpful practice. 

Remember negativity bias? We focus on the bad by our nature. Reminding yourself of everything going right in your life does wonders for your mental health.


Keep Going

And will you succeed? Yes you will indeed! (98 and 3/4 percent guaranteed.)

I’m a fan of running toward the open door until the moment it closes. Perhaps you want to launch a business in a year. Or move to a different city. Or just found out you’re expecting a child. The natural inclination is to start planning, to think a year in advance and have that plan dictate your everyday behavior at work. 

Don’t. There’s no reason to treat the next year as biding time. Just keep going and figure everything out later. Avoid planning in detail so far in advance — it only causes you to slow down and not take opportunities that you normally would. Anything could happen, plans fall through. Just keep going, but...


Pace Yourself

Step with care and great tact, and remember that life’s a great balancing act.

Burnout is real, folks. I’ve been in this industry a year and I can already feel the reaper coming for me. If you’re ambitious, the hardest thing to do is to recognize that careers are marathons, not sprints. 

Embrace work/life balance. Make it a priority. 

I went through Turing with a 6-month-old. Which meant my schedule was pretty intense. I woke up, got her to the nanny and went to school. I left school at 4:00, ate dinner and put her to bed. Then I did homework from 6:00 – 9:00 before going to bed (more like collapsing). That routine was my life for 7 months. 

It wasn’t easy. There were a lot of tears and wine involved. But my daughter was a critical part of my success in school. She gave me balance. Demanded I stop. Take a break. Play. Read books. And say goodnight. She gave me a break from coding and school provided me a reprieve from being a mom.  

Don’t answer emails after dinner. Don’t look at your phone the minute you wake up. Don’t work on the weekends. 

Play is not just a different kind of work. Find what you love and embrace it with child-like joy. Eat great food. Spend time with your families. And pick up that hobby you’ve been thinking about for the last few years. We get one life. And we all deserve to enjoy the shit out of it. 


Don't Be an Asshole

A person’s a person, no matter how small.

It’s golden rule time, folks. I’m amazed at how small of a world it really is. And people truly matter. They’re really all that matters.

It’s easy to go full Frank Underwood when you’re in a position of power. When you have the advantage. But take a step back. Be kind.

I believe we get what we give. You can’t control the behavior of others, but you can definitely control your own. Empathy is a powerful tool. Use it. You have absolutely no idea what someone else is going through. 


Embrace Your Humanity

Think and wonder, wonder and think.

You’re not a snowflake. Neither am I. Who’s left a crappy job and thought, “Good luck, you won’t last two weeks without me!” Only to find out the business kept on chugging along. The future of the planet doesn’t rest on your shoulders. Nor mine. And think about what a relief that is! I feel less stressed just thinking about it. We’re humans. We’re fallible. 

Here’s the cool thing. The more human you are, the more vulnerability you show, the more people will grow to trust you. 

None of this is to say you can’t make an impact. Quite the opposite. You will leave your footprint on this world. Whether it’s with the people you love most, your community or the globe. But you can let go of the pressure that you’re critical to everything. People will pick up the slack if you let them. Relax. Let go.


Value Old Friends

You’re in pretty good shape for the shape you are in.

Hold onto your childhood friends. The people who knew you when you were young are the most honest friends you’ll have. They don’t expect anything of you. They don’t see you as fancy or special or important. 

To them, you’re still the scrawny kid with glasses who sucks at kickball. And they love you anyway.

They’ll kick your ass when you need a dose of reality and they’ll sit beside you in silence during the worst moments of your life. 

They’re not perfect. None of us are. But they’re worth more than gold. Make sure you tell them that.


Make New Friends

Think left and think right and think low and think high. 
Oh, the things you can think up if only you try!

Create a small group of trusted peers. I have two groups like this. One is more for shooting the shit with people I like and the other is focused on goal accountability. 

The former is a small group of wicked smart, ambitious, female developers. They’re strong, resilient and full of grit, which means they inspire me and lift me up when I need it. 

The latter is called Wine + Goals because we literally drink wine and discuss goals. (No one said we were creative.) One Wednesday a month, 7-8 of us from varying industries and career paths sit down to discuss our highs and lows of the month and our goals for the next. Then we’re randomly assigned an accountability partner for the month, who checks in on how things are going. It’s a small, friendly kick-in-the-ass. 


Embrace the Suck

“Everything stinks till it’s finished.

Some days are going to suck. Nothing will go right. 

You’ll get decaf coffee and a fork with your oatmeal. It’ll take you 3 hours to debug a method only to realize you reversed a boolean value and should have figured it out 2 hours and 59 minutes ago. Not that that’s happened to me. You’ll get in a fight with a loved one and hit every single red light on the way home. 

Want to know what I do on those days? I break out a bottle of wine — yes, I drink a lot of wine — run a bath and turn on Real Housewives.

What I don’t do is start evaluating my life choices. Let bad days pass by. Look forward to the morning. Start again. 


Quit Comparing

I’m afraid that sometimes you’ll play lonely games too. Games you can’t win ‘cause you’ll play against you.

Stop comparing yourself to others. I know, I know. Easier said than done. But one of the most detrimental things you can do yourself is compare your bloopers to someone else’s highlight reel. 

I’m a great example of this. When I give a conference talk, I know every time I say "um" or "so," miss a bullet point or get off-track. But it’s not nearly as obvious to the audience (hopefully). 

Remember imposter syndrome? It would be very easy to look at me and assume that I must know more than you. But I don’t. I promise. You know things I don’t. And everyone has something to contribute.

Focus on what you can give. Forget about what the person next to you is doing.


Life is Short

How did it get so late so soon?

But it’s also long. Many of the choices you make won’t matter. Some will matter a lot. 

Live your life. Enjoy every moment of it. Friends who make you feel bad about yourself aren’t friends at all. Drop them. Surround yourself with people who inspire you, challenge you and love you. 

Play. And laugh. Show humility. Never stop learning. Be kind. And remember… 


"You have brains in your head. You have feet in your shoes.

You can steer yourself any direction you choose. 

You’re on your own. And you know what you know. 

And YOU are the guy who’ll decide where to go."


YOU are what makes your code great. I believe in you. And you should too. 


Implementing Quicksort

A few weeks ago, Ian Douglas asked me to help give mock technical interviews for Turing students. As someone coming out of a code school, tech interviews are the emotional equivalent of walking into Mordor. They're absolutely horrifying. (Full disclosure: I cry after every tech interview. And then drink heavily. I can't be the only one.)

I've been thinking a lot about the questions asked lately. And, unsurprisingly to you, O(n) and sorts come up frequently. I'm not going to go into too much detail about O(n) because, frankly, I don't feel qualified. Greek symbols in math scare me. They're like warning signs for the rest of us. 

For developers, the purpose of these questions is to measure your understanding of time complexity — the length of time your algorithm (function, method, code) takes to process the result.

O(n) refers to linear time. The algorithm will take more time proportionate to the size of the input. 


Sample Problem

Let's take an interview question like: Write a function that takes a list of integers and returns it from least to greatest in O(n) time. Godspeed if you have to do this on a whiteboard. Sending good thoughts your way. 

Sorts have always fascinated me and I don't know much about them so it's a great opportunity to learn something new. (If you haven't seen the Hungarian folk dance of bubble sort, you're missing out.)

I'm the first to admit that computer science fundamentals are a growth area for me. I'm far from an expert in the area of well-known algorithms. A little googling and I found that the most reliably linear algorithm for sorting is quicksort. Awesome. (I should say here that algorithms are always evaluated on worst-case scenario. And in worst-case, quicksort is not O(n). That said, it's pretty darn good.)

A little more googling and it turns out quicksort should be called hardestsort. But I decided to give it a shot anyway. 

An article on DevCamp gave me a start. But, Ruby's syntactic sugar was too much for me. I couldn't tell what was happening. This solution is beautiful, but I need to keep looking.

This StackOverflow post (note the verbose quicksort algorithm toward the bottom) led me to Khan Academy and helped me break down what exactly is happening. 

Here's how quicksort works:

  1. You have a list. Yay for arrays!
  2. You choose a pivot point. This is an index in the list you'll use to split the array into three parts: the left array, the pivot and the right array. From my research, I've seen the pivot selected randomly, as well as first or last index being used. Let's talk about this using the first item in the array as the pivot. 
  3. Compare the pivot to the value to its right. If the pivot is smaller than its neighbor, leave it. If the pivot is larger than the value to the right, switch their positions. 
  4. Buckle up for recursion. Move the pivot and do the same thing. 

Handcrafted Quicksort

Let's dive into some code. 

If you're still confused about what's happening, let's look at the output. This is the list each time we call quicksort(). I added a bit of color whenever two values are swapped.

$ quicksort([0, 7, 0, 87, 4567, 18, 65, 55, 55, 99, 987, 2345678, 0, 1, 10000])

Pretty cool, huh? 

Fancy Quicksort

OK, I feel like I have much more of a grasp of what's actually happening. I'd be lying if I said I could deliver an hour-long lecture about it, but I'm learning!

I wanted to revisit the "elegant" version I saw before. And found this lovely video.

To the code, Batman! 

This implementation involves meta-programming (I'm a little nervous about this) and extending the Array class. 

OMG is that so much better that the first go. 

Remember how we pass the block in with the less than symbol? This sorts the numbers greatest to least. If you were to call partition(&pivot.method(:>)) instead, it would sort the values least to greatest.  

For more reading on the partition method, check out the docs

I sincerely hope this helps you on your next interview question on sorting. But like I said, if you're at the whiteboard, I'm sorry. Good luck!

Intersection of Life + Career

I was lucky enough to connect with Brandon West this morning to talk about developer relations. (He literally wrote the book.)

Brandon asked me a question I can't say I've ever heard before: "What are your career and life goals?" The "and" struck me. I've never really thought of my life goals as being separate from my career goals. Which may or may not say something mildly unhealthy about my life view. 

I naturally spent the afternoon obsessively thinking about it. This is what I've come up with. (Yes, this illustration is my 267th draft. I killed a lot of trees today. Don't judge me.)



I'm from DC. Isn't that enough? 

This has been a dream of mine since I was very small. My family are yellow dog Democrats — meaning we always vote Democrat. And for good reason. My grandmother grew up in rural Alabama with her widowed mother and two sisters during the depression. FDR and his social programs absolutely saved their lives. 

I believe strongly that we're all in it together. That most of us are only 3 mistakes away from the homelessness. And that being poor isn't a measure of morality or hard work but of misfortune. I want to ensure that all of us have the social safety net that allows us to reach for our goals and care for our families.


It's not enough to be a badass developer. I'm a lady dev, which means it rests on me and others to pave the way for women and people of color. This matters to me

I want to continue to grow technically. Sometimes I forget I've only been doing this professionally for a year and it's OK to not know everything. Heck, do any of us ever know it all? No. 

I want to play in other languages (hello, Python and Go) and get quicker with syntax. I want to gain enough experience that I can identify solutions faster. And finally, I want to get better at speaking developer. The hardest part of being a junior is having an inkling of what the answer is and not knowing what it's called. 

(I also want to destroy the current style of technical interviews. But that's a different blog post.)


I'm someone that can home in on a vision and make clear decisions. I'm a generalist which means I know a little about a lot. I have a small enough ego to recognize that I can't do everything and must hire people who are smarter than me. And I feel a deep responsibility for those around me, which means I won't be a fly-by-night leader. 



I am not as strong right now as I used to be. And it's hard for me to even type that. Pride is powerful. I feel guilt and shame when I go to the gym right now and can't lift as much as I used to. 

The truth is, it was almost unavoidable. I had a postpartum complication that took me out of the gym for 6 months and then I went to a code school for 7 — you try going to the gym during Turing. 

I had to focus on other things, my health and my career. I like to describe priorities as separate flames fueled by the same source. If your career flame flares up, the others will dim. And isn't that true? I find when I hit a stride in my personal life, my work suffers and visa versa. 

I'd love to get back to my previous strength level and eventually surpass it. It would be amazing to win a powerlifting meet. Even if I'm 45 by the time I do it. 

In the meantime, the gym is still my happy place. I can go, work off aggression, think through hard problems and listen to what I like to call my battle music. 


If you're wondering why someone who used to be a ghostwriter hasn't written a book, it's because writing a book is insanely hard. It takes intense focus and hundreds of hours of dedication. I lack the discipline, simple as that. This one is definitely a stretch goal for me. 


My daughter is bilingual. She's two. This embarrasses me at a deep level. How is my two-year-old bilingual and I'm not? I got REALLY lucky. Her nanny speaks to her exclusively in Spanish and is the sole reason my daughter has this extraordinary advantage in life. 

I am partially fueled by a desire to not let my daughter outsmart me this early on in life. I'm first to admit she will at some point — isn't that what we all want? — but she's not gonna realize she's smarter than me until she's at least 16. 

But learning another language, specifically Spanish, also speaks to a deeply-held belief of mine: America's immigrant culture should be celebrated. 

There are 41 million native Spanish speakers in the US. And another 11 million who are bilingual. How cool is that?

But yes, it's mostly that I don't want to be outwitted by my toddler.

The Intersection


OMG. Don't you want to give a TED talk?! I'd just about die. And then wave my hands in the air while jumping like a 7-year-old who just found out she got a puppy.

For me, TED talks are the pinnacle of public speaking. And it would absolutely be a dream come true. 


I specify product company here for a reason. I've run a consulting business before (where @editingemily came from).

I loved it. And it taught me an extraordinary number of hard lessons. I will always favor people with entrepreneurial experiences on their resumes for this reason. You learn things you would never observe while gainfully employed. 

It also taught me a lot about me. How I handle ups and downs. That I hate reconciling accounts. Why no one recommends starting a family business. 

But I don't like consulting and freelancing for two reasons:

  1. It's difficult to scale. Consulting by its nature is high-touch. As far as growing the company, you can hire more people or raise prices, but that's pretty much it. And there is a limit to how much money you can charge per hour. A SaaS product is created once and — if developed well — can be scaled and sold to millions. 
  2. Slow feedback loop. Humans are difficult. If you have 10 human clients, it's much harder to get honest feedback about what you're doing right and what you need to improve on. (People don't like hurting other people's feelings, even when you beg.) But if you have 10,000 customers, you can bet your butt they'll be complaining on Twitter the minute they don't like something. And those angry tweets and emails are gold. 

So what's the product? I have a folder with all my cockamamy ideas. But that's a few years off at least. I have a few more lessons I'd like to learn first.


There is no better feeling than the helping someone else. It doesn't matter what it is. Maybe it's as small as an introduction or a job referral. Or helping dozens of Turing students get through the program — both technically and mentally — so they can become kickass developers too. 

The bottom line is I love people. And if I can do something to help another human, I'm going to. It brings me endless joy and makes me feel fulfilled both personally and professionally. 

That's the list. It'll likely change and evolve as I grow. But it's a good starting point. 

Pythons + Vipers: Empathy in Tech

I want to talk to you a little bit about snakes. Specifically, pythons and vipers. (Well, sorta.)

When I was researching this topic, I pretty much thought a snake was a snake. After all, they all have scales and embody the devil — right? But I was wrong. 

Pythons move in rectilinear progression. Scientists actually used to think they used their ribs to "walk." Instead, they use their scales and muscles to pick up parts of their body off the ground and move forward in a straight line by scrunching and expanding. Like a very scary inch worm. They're big, slow (they move at about 1 mph) and non-venomous. They're constrictors, so they squeeze you until you die and then eat you. Fun!

Vipers use undulatory locomotion — favorite phrase of the week! — to propel themselves. It's that serpentine movement we're all used to. They're small, fast and venomous.  

But humans aren't like snakes. Humans are herd animals. 


I know we don’t like to think of ourselves as equal to the other creatures that walk this earth. We cook our food and use computers, after all. We build robots and shoot humans (and monkeys and dogs) into space! We must be more advanced.

But at our core, we are herd animals.

We’re just not as fierce as some other animals — specifically the predators I think we like to associate ourselves with. Who doesn't have a CEO who considers himself or herself a "lion of industry?"

We don’t have the speed of cheetahs, the strength of bears or the armor of rhinos. In fact, we’re pretty weak.

Take me for example. I don’t have a lot of fat to survive a long winter. I’m not strong enough to fight off large predators. I have no camouflage, venom or other defenses.

No, humans have only survived because we have each other. Once we figured out the basics of food, water, fire and shelter, we were able to create specialization and division of labor. Some of us hunted. Others gathered. We shared food. We protected each other and raised children together.

I don’t know about you. I think that’s pretty cool.

Group > Individual

But this evolutionary dynamic has one critical repercussion: The group is held far above the individual.

As a result, our brains desire conformity.

Think about your group of friends. Shut your eyes. Really take a minute.

  • What do they look like?
  • What are their characteristics?
  • What do you like most about them?

Most of my friends are white, college-educated and have a similar socio-economic status. I prefer being around people who are smart, strong-willed, hard-working and ambitious.

If I’m honest, they’re not too dissimilar to me. Or, more likely, they reflect my favorite parts of myself.

This affinity for conformity goes well beyond our friendships. Which brings me to social influence and social conformity.

Social Norms

We all conform to social norms. We follow (most) traffic laws. Sure, we speed, but usually within that grey zone of 10 mph over the speed limit. We dress up for weddings and funerals. We bring a class of wine to parties and speak quietly in libraries.

These are all behaviors we don't even think about. They were taught to us through our everyday social interactions throughout our entire lives. And these social norms dictate our behavior.

Think back to high school. (I'm sure it was a super awesome time for all of us.) The popular kids set the canon for what was “cool” and the rest of us spent way too much energy trying to catch up. We wanted to belong.

Some conformity is referred to as non-conscious automatic mimicry. Like when we yawn after seeing someone else yawn. 

But conformity generally describes how we adjust our behavior and thinking to the rules of the group. It’s something psychologists have been interested in for a long time.

Asch + Conformity

In the 1950s, Polish-American psychologist Solomon Asch performed a simple test on small groups of people sat around a table. 

His study — looking at conformity and social influence — was presented under the guise of a study on visual perception.

Volunteers were shown a standard line and three comparison lines. Then they were asked to identify which of the three lines matched the comparison line.

Now anyone with their glasses on would be able to tell you it’s B.

But imagine sitting there. You're in a room with 5 strangers. You'll respond last. The person to the left of you says the answer A.

Huh? You shrug it off. He looks a little weird anyway. Then the next person responds with A.

You’d probably start wondering if you were stroking out. Or going blind. Or have a brain tumor...

What the volunteers didn’t realize was that everyone else in the group was a plant. The last person to respond was the only true participant. A common deception in studies — sneaky scientists.

In every group, the real participant struggled. Should they trust their own eyes or go with the group? 

And here’s the disturbing part: more than a third of participants gave the wrong answer.

Asch and other researchers have found people more likely to conform if:

  • They’re made to feel incompetent or insecure
  • They’re in a group of three or more
  • Everyone else agrees
  • They feel as if others are watching


Think about a time you’ve been excluded from a group. Or different in some way. Again, think back to high school.

Were you bullied? Didn’t quite fit in? Perhaps you were defined by your group of friends — nerds, goths, athletes or mathletes.

Remember how you felt? Different. Rejected. Alone. It sucks in the short-term. And absolutely brutal to experience for years, even decades.

You may be the oldest engineer on your team. Or the youngest. Perhaps you use Emacs and everyone else uses Vim. You're the only woman or person of color. The only person with depression or anxiety. Maybe you have diabetes or a disability. You're married. Have children. Care for an ailing parent. You're gay. You're straight. You're transgender. 

Celebrate Diversity

We’re all a bit different. I think that should be celebrated.

But that isn’t always the case. Sometimes, often, our differences divide us. Or create subtle social norms that drive our behavior — and the behavior of those around us.

I’m an extrovert. But I was raised in a household of three extremely sensitive, introverted artists — talk about stereotypes.

Through years of attrition, they taught me to be sensitive to the way introverts communicate. I recognize that the quietest voices in the room are sometimes the most valuable.

Against all my extroverted instincts, I hold my words to allow the thoughtful introverts around me to gather and convey their thoughts. It takes energy but it is absolutely worth the effort.

It's Hard But Worth It

Before I continue, I want to acknowledge that embracing differences is hard. Especially at work. We all have a job to do. 

Social diversity — the kind that comes from diversity of race, ethnicity, gender and sexual orientation — can cause conflict, discomfort, distrust, disrespect and more restricted communication.

That all sounds awful. Is there an upside? Hell yes.

Being exposed to diversity alters the way you think.

  • Diversity enhances creativity and innovation
  • It encourages teams to seek out different perspectives
  • It improves decision-making and problem-solving
  • And it increases the bottom line of organizations

I’m not making this up. There are decades of research to support this. NCWIT — the National Center for Women and Information Technology — located in Boulder, is a great resource for more information on this topic.


Unsurprisingly, I’m a woman in tech. This term gets thrown around a lot. And god knows everyone is well aware of the diversity problem in tech.

I’m not asking you to solve it. Or implement changes at work. Or even really care.

What I’m going to ask you to do is pay attention. For a few minutes, I want you to let go of assumptions or questions or rebuttals. I want you to hear me. To feel empathy for my experience. And the experience of so many others around you.

I’m the only female engineer on my team. In 95% of the meetings I attend, I’m the only woman in the room.

And while that in and of itself isn’t that bad…

A lot of the time, it doesn't feel like the left picture below. It feels like the one to the right.

I’m different. And that subtle social cue makes it just that much harder to speak up. To take a risk and share an opinion. Because if I go against the group again, I risk being further isolated.

That’s heavy, I know. And I want to be clear: I’m not asking you to solve diversity issues in tech. It is so much bigger than you and me.

What I am asking of you is to do one thing. Just one thing.

Pay Attention

At your next meeting observe those around you. Who’s different and who’s the same? Is their behavior equal? Are those who are different given a chance to speak and are their ideas really heard? If the idea is implemented, is credit given to the correct person?

Search your own assumptions and actions. We can all share more empathy with those around us. And make tech more awesome in the process.

Post-Conference Depression

There’s a phenomenon in tech — the post-conference depression. You’ve probably experienced it. Though you may not have realized it.

Here’s how it goes. You attend a conference. After you arrive, grab your nametag and t-shirt, you settle into a chair. There’s some awkward introductions. Maybe you see someone you know five rows up from you.

A mic screeches and a hush falls over the room. The first speaker dons the stage. There’s usually a few technical issues because — let’s face it — a room full of engineers can’t figure out an AV system to save our lives.

Then something magical happens.

Conference Magic

A developer, someone just like you, starts to share a problem you’ve had. The topics run the gamut:

  • How to sell DevOps to your team.
  • Lessons learned from that time your boss asked you to upgrade Ruby from 2.1.1 to 2.4.1 overnight after he figured out it’s no longer supported (even though you’ve written 14 emails and had 2 architecture meetings about it).
  • ChatOps and how it can simplify deploys.

Your shoulders relax. You chuckle. You realize you’re with your people. You’re home.

The next speaker comes up with an equally enlightening talk. You realize that everyone deals with the same bullshit you do day in and day out. We don’t have it all figured out. But we’re trying. We’re sharing lessons learned. We’re striving to be better.

That night, you grab a beer with a group of conference attendees. You meet some new friends and lament as a group about how incompetent your manager is, how you haven’t gotten a raise in 2 years but seriously don’t want to go on technical interviews because it would destroy your ego if, as a senior with 12 years experience, you bombed bubble sort. (Not that any of us have had that conversation…)

The next day is even better. Sure, you’re all a bit hungover. But the room is relaxed. There’s fewer awkward encounters. You’re friends now. All victims of the same bureaucracy and overwhelming tech debt.

Heading home that weekend, you’re full of ideas.

A new blog post you need to write. A new book concept. Hell — you’re making business plans for that company you’ve always wanted to start. The sun shines a little brighter. The air is a little fresher. You feel like you can breathe again. Like you’ve got it all figured out.

Off To Work...

Sunday comes too fast and you’re off to work again. Monday morning, after nabbing your favorite liquid treat from the coffee shop — and a chocolate muffin, admit it! — you stroll into the office with a little extra pep in your step.

Right into a brick wall.

But you muster the strength to fight against the overwhelming sense of dread permeating your office. You know the other devs just don’t know how bright a world it can be. They haven’t heard your awesome new ideas.

So you sit down and write out a thoughtful email. You collect your top 3 favorite talks and include the videos. Proud of your work, you click “Send.”

And wait. And wait. And wait. Crickets.

No one mentions it during standup. It’s just the usual, somber regurgitation of what each person worked on the previous day. No one replies. Your boss is too busy bouncing from meeting to meeting to read email.

Throughout the week, you realize you’re just one person. Trying to change the hearts and minds of 9 others. You knew it wasn’t going to be easy, but you didn’t expect this much pushback. No, apathy.

The week progresses and you start wondering if you can be the change agent you thought you could be. Should you start studying bubble sort? It may be time to face the whiteboard again…

This is the post-conference depression. What was irritating but tolerable becomes staggeringly deflating. You saw the light at the end of the tunnel only to realize it was a train.

Change Agents Are Like Water

You work from home Thursday to escape the melancholy and shuffle into standup Friday morning. A colleague taps you on the arm before the scrum master begins calling on people, third-grade style.

“Loved that talk on Apache. Let’s look into whether we could implement the same solution.”

After the momentary look of shock and confusion falls off your face, you smile and nod. “Awesome. Yea, let’s do it.”

Change is slow. Painfully slow. You are not an earthquake. You are not a mountain violently emerging from the surface. That kind of sudden change doesn’t last anyway.

True change agents are like water. Slowly and consistently, they carve grooves into the landscape. They don’t quit. You shouldn’t either.

JavaDay Kyiv

Turns out Ukrainians spell Kiev as Kyiv. And I was lucky enough to travel there to speak at the JavaDay conference. 

Andrii and the entire JavaDay Kyiv team did a phenomenal job. There was even a live band! I'll post videos of my favorite talks as soon as they're up. 


The City

I was more than impressed with Kyiv and the people who live there. Though language was a struggle — and more than once I played charades with a stranger — everyone I interacted with was lovely and went out of their way to help. 



Kyiv is full of ancient and amazing churches. I stayed down the street from the Ukrainian Orthodox Church of the Kyivan Patriarchate, a beautiful church with stunning paintings delighting its walls. 

I was touched and impressed by the level of reverence displayed by visitors, so much that I felt compelled to cover my head with a scarf. 



Kiev Pechersk Lavra

The other highlight of the trip was Kiev Pechersk Lavra, a monastery founded in 1051 A.D. (or C.E.? What are we doing these days?)

While I didn't get to go into the caves for which the monastery is known, the churches and chapels above ground were beyond anything I've ever seen. Every wall was covered in ornately carved gold and paintings of saints. 

If you're ever in Kyiv, I highly recommend you visit it. 



My Jetsetting Daughter

I made the brave (stupid?) choice to bring my daughter along. She's obsessed with buses and trains so I heard a lot of "Bus!" and "Toot toot!" every time we boarded another one. 



Arsenalna Station

I accidentally stumbled into the deepest subway station in the world. Arsenalna station is over 346 feet deep and required a trip on two extremely long escalators which moved alarmingly fast. 

For my DC friends, not only is their subway called Metro as well, they don't tolerate escalefters! Finding common ground. This is how we solve world problems, folks. 

 Ukrainian Beer


International Toilets

I absolutely love seeing the different styles of toilets that exist all over the world. So here's two I ran into during my visit. Yes, the one on the right is a squatty potty. That was interesting to say the least!


Humpty Dumpty + DevOps

I’m convinced Humpty Dumpty is a story of DevOps gone wrong. 

Humpty Dumpty sat on a wall,
Humpty Dumpty had a great fall.
All the king's horses and all the king's men
Couldn't put Humpty together again.

First, who asks a horse to do surgery? Hoofs can’t hold scalpels. Second, either the king’s men are inept or they’re not communicating. Two kindergarteners with some Elmer’s could have done the job.

You see, Humpty is a deploy. He was fine in staging but shit the bed in production. Now the site’s down and your boss is threatening everyone’s jobs. IT is saying the code is broken. The developers are saying it’s a server issue. 

Meanwhile, Humpty is bleeding out. And your customers are complaining on Twitter. Which means a customer service rep has entered the #incident channel to tell you the site’s down. Yea, no shit, Tom. 

Sound familiar? 

We’ve all been there. A deploy goes awry and the entire department is up in arms, defending themselves and blaming each other.

All The King’s Horses and All The King’s Men

So there we are. In chaos. The site’s down. The boss is pissed. 

I don’t know about you, but I always think best when my boss has morphed into Al Capone and I’m staring down the barrel of a metaphorical Tommy Gun.


At first glance, you might think we’ve assembled the best team to handle the crisis. There are engineers who know the code inside and out and an ops team that can handle any systems fire. 

Yet, it doesn’t work out that way. It always devolves into a blame game. You know the scene.

Developers say…

  • “It’s a server issue.” 
  • “My code worked in staging.”
  • “A configuration must have changed.”

Operations people say…

  • “Has to be a code change from the last deploy.”
  • “What was just deployed?...”
  • “Why are we the only ones that know what is broken?...”

All the king’s horses and all the king’s men aren’t working together.  

Let’s Stop Fighting

Ok, first, I’m not going to address all-out fist fights. Because honestly, if your department hosts a weekly version of Fight Club, you should really change jobs. 

I’m talking more about what could be described as friction, attitude, or a general inability to tolerate each other without eye rolls and audible sighs. What I like to call good ’ol Southern-style passive aggressiveness.

I’ll give you an example. 

I recently had some mild conflict with one of our DevOps guys. A day after a deploy, a feature on one of our sites — the ability for admins to upload new photos — wasn’t working. The user didn’t receive an error message after uploading. The new photo just didn’t show up. 

A project manager (PM) messaged me and an ops guy.

I had 20 minutes before another meeting — why are there so many meetings?! — so I felt a little pressure to locate the issue quickly. I should have recognized that I was on edge and ill prepared to deal with the situation at that moment.

But I didn’t. I’m human. 

To make matters worse, an eerily similar issue had come up during testing in QA. During that code hunt, the ops team lovingly implied that it was my problem. And after an hour or two of log reading and double-checking my work, I discovered it was in fact an ops issue. 

Not that it isn’t my fault sometimes. I make plenty of mistakes. And then I obsess about them for months...

Fast-forward two weeks and here we are again. So I’m primed and have plenty of attitude. My bad. 

I holler across the room to see what the logs say. 

“I don’t know.”

Um, wanna go look it up?! 

OK, I didn’t actually say that. But I’m 80% sure I got the message across with my eyes. 

So I track down the production logs while coordinating with the PM so I didn’t have to test the issue in production. 

Minutes pass and now I’m in my meeting trying to do both. Because multi-tasking is proven to be so effective. 

The production logs have nothing but 200s and everything looks good. 

Finally, the ops guy checks the S3 logs. Surprise, surprise. The image is there. Pff! Not my fault. (My inner dialogue may or may not be an eight-year-old.)

Yep, you guessed it. Another ops issue. 

Now it’s not that I think operations issues are easy. They scare the shit out of me. But I get a little huffy puffy when I’m constantly met with “it must be the code.” And I’m sure it’s beyond irritating that ops teams constantly get “it must be a server issue.” 

Which brings me to my core point: we need to work together, guys.


Change is hard. I dislike it as much as the next person. But I think this cultural shift is worth the struggle. 

By now you’ve probably heard something about DevOps. It’s all the rage these days. 

But if you aren’t an expert in what exactly the term DevOps means, here’s a quick history. 

The term was coined by Patrick Debois and Andrew Clay Shafer while attending a conference in 2008. Hilariously, Patrick had planned to speak about DevOps at the event, but received such negative feedback that he decided to skip his own session. (TIL don’t give up on ideas just because you get a poor response.)

John Allspaw and Paul Hammond joined the #devops conversation with a talk called 10+ Deploys per Day: Dev and Ops Cooperation at Flickr. The talk is 40 minutes but very much worth your time. Just play it during dinner tonight. Your kids are gonna love it. Promise.

Since then, DevOps has become a term that encompasses a company culture where developers and operations people work together. 

Traditional Thinking

Before we continue toward DevOps nirvana, it’s important to recognize your development team has a fundamentally different priority than your operations team. 

Like it not, developers are measured by the number of features they release. No CEO has ever cracked open code to review your thorough test suite or pondered at the glorious variable name you picked out. (I appreciate it, though. So you have that going for you.) 

If all of us decided to tackle our growing mound of tech debt this month instead of working on the latest and greatest idea your sales team came up with, you better believe we’d be hauled into someone’s office and chided. 

But operations people are measured on an entirely different aspect of the business: site reliability and uptime. And you better believe keeping a site up 99.999% of the time is no easy feat. 

I’ll spare you the math. That’s a little over 5 minutes downtime per year. FIVE. MINUTES. PER. YEAR.  

So, to break this down, developers must deploy new code to release new features. But deploys are the most frequent cause of downtime. 

No wonder we’re natural enemies. 

Be The Change

What we need is operations teams that think like developers and developers that think like operations people. 

It’s not easy. But it is simple. 

Operations: Empower Your Developers

Trust your team

You’re on the same side. If a developer says the code works, trust them. They’re not lying to you. And they don’t want to make your life a living hell. They honestly believe the code works. Which brings me to...

Give read-only access to all developers

To what? To EVERYTHING. I’m not saying to hand out root access like candy. But you are not the gatekeeper of information. Do you like being interrupted every 5 minutes so you can copy and paste an error message? I didn’t think so.

Developers are writing the code that runs on your systems. It’s not a reach to think they should be able to get some feedback about whether it works. After all, don’t expect developers to jump in and help when they don’t have access to your machines. 

Create consistent platforms

Integrated platforms are easier to develop and support. Pay attention to the parity between environments. Staging and production should be identical. That means the same allocated resources and the same data. Otherwise deploying will always be a roll of the dice. 

Share source control

Keep your configuration tools on GitHub with the rest of your company’s code. Code is code. It’ll be much easier for operations and developers to solve problems together if everyone knows how to locate the affected code.

Add your devs to the on-call rotation

My friend likes to say, “You build it, you support it.” No one likes to be woken up at 2:00 a.m. And if you’re tired of stumbling through the dark toward your computer in the middle of the night, share the pain. There’s no reason developers shouldn’t be on rotation. Remember, they can access logs and view your configuration tools now. Awesome!

Simplify deploys

Pushing code to production should not be a production. Unnecessary steps increase the opportunity for error and decrease the number of people who can deploy.

Oh, one more thing. Stop preventing developers from deploying their code to the QA and staging environments. Seriously. If I have to ask permission to test my shit anywhere other than dev, you deserve to put out the fire. 

Developers: Stop Being Assholes

Make operations part of the planning process

Thinking about a feature? Include operations. Talk about what will change before you write a single line of code. Discuss why this feature is important, who will need to be involved and what the risks are. You can’t deploy mystery code and then get irritated with your operations team when they start asking 100 questions. 

Make small changes. Deploy. Repeat.

If your feature requires you to change 30% of your app’s spaghetti code, break the feature into smaller pieces. Not sure if your feature is too big? Apply the same rule you use for method naming. If the method needs an “and” it’s doing too much. Small deploys make it MUCH easier to determine what went wrong in case of failure.


You know how you already included operations in your feature planning? Notify the operations team when you deploy too. Whether you use Slack or HipChat, make sure all developers and operations people have a single place to communicate. Lots of companies use an #incident channel. Find what works for you and then use it. 

Yes, and…

There’s a rule in improve that forces participants to say “yes, and…” rather than “yes, but…” Try this next time you’re in a meeting and the results will likely surprise you. That simple language change will make everyone feel heard, validated and a part of the team. 

Be open to other options

If someone on operations says there’s going to be a problem, listen to them. That means shutting your mouth and really hearing what they have to say. You’re an engineer, not God. The core competency of operations is site reliability. Let them help you. The solution you come to together will be much better than the one you thought of on your own.

Have some humility

If someone was woken up in the middle of the night because of something you released, say sorry. Buy some coffee. Help ’em out. Own your shit. When you take responsibility for a mistake, your colleagues are much less likely to make a voodoo doll of you and keep it by their bed. 

Practice Failing Together

Failure is never a question of if, but when. 

You will fail. A deploy will bring down the site. A typo in your configuration will bring users to Twitter fisticuffs. 

It happens. We’re human. And until Skynet, we’re all stuck dealing with our occasional mistakes. 

Have a healthy attitude around failure

You need to 80/20 your failure preparedness procedures. It’s okay to spend 80% of your time trying to prevent failure, but devote at least 20% to practicing how you will handle failure when it happens. We all half ignore the safety talk given at the start of every flight, but I appreciate that oxygen falls from the ceiling in the event Bane decides to crash my plane.  

Stop pointing fingers

Avoid blame. It never feels good to make a mistake. And when 20 people are required to rectify it, it feels even worse. When I screw up, I’m embarrassed. And if I feel attacked, I become defensive. I think most of you would probably say the same. Let’s give everyone a little slack. It could have been your typo. 

Leave your egos at the door

When I started powerlifting seriously, I joined a small team of intimidating lifters. The head of the group — a 60-year-old Juggernaut-like man whose traps rose to just under his ears — had one rule: leave your ego at the door. It didn’t matter that we had to strip off 400 pounds every time it was my turn to squat. All that mattered was that I listened, learned and respected the team. We could all learn a lot from that. 

Recommended Reading

Here’s a short list of books you may be interested in:

And no, I haven’t read all those books. I’m convinced people lie about how many books they’ve read. Or I watch too much Netflix. Don’t judge me.