Monday, January 13, 2014

On The Importance of Vulnerability (And A Culture That Accepts It)

I came from a job that had several toxic aspects.

Of course if you talk to people running the system, they probably wouldn't see it that way. They may deny it. But in truth, there was always a series of elements that mixed together that seemed to undermine a person's confidence in themselves, in their abilities, and in their value as people.

It was an environment that, in some ways, crushed your soul.

Perhaps this is, to a degree, retrospective retconning. Perhaps this was all in my head. Perhaps I have a personality that actively seeks validation, and that job was one where I didn't get enough of it to feel as if I were needed in any valuable way. But this was...is...how I feel about that environment. I've found little evidence to dispute that perception.

But the purpose of this isn't to complain about the past. I bring it up to help segue into my present; a present where I was recently telling my manager that I still feel haunted by the feeling that I am waiting for the other shoe to drop or that I'm being set up for failure. These are feelings that I own up to and struggle with when I feel the urge to take the initiative on an issue or when I'm contemplating questions like, "Where do you want to go professionally in the coming months (or years?)"

That background contributed to my sense of awe when I came to work for my current employer, and the paradoxical feeling of inadequacy when in the presence of these professional giants. I mean, many of my new coworkers have companies on the side, or programming projects that are helping people in the real world outside the company. The head of the company travels the world giving speeches and can drive twitter traffic with a mere mention of a site. I work with smart people who have established popular credibility in the outside world, while my little blog is meaningless; the truth is that in all likelihood I could say horrible things while naming names and the people and businesses I talk about would probably never know it.

Of course the longer I work in this environment the more I see the cracks in my projected sainthood delusions I imposed on these people revealing the flawed human beings underneath. I'm not complaining. It's simply a matter of acclimating. And for someone with a severe inadequacy complex, it's also a relief.

Recently a coworker whom I hold in high esteem was shocked to learn that ports on Unix-like systems are treated differently, depending on the port number. See, due to outdated security models, ports below 1024 need root access if you want to bind to them. It's a legacy thing that is of little use today but still sticks around to act as an irritating hazing for new admins, I guess.

But the coworker, with a great number of years of experience under his belt as a programmer, didn't know that. And I was surprised to know that he didn't, as I kind of assumed...as people with imposter syndrome are wont to do...that he knew this.

Of course he knew that. I knew it. I didn't just know it, I knew it like "give a look of incredulity if any tech person asked me about it because they should already know this information" kind of know it. But he didn't know it. And he let people know he didn't know it, like it was a strange gem of trivia. He was all, "Hey, did you guys know this? That's weird!," waving this flag of not knowing like a child discovering gummy bears for the first time.

He was someone I had on a pedestal. Still do. He's very good at what he does. But for once I felt I knew something that could be useful to one of these people. I try to contribute every day in some way; sometimes I feel I succeed, other times I don't. Sometimes I feel like I just can't. Being on the low end of the usefulness totem pole is a rough headspace to be in.

The point is that it's good to have people who are good at what they do screw up sometimes, and it's good to show that it's okay to not know something. It's good to show a vulnerability. Because maybe they, in a way, are leaders. Or examples. Other people hold them in esteem. And sometimes if they're on too high of a pedestal it feels to these admirers that their idols are unreachable; they aren't human so much as the embodiment of an unreachable ideal. Seeing their human side (and working in a company culture that accepts and embraces those flaws) means that yes, you can aspire to be more like them and perhaps become skilled like them.

You know...if I may nerd out for a few moments...there are people who look up to Superman. They aspire to live to his ideals, the embodiment of what is good in people. But no one thinks they could ever be Superman. He's not human. He's basically a god. A big, bulletproof god that is apparently doing well for himself financially despite working for a newspaper in this economy.

But Batman...you could, technically, train yourself for years to reach the pinnacle of physical fitness and become something close to Batman. There's a fraction of a percent of a chance that you'd do it. But in the back of your mind you know he's a regular human with no superpowers that can kick just about any bad guy's ass using a combination of intellect, skill and physical training. You can't train yourself to be a sun-absorbing alien able to lift trains, but you could become the peak-of-human-limits athlete in an armored suit.

When you are in a position where someone may look up to you as a mentor figure, it's good to be more a Batman and less a Superman.

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