Is it ethical to discriminate in whom you will sell to as a business? What would you do if you found out that the work you do every day was being used to target and kill migrants at the border?
Is it ethical or defensible to pay two people doing the same job different salaries if they live in different locations and have a different cost of living? What if paying everyone the same rate means you are outcompeted by those who peg salaries to local rates, because they can vastly out-hire you?
You’re at the crowded hotel bar after a company-sponsored event, and one of your most valued customers begins loudly venting opinions about minorities in tech that you find alarming and abhorrent. What responsibility do you have, if any? How should you react?
If we were close to running out of money in the hypothetical future, should we do layoffs or offer pay cuts?
It’s not getting any simpler to live in this world, is it? 💔
Ethical problems are hard. Even the ones that seem straightforward on the face of them get stickier the closer you look at them. There are more stakeholders, more caveats, more cautionary tales, more unintended consequences than you can generally see at face value. It’s like fractal hardness, and anyone who thinks it’s easy is fooling themselves.
We’ve been running an experiment at Honeycomb for the past 6 months, where we talk through hypothetical ethical questions like these once a month. Sometimes they are ripped from the headlines, sometimes they are whatever I can invent the night before. I try to send them around in advance. The entire company is invited.**
Honeycomb is not a democracy, nor do I think that would be an effective way to run a company, any more than I think we should design our SDKs by committee or give everyone an equal vote on design mocks.
But I do think that we have a responsibility to act in the best interests of our stakeholders, to the best of our abilities, and to represent our employees. And that means we need to know where the team stands.
That’s one reason. Another is that people make the worst possible decisions when they’re taken off guard, when they are in an unfamiliar situation (and often panicking). Talking through a bunch of nightmare scenarios is a way for us to exercise these decision-making muscles while the stakes are low. We all get to experience what it’s like to hear a problem, have a kneejerk reaction .. then peeling back the onion to reveal layer after layer of dismaying complexities that muddy our snap certainties.
Honeycomb is a pretty transparent company; we believe that companies are created every day by the people who show up to labor together, so those people have a right to know most things. But it’s not always possible or ethically desirable to share all the gritty details that factor into a decision. My hope is that these practice runs help amplify employees’ voices, help them understand the way we approach big decisions, and help everyone make better decisions — and trust each other’s decisions — when things move fast and times get hard.
(Plus, these ethical puzzles are astonishingly fun to work through together. I highly recommend you borrow this idea and try it out at your own company.)
cheers, and please let me know if you do try it ☺️
** We used to limit attendance to the first 6 people to show up, to try and keep the discussion more authentic and less performative. We recently relaxed this rule since it doesn’t seem to matter, peacocking hasn’t really been an issue.
Last night I was talking with Mark Ferlatte about the advice we have given our respective companies in this pandemic era. He shared with me this link, on how to salvage a disastrous day. It’s a good link: you should read it.
My favorite part: “Your feelings will follow your actions. Just do it.”
The hardest part for me is, “Book-end your day. Don’t push it into the midnight hours.” Ugh. I really, really struggle with this because my brain takes a long long time to settle in and get started on a task to the point where I feel like I’m on a roll with it, and once I’m on a roll I do not want to stop until I’m done. Because god knows how long it will be — days? weeks?? — until I can catch this wave again, feel inspired again. But it’s true, if I stay up all night working I’m just setting myself up for a fuzzy, blundery tomorrow.
The advice we gave Honeycombers was differently shaped, though similar in spirit. I’ve had a few people ask me to share it, so here it is.
We formally request …
First, we would like to point out that what you are all being asked to do right now is impossible. Parenting, homeschooling, working, caregiving, correcting misinformed neighbors, being an engaged citizen … it is fifteen people’s worth of work. It is literally impossible.
But hey, it has always been impossible. We have never been able to do everything we want to do — there isn’t enough time. There was never enough time! We succeed as a company not by doing everything on our list, but by saying no to the right things; by NOT-doing enough most things so we can focus on the few things we have identified that matter most. That was true before COVID, it’s just truer now.
So: let’s all focus hard on our top priority. Shed as much of the other stuff as you have to. Shed more. Ask your manager for help figuring out what to shed, until you are down to an amount you can probably manage.
And speaking of focus:
You aren’t operating at full capacity. We all get that right now: none of us are. And nobody expects you to. So please spend zero energy on performing like you’re doing work, or acting extra-responsive, or keeping up a front like things are normal and you’re doing fine. That performance costs you precious energy, while doing nothing to get us closer to our goals.
What we need from you is not performance or busy-busy-ness but your engaged creative self — your active, curious mind engaging with our top problem. I would rather have 30 minutes of your creative energy applied to our biggest problem today than five hours of your distracted split-brain, juggling, trying to keep up with chat and seem like you’re as available per usual today.
So when you’re figuring out your schedule, please optimize for that — focused time on our biggest problem — and then communicate your availability to your team. If you’re a parent and you can only really work three days a week, calendar that. (If you’re not a parent, remember that you too are allowed to feel overwhelmed and underwater. Just because some have it even harder, doesn’t invalidate what you’re going through.)
Take care of yourself
Take care of your loved ones
Say no to as much as you possibly can
Focus on impact
No performative normalcy
Remember: this is temporary 🖤
We are incredibly fortunate — to be here, to have these resources, to have each other. It’s okay to have bad days; this is why we have teams, to carry each other through the hardest spots. Do your best. Everything is going to be okay, more or less.
Welcome to the second installment of my advice column! Last time we talked about the emotional impact of going back to engineering after a stint in management. If you have a question you’d like to ask, please email me or DM it to me on twitter.
Hi Charity! I hope it’s ok to just ask you this…
I’m trying to get our company more aware of observability and I’m finding it difficult to convince people to look more into it. We currently don’t have the kind of systems that would require it much – but we will in future and I want us to be ahead of the game.
If you have any tips about how to explain this to developers (who are aware that quality is important but don’t always advocate for it / do it as much as I’d prefer), or have concrete examples of “here’s a situation that we needed observability to solve – and here’s how we solved it”, I’d be super grateful.
If this is too much to ask, let me know too 🙂
I’ve been talking to Abby Bangser a lot recently – and I’m “classifying” observability as “exploring in production” in my mental map – if you have philosophical thoughts on that, I’d also love to hear them 🙂
Yay, what a GREAT note! I feel like I get asked some subset or variation of these questions several times a week, and I am delighted for the opportunity to both write up a response for you and post it for others to read. I bet there are orders of magnitude more people out there with the same questions who *don’t* ask, so I really appreciate those who do. <3
I want to talk about the nuts and bolts of pitching to engineering teams and shepherding technical decisions like this, and I promise I will offer you some links to examples and other materials. But first I want to examine some of the assumptions in your note, because they elegantly illuminate a couple of common myths and misconceptions.
Myth #1: you don’t need observability til you have problems of scale
First of all, there’s this misconception that observability is something you only need when you have really super duper hard problems, or that it’s only justified when you have microservices and large distributed systems or crazy scaling problems. No, no no nononono.
There may come a point where you are ABSOLUTELY FUCKED if you don’t have observability, but it is ALWAYS better to develop with it. It is never not better to be able to see what the fuck you are doing! The image in my head is of a hiker with one of those little headlamps on that lets them see where they’re putting their feet down. Most teams are out there shipping opaque, poorly understood code blindly — shipping it out to systems which are themselves crap snowballs of opaque, poorly understood code. This is costly, dangerous, and extremely wasteful of engineering time.
Ever seen an engineering team of 200, and struggled to understand how the product could possibly need more than one or two teams of engineers? They’re all fighting with the crap snowball.
Developing software with observability is better at ANY scale. It’s better for monoliths, it’s better for tiny one-person teams, it’s better for pre-production services, it’s better for literally everyone always. The sooner and earlier you adopt it, the more compounding value you will reap over time, and the more of your engineers’ time will be devoted to forward progress and creating value.
Myth #2: observability is harder and more technically advancedthan monitoring
Actually, it’s the opposite — it’s much easier. If you sat a new grad down and asked them to instrument their code and debug a small problem, it would be fairly straightforward with observability. Observability speaks the native language of variables, functions and API endpoints, the mental model maps cleanly to the request path, and you can straightforwardly ask any question you can come up with. (A key tenet of observability is that it gives an engineer the ability to ask any question, without having had to anticipate it in advance.)
With metrics and logging libraries, on the other hand, it’s far more complicated.you have to make a bunch of awkward decisions about where to emit various types of statistics, and it is terrifyingly easy to make poor choices (with terminal performance implications for your code and/or the remote data source). When asking questions, you are locked in to asking only the questions that you chose to ask a long time ago. You spend a lot of time translating the relationships between code and lowlevel systems resources, and since you can’t break down by users/apps you are blocked from asking the most straightforward and useful questions entirely!
Doing it the old way Is. Fucking. Hard. Doing it the newer way is actually much easier, save for the fact that it is, well, newer — and thus harder to google examples for copy-pasta. But if you’re saturated in decades of old school ops tooling, you may have some unlearning to do before observability seems obvious to you.
Myth #3: observability is a purely technical solution
To be clear, you can just add an observability tool to your stack and go on about your business — same old things, same old way, but now with high cardinality!
You can, but you shouldn’t.
These are sociotechnical systems and they are best improved with sociotechnical solutions. Tools are an absolutely necessary and inextricable part of it. But so are on call rotations and the fundamental virtuous feedback loop of you build it, you run it. So are code reviews, monitoring checks, alerts, escalations, and a blameless culture. So are managers who allocate enough time away from the product roadmap to truly fix deep technical rifts and explosions, even when it’s inconvenient, so the engineers aren’t in constant monkeypatch mode.
I believe that observability is a prerequisite for any major effort to have saner systems, simply because it’s so powerful being able to see the impact of what you’ve done. In the hands of a creative, dedicated team, simply wearing a headlamp can be transformational.
Observability is your five senses for production.
You’re right on the money when you ask if it’s about exploring production, but you could also use words that are even more basic, like “understanding” or “inspecting”. Observability is to software systems as a debugger is to software code. It shines a light on the black box. It allows you to move much faster, with more confidence, and catch bugs much sooner in the lifecycle — before users have even noticed. It rewards you for writing code that is easy to illuminate and understand in production.
So why isn’t everyone already doing it? Well, making the leap isn’t frictionless. There’s a minimal amount of instrumentation to learn (easier than people expect, but it’s nonzero) and then you need to learn to see your code through the lens of your own instrumentation. You might need to refactor your use of older tools, such as metrics libraries, monitoring checks and log lines. You’ll need to learn another query interface and how it behaves on your systems. You might find yourself amending your code review and deploy processes a bit.
Nothing too terrible, but it’s all new. We hate changing our tool kits until absolutely fucking necessary. Back at Parse/Facebook, I actually clung to my sed/awk/shell wizardry until I was professionally shamed into learning new ways when others began debugging shit faster than I could. (I was used to being the debugger of last resort, so this really pissed me off.) So I super get it! So let’s talk about how to get your team aligned and hungry for change.
Okay okay okay already, how do I get my team on board?
If we were on the phone right now, I would be peppering you with a bunch of questions about your organization. Who owns production? Who is on call? Who runs the software that devs write? What is your deploy process, and how often does it get updated, and by who? Does it have an owner? What are the personalities of your senior folks, who made the decisions to invest in the current tools (and what are they), what motivates them, who are your most persuasive internal voices? Etc. Every team is different. <3
There’s a virtuous feedback loop you need to hook up and kickstart and tweak here, where the people with the original intent in their heads (software engineers) are also informed and motivated, i.e. empowered to make the changes and personally impacted when things are broken. I recommend starting by putting your software engineers on call for production (if you haven’t). This has a way of convincing even the toughest cases that they have a strong personal interest in quality and understandability.
Pay attention to your feedback loop and the alignment of incentives, and make sure your teams are given enough time to actually fix the broken things, and motivation usually isn’t a problem. (If it is, then perhaps another feedback loop is lacking: your engineers feeling sufficiently aligned with your users and their pain. But that’s another post.)
Technical ownership over technical outcomes
I appreciate that you want your team to own the technical decisions. I believe very strongly that this is the right way to go. But it doesn’t mean you can’t have influence or impact, and particularly in times like this.
It is literally your job to have your head up, scanning the horizon for opportunities and relevant threats. It’s their job to be heads down, focusing on creating and delivering excellent work. So it is absolutely appropriate for you to flag something like observability as both an opportunity and a potential threat, if ignored.
If I were in your situation and wanted my team to check out some technical concept, I might send around a great talk or two and ask folks to watch it, and then maybe schedule a lunchtime discussion. Or I might invite a tech luminary in to talk with the team, give a presentation and answer their questions. Or schedule a hack week to apply the concept to a current top problem, or something else of that nature.
But if I really wanted them to take it fucking seriously, I would put my thumb on the scale. I would find myself a champion, load them up with context, and give them ample time and space to skill up, prototype, and eventually present to the team a set of recommendations. (And I would stay in close contact with them throughout that period, to make sure they didn’t veer too far off course or lose sight of my goals.)
Get a champion.
Ideally you want to turn the person who is most invested in the old way of doing things — the person who owns the ELK cluster, say, or who was responsible for selecting the previous monitoring toolkit, or the goto person for ops questions — from your greatest obstacle into your proxy warrior. This only works if you know that person is open-minded and secure enough to give it a fair shot & publicly change course, has sufficiently good technical judgment to evaluate and project into the future, and has the necessary clout with their peers. If they don’t, or if they’re too afraid to buck consensus: pick someone else.
Give them context.
Take them for a long walk. Pour your heart and soul out to them. Tell them what you’ve learned, what you’ve heard, what you hope it can do for you, what you fear will happen if you don’t. It’s okay to get personal and to admit your uncertainties. The more context they have, the better the chance they will come out with an outcome you are happy with. Get them worried about the same things that worry you, get them excited about the same possibilities that excite you. Give them a sense of the stakes.
And don’t forget to tell them why you are picking them — because they are listened to by their peers, because they are already expert in the problem area, because you trust their technical judgment and their ability to evaluate new things — all the reasons for picking them will translate well into the best kind of flattery — the true kind.
Give them a deadline.
A week or two should be plenty. Most likely, the decision is not going to be unilaterally theirs (this also gives you a bit of wiggle room should they come back going “ah no ELK is great forever and ever”), but their recommendations should carry serious weight with the team and technical leadership. Make it clear what sort of outcome you would be very pleased with (e.g. a trial period for a new service) and what reasons you would find compelling for declining to pursue the project (i.e. your tech is unsupported, cost prohibitive, etc). Ideally they should use this time to get real production data into the services they are testing out, so they can actually experience and weigh the benefits, not just read the marketing copy.
As a rule of thumb, I always assume that managers can’t convince engineers to do things: only other engineers can. But what you can do instead is set up an engineer to be your champion. And then just sit quietly in the corner, nodding, with an interested look on your face.
The nuclear option
You have one final option. If there is no appropriate champion to be found, or insufficient time, or if you have sufficient trust with the team that you judge it the right thing to do: you can simply order them to do something your way. This can feel squicky. It’s not a good habit to get into. It usually results in things being done a bit slower, more reluctantly, more half-assedly. And you sacrifice some of your power every time you lean on your authority to get your team to do something.
But it’s just as bad for a leader to take it off the table entirely.
Sometimes you will see things they can’t. If you cannot wield your power when circumstances call for it, then you don’t fucking have real power — you have unilaterally disarmed yourself, to the detriment of your org. You can get away with this maybe twice a year, tops.
But here’s the thing: if you order something to be done, and it turns out in the end that you were right? You earn back all the power you expended on it plus interest. If you were right, unquestionably right in the eyes of the team, they will respect you more for having laid down the law and made sure they did the right thing.
One of my stretch goals for 2019 was to start writing an advice column. I get a lot of questions about everything under the sun: observability, databases, career advice, management problems, what the best stack is for a startup, how to hire and interview, etc. And while I enjoy this, having a high opinion of my own opinions and all, it doesn’t scale as well as writing essays. I do have a (rather all-consuming) day job.
So I’d like to share some of the (edited and lightly anonymized) questions I get asked and some of the answers I have given. With permission, of course. And so, with great appreciation to my anonymous correspondent for letting me publish this, here is one.
I’ve been in tech for 25 years. I don’t have a degree, but I worked my way up from menial jobs to engineering, and since then I have worked on some of the biggest sites in the world. I have been offered a management role many times, but every time I refused. Until about two years ago, when I said “fuck it, I’m almost 40; why not try.”
I took the job with boundless enthusiasm and motivation, because the team was honestly a mess. We were building everything on-prem, and ops was constantly bullying developers over their supposed incompetence. I had gone to conferences, listened to podcasts, and read enough blog posts that my head was full of “DevOps/CloudNative/ServiceOriented//You-build-it-you-run-it/ServantLeaders” idealism. I knew I couldn’t make it any worse, and thought maybe, just maybe I could even make it better.
Soon after I took the job, though, there were company-wide layoffs. It was not done well, and morale was low and sour. People started leaving for happier pastures. But I stayed. It was an interesting challenge, and I threw my heart and soul into it.
For two years I have stayed and grinded it out: recruiting (oh that is so hard), hiring, and then starting a migration to a cloud provider, and with the help of more and more people on the new team, slowly shifted the mindset of the whole engineering group to embrace devops best practices. Now service teams own their code in production and are on-call for them, migrate themselves to the cloud with my team supporting them and building tools for them. It is almost unrecognizable compared to where we were when I began managing.
A beautiful story isn’t it? I hope you’re still reading. 🙂
Now I have to say that with my schedule full of 1:1s, budgeting, hiring, firing, publishing papers of mission statements and OKRs, shaping the teams, wielding influence, I realized that I enjoyed none of the above. I read your 17 reasons not to be a manager, and I check so many boxes. It is a pain in the ass to constantly listen to people’s egos, talk to them and keep everybody aligned (which obviously never happens). And of course I am being crushed between top-down on-the-spot business decisions and bottom-up frustration of poorly executed engineering work under deadlines. I am also destroyed by the mistrust and power games I am witnessing (or involved in, sometimes). while I long for collaboration and trust. And of course when things go well my team gets all the praise, and when things go wrong I take all the blame. I honestly don’t know how one can survive without the energy provided by praise and a sense of achievement.
All of the above makes me miss being an IC (Individual Contributor), where I could work for 8 hours straight without talking to anyone, build stuff, say what I wanted when I wanted, switch jobs if I wasn’t happy, and basically be a little shit like the ones you mention in your article.
But when I think about doing it, I get stuck. I don’t know if I would be able to do it again, or if I could still enjoy it. I’ve seen too many things, I’ve tasted what it’s like to be (sometimes) in control, and I did have a big impact on the company’s direction over time. I like that. If I went back to being an IC, I would feel small and meaningless, like just another cog in the machine. And of course, being 40-ish, I will compete with all those 20-something smartasses who were born with kubernetes.
Thank you for reading. Could you give me your thoughts on this? In any case, it was good to get it off my chest.
Holy shitballs! What an amazing story! That is an incredible achievement in just two years, let alone as a rookie manager. You deserve huge props for having the vision, the courage, and the tenacity to drive such a massive change through.
Of COURSE you’re feeling bored and restless. You didn’t set out on a glorious quest for a life of updating mission statements and OKRs, balancing budgets, tending to people’s egos and fluffing their feelings, tweaking job descriptions, endless 1x1s and meetings meetings meetings, and the rest of the corporate middle manager’s portfolio. You wanted something much bigger. You wanted to change the world. And you did!
But now you’ve done it. What’s next?
First of all, YOUR COMPANY SUCKS. You don’t once mention your leadership — where are they in all this? If you had a good manager, they would be encouraging you and eagerly lining up a new and bigger role to keep you challenged and engaged at work. They are not, so they don’t deserve you. Fuck em. Please leave.
Another thing I am hearing from you is, you harbor no secret desire to climb the managerial ranks at this time. You don’t love the daily rhythms of management (believe it or not, some do); you crave novelty and mastery and advancement. It sounds like you are willing to endure being a manager, so long as that is useful or required in order to tackle bigger and harder problems. Nothing wrong with that! But when the music stops, it’s time to move on. Nobody should be saddled with a manager whose heart isn’t in the work.
You’re at the two year mark. This is a pivotal moment, because it’s the beginning of the end of the time when you can easily slip back into technical work. It will get harder and harder over the next 2-3 years, and at some point you will no longer have the option.
Picking up another technical role is the most strategic option, the one that maximizes your future opportunities as a technical leader. But you do not seem excited by this option; instead you feel many complex and uncomfortable things. It feels like going backwards. It feels like losing ground. It feels like ceding status and power.
“Management isn’t a promotion, it’s a career change.”
But if management is not a promotion, then going back to an engineering role should not feel like a demotion! What the fuck?!
It’s one thing to say that. Whether it’s true or not is another question entirely, a question of policy and org dynamics. The fact is that in most places, most of the power does go to the managers, and management IS a promotion. Power flows naturally away from engineers and towards managers unless the org actively and vigorously pushes back on this tendency by explicitly allocating certain powers and responsibilities to other roles.
I’m betting your org doesn’t do this. So yeah, going back to being an IC WILL be a step down in terms of your power and influence and ability to set the agenda. That’s going to feel crappy, no question. We humans hate that.
You cannot go back to doing exactly what you did before, for the very simple reason that you are not the same person. You are going to be attuned to power dynamics and ways of influencing that you never were before — and remember, leadership is primarily exercised through influence, not explicit authority.Senior ICs who have been managers are supremely powerful beings, who tend to wield outsize influence. Smart managers will lean on them extensively for everything from shadow management and mentorship to advice, strategy, etc. (Dumb managers don’t. So find a smart manager who isn’t threatened by your experience.)
You’re a short-timer here, remember? Your company sucks. You’re just renewing your technical skills and pulling a paycheck while finding a company that will treat you better, that is more aligned with your values.
Lastly (and most importantly), I have a question. Why did you need to become a manager in order to drive sweeping technical change over the past two years? WHY couldn’t you have done it as a senior IC? Shouldn’t technical people be responsible for technical decisions, and people managers responsible for people decisions? Could this be your next challenge, or part of it? Could you go back to being an engineer, equipped with your shiny new powers of influence and mystical aura of recent management experience, and use it to organize the other senior ICs to assert their rightful ownership over technical decisions? Could you use your newfound clout with leadership and upper management to convince them that this will help them recruit and retain better talent, and is a better way to run a technical org — for everyone?
I believe this is a better way, but I have only ever seen these changes happen when agitated for and demanded by the senior ICs. If the senior ICs don’t assert their leadership, managers are unlikely to give it to them. If managers try, but senior ICs don’t inhabit their power, eventually the managers just shrug and go back to making all the decisions. That is why ultimately this is a change that must be driven and owned — at a minimum co-owned — by the senior individual contributors.
I hope you can push back against that fear of being small and meaningless as an individual contributor. The fact that it very often is this way, especially in strongly hierarchical organizations, does not mean that it has to be this way; and in healthy organizations it is not this way. Command-and-control systems are not conducive to creative flourishing. We have to fight the baggage of the authoritarian structures we inherited in order to make better ones.
Organizations are created afresh each and every day — not created for us, but by us. Help create the organization you want to work at, where senior people are respected equally and have domains of ownership whether they manage people or technology. If your current gig won’t value that labor, find one that will..
They exist. And they want to hire you.
Lots of companies are DYING to hire this kind of senior IC, someone who is still hands on yet feels responsibility for the team as a whole, who knows the business side, who knows how to mentor and craft a culture and can herd cats when nec
There are companies that know how to use ICs at the strategic level, even executive level. There are bosses who will see you not as a threat, but as a *huge asset* they can entrust with monumental work.
As a senior contributor who moves fluidly between roles, you are especially well-equipped to help shape a sociotechnical organization. Could you make it your mission to model the kind of relationship you want to see between management and ICs, whichever side you happen to be on? We need more people figuring out how to build organizations where management is not a promotion, just a change of career, and where going back and forth carries no baggage about promotions and demotions. Help us.
And when you figure it out, please don’t keep it to yourself. Expand your influence and share your findings by writing your experiences in blog posts, in articles, in talks. Tell stories. Show people people how much better it is this way. Be so magnificently effective and mysteriously influential as a senior IC that all the baby engineers you work with want to grow up to be just like you.
Hope this helps.
P.S. — Oh and stop fretting about “competing” with the 20-somethings kuberneteheads, you dork. You have been learning shit your whole career and you’ll learn this shit too. The tech is the easy part. The tech will always be the easy part. 🙂
Over a year and a half ago, I wrote up a post about the rights and responsibilities due any engineer at Honeycomb. At the time we were in the middle of a growth spurt, had just hired several new engineers, and I was in the process of turning over day-to-day engineering management over to Emily. Writing things down helped me codify what I actually cared about, and helped keep us true to our principles as we grew.
Tacked on to the end of the post was a list of manager responsibilities, almost as an afterthought. Many people protested, “don’t managers get any rights??” (and naturally I snapped “NO! hahahahahha”)
I always intended to circle back and write a followup post with the rights and responsibilities for managers. But it wasn’t til recently, as we are gearing up for another hiring spurt and have expanded our managerial ranks, that it really felt like its time had come.
The time has come, the time is now, as marvin k. mooney once said. Added the bill of rights, and updated and expanded the list of responsibilities. Thanks Emily Nakashima for co-writing it with me.
Manager’s Bill of Rights
You shall receive honest, courageous, timely feedback about yourself and your team, from your reports, your peers, and your leaders. (No one is exempt from feeding the hungry hungry feedback hippo! NOO ONNEEEE!) 🦛🦛🦛🦛🦛🦛🦛
Management will be treated with the same respect and importance as individual work.
You have the final say over hiring, firing, and leveling decisions for your team. It is expected that you solicit feedback from your team and peers and drive consensus where possible. But in the end, the say is yours.
Management can be draining, difficult work, even at places that do it well. You will get tactical, strategic, and emotional support from other managers.
You cannot take care of others unless you first practice self-care. You damn well better take vacations. (Real ones.)
You have the right to personal development, career progression, and professional support. We will retain a leadership coach for you.
You do not have to be a manager if you do not want to. No one will ever pressure you.
Recruit and hire and train your team. Foster a sense of solidarity and “teaminess” as well as real emotional safety.
Cultivate an inclusive culture and redistribute opportunity. Fuck a pedigree. Resist monoculture.
Care for the people on your team. Support them in their career trajectory, personal goals, work/life balance, and inter- and intra-team dynamics.
Keep an eye out for people on other teams who aren’t getting the support they need, and work with your leadership and manager peers to fix the situation.
Give feedback early and often. Receive feedback gracefully. Always say the hard things, but say them with love.
Move us relentlessly forward, staying alert for rabbit-holing and work that doesn’t contribute to our goals. Ensure redundancy/coverage of critical areas.
Own the planning process for your team, be accountable for the goals you set. Allocate resources by communicating priorities and requesting support. Add focus or urgency where needed.
Own your time and attention. Be accessible. Actively manage your calendar. Try not to make your emotions everyone else’s problems (but do lean on your own manager and your peers for support).
Make your own personal growth and self-care a priority. Model the values and traits we want employees to pattern themselves after.
I just read this piece, which is basically a very long subtweet about my Friday deploy threads. Go on and read it: I’ll wait.
Here’s the thing. After getting over some of the personal gibes (smug optimism? literally no one has ever accused me of being an optimist, kind sir), you may be expecting me to issue a vigorous rebuttal. But I shan’t. Because we are actually in violent agreement, almost entirely.
I have repeatedly stressed the following points:
I want to make engineers’ lives better, by giving them more uninterrupted weekends and nights of sleep. This is the goal that underpins everything I do.
Anyone who ships code should develop and exercise good engineering judgment about when to deploy, every day of the week
Every team has to make their own determination about which policies and norms are right given their circumstances and risk tolerance
A policy of “no Friday deploys” may be reasonable for now but should be seen as a smell, a sign that your deploys are risky. It is also likely to make things WORSE for you, not better, by causing you to adopt other risky practices (e.g. elongating the interval between merge and deploy, batching changes up in a single deploy)
This has been the most frustrating thing about this conversation: that a) I am not in fact the absolutist y’all are arguing against, and b) MY number one priority is engineers and their work/life balance. Which makes this particularly aggravating:
Lastly there is some strange argument that choosing not to deploy on Friday “Shouldn’t be a source of glee and pride”. That one I haven’t figured out yet, because I have always had a lot of glee and pride in being extremely (overly?) protective of the work/life balance of the engineers who either work for me, or with me. I don’t expect that to change.
Hold up. Did you catch that clever little logic switcheroo? You defined “not deploying on Friday” as being a priori synonymous with “protecting the work/life balance of engineers”. This is how I know you haven’t actually grasped my point, and are arguing against a straw man. My entire point is that the behaviors and practices associated with blocking Friday deploys are in fact hurting your engineers.
I, too, take a lot of glee and pride in being extremely, massively, yes even OVERLY protective of the work/life balance of the engineers who either work for me, or with me.
AND THAT IS WHY WE DEPLOY ON FRIDAYS.
Because it is BETTER for them. Because it is part of a deploy ecosystem which results in them being woken up less and having fewer weekends interrupted overall than if I had blocked deploys on Fridays.
It’s not about Fridays. It’s about having a healthy ecosystem and feedback loop where you trust your deploys, where deploys aren’t a big deal, and they never cause engineers to have to work outside working hours. And part of how you get there is by not artificially blocking off a big bunch of the week and not deploying during that time, because that breaks up your virtuous feedback loop and causes your deploys to be much more likely to fail in terrible ways.
The other thing that annoys me is when people say, primly, “you can’t guarantee any deploy is safe, but you can guarantee people have plans for the weekend.”
Know what else you can guarantee? That people would like to sleep through the fucking night, even on weeknights.
When I hear people say this all I hear is that they don’t care enough to invest the time to actually fix their shit so it won’t wake people up or interrupt their off time, seven days a week. Enough with the virtue signaling already.
You cannot have it both ways, where you block off a bunch of undeployable time AND you have robust, resilient, swift deploys. Somehow I keep not getting this core point across to a substantial number of very intelligent people. So let me try a different way.
Let’s try telling a story.
A tale of two startups
Here are two case studies.
Company X is a three-year-old startup. It is a large, fast-growing multi-tenant platform on a large distributed system with spiky traffic, lots of user-submitted data, and a very green database. Company X deploys the API about once per day, and does a global deploy of all services every Tuesday. Deploys often involve some firefighting and a rollback or two, and Tuesdays often involve deploying and reverting all day (sigh).
Pager volume at Company X isn’t the worst, but usually involves getting woken up a couple times a week, and there are deploy-related alerts after maybe a third of deploys, which then need to be triaged to figure out whose diff was the cause.
Company Z is a three-year-old startup. It is a large, fast-growing multi-tenant platform on a large distributed system with spiky traffic, lots of user-submitted data, and a very green house-built distributed storage engine. Company Z automatically triggers a deploy within 30 minutes of a merge to master, for all services impacted by that merge. Developers at company Z practice observability-driven deployment, where they instrument all changes, ask “how will I know if this change doesn’t work?” during code review, and have a muscle memory habit of checking to see if their changes are working as intended or not after they merge to master.
Deploys rarely result in the pager going off at Company Z; most problems are caught visually by the engineer and reverted or fixed before any paging alert can fire. Pager volume consists of roughly one alert per week outside of working hours, and no one is woken up more than a couple times per year.
Same damn problem, better damn solutions.
If it wasn’t extremely obvious, these companies are my last two jobs, Parse (company X, from 2012-2016) and Honeycomb (company Z, from 2016-present).
They have a LOT in common. Both are services for developers, both are platforms, both are running highly elastic microservices written in golang, both get lots of spiky traffic and store lots of user-defined data in a young, homebrewed columnar storage engine. They were even built by some of the same people (I built infra for both, and they share four more of the same developers).
At Parse, deploys were run by ops engineers because of how common it was for there to be some firefighting involved. We discouraged people from deploying on Fridays, we locked deploys around holidays and big launches. At Honeycomb, none of these things are true. In fact, we literally can’t remember a time when it was hard to debug a deploy-related change.
What’s the difference between Company X and Company Z?
So: what’s the difference? Why are the two companies so dramatically different in the riskiness of their deploys, and the amount of human toil it takes to keep them up?
I’ve thought about this a lot. It comes down to three main things.
Single merge per deploy
I think that I’ve been reluctant to hammer this home as much as I ought to, because I’m exquisitely sensitive about sounding like an obnoxious vendor trying to sell you things. 😛 (Which has absolutely been detrimental to my argument.)
When I say observability, I mean in the precise technical definition as I laid out in this piece: with high cardinality, arbitrarily wide structured events, etc. Metrics and other generic telemetry will not give you the ability to do the necessary things, e.g. break down by build id in combination with all your other dimensions to see the world through the lens of your instrumentation. Here, for example, are all the deploys for a particular service last Friday:
Each shaded area is the duration of an individual deploy: you can see the counters for each build id, as the new versions replace the old ones,
2. Observability-driven development.
This is cultural as well as technical. By this I mean instrumenting a couple steps ahead of yourself as you are developing and shipping code. I mean making a cultural practice of asking each other “how will you know if this is broken?” during code review. I mean always going and looking at your service through the lens of your instrumentation after every diff you ship. Like muscle memory.
3. Single merge per deploy.
The number one thing you can do to make your deploys intelligible, other than observability and instrumentation, is this: deploy one changeset at a time, as swiftly as possible after it is merged to master. NEVER glom multiple changesets into a single deploy — that’s how you get into a state where you aren’t sure which change is at fault, or who to escalate to, or if it’s an intersection of multiple changes, or if you should just start bisecting blindly to try and isolate the source of the problem. THIS is what turns deploys into long, painful marathons.
And NEVER wait hours or days to deploy after the change is merged. As a developer, you know full well how this goes. After you merge to master one of two things will happen. Either:
you promptly pull up a window to watch your changes roll out, checking on your instrumentation to see if it’s doing what you intended it to or if anything looks weird, OR
you close the project and open a new one.
When you switch to a new project, your brain starts rapidly evicting all the rich context about what you had intended to do and and overwriting it with all the new details about the new project.
Whereas if you shipped that changeset right after merging, then you can WATCH it roll out. And 80-90% of all problems can be, should be caught right here, before your users ever notice — before alerts can fire off and page you. If you have the ability to break down by build id, zoom in on any errors that happen to arise, see exactly which dimensions all the errors have in common and how they differ from the healthy requests, see exactly what the context is for any erroring requests.
Healthy feedback loops == healthy systems.
That tight, short feedback loop of build/ship/observe is the beating heart of a healthy, observable distributed system that can be run and maintained by human beings, without it sucking your life force or ruining your sleep schedule or will to live.
Most engineers have never worked on a system like this. Most engineers have no idea what a yawning chasm exists between a healthy, tractable system and where they are now. Most engineers have no idea what a difference observability can make. Most engineers are far more familiar with spending 40-50% of their week fumbling around in the dark, trying to figure out where in the system is the problem they are trying to fix, and what kind of context do they need to reproduce.
Most engineers are dealing with systems where they blindly shipped bugs with no observability, and reports about those bugs started to trickle in over the next hours, days, weeks, months, or years. Most engineers are dealing with systems that are obfuscated and obscure, systems which are tangled heaps of bugs and poorly understood behavior for years compounding upon years on end.
That’s why it doesn’t seem like such a big deal to you break up that tight, short feedback loop. That’s why it doesn’t fill you with horror to think of merging on Friday morning and deploying on Monday. That’s why it doesn’t appall you to clump together all the changes that happen to get merged between Friday and Monday and push them out in a single deploy.
It just doesn’t seem that much worse than what you normally deal with. You think this raging trash fire is, unfortunately … normal.
How realistic is this, though, really?
Maybe you’re rolling your eyes at me now. “Sure, Charity, that’s nice for you, on your brand new shiny system. Ours has years of technical debt, It’s unrealistic to hold us to the same standard.”
Yeah, I know. It is much harder to dig yourself out of a hole than it is to not create a hole in the first place. No doubt about that.
Harder, yes. But not impossible.
I have done it.
Parse in 2013 was a trash fire. It woke us up every night, we spent a lot of time stabbing around in the dark after every deploy. But after we got acquired by Facebook, after we started shipping some data sets into Scuba, after (in retrospect, I can say) we had event-level observability for our systems, we were able to start paying down that debt and fixing our deploy systems.
We started hooking up that virtuous feedback loop, step by step.
We reworked our CI/CD system so that it built a new artifact after every single merge.
We put developers at the steering wheel so they could push their own changes out.
We got better at instrumentation, and we made a habit of going to look at it during or after each deploy.
We hooked up the pager so it would alert the person who merged the last diff, if an alert was generated within an hour after that service was deployed.
We started finding bugs quicker, faster, and paying down the tech debt we had amassed from shipping code without observability/visibility for many years.
Developers got in the habit of shipping their own changes, and watching them as they rolled out, and finding/fixing their bugs immediately.
It took some time. But after a year of this, our formerly flaky, obscure, mysterious, massively multi-tenant service that was going down every day and wreaking havoc on our sleep schedules was tamed. Deploys were swift and drama-free. We stopped blocking deploys on Fridays, holidays, or any other days, because we realized our systems were more stable when we always shipped consistently and quickly.
Allow me to repeat. Our systems were more stable when we always shipped right after the changes were merged. Our systems were less stable when we carved out times to pause deployments. This was not common wisdom at the time, so it surprised me; yet I found it to be true over and over and over again.
This is literally why I started Honeycomb.
When I was leaving Facebook, I suddenly realized that this meant going back to the Dark Ages in terms of tooling. I had become so accustomed to having the Parse+scuba tooling and being able to iteratively explore and ask any question without having to predict it in advance. I couldn’t fathom giving it up.
The idea of going back to a world without observability, a world where one deployed and then stared anxiously at dashboards — it was unthinkable. It was like I was being asked to give up my five senses for production — like I was going to be blind, deaf, dumb, without taste or touch.
Look, I agree with nearly everything in the author’s piece. I could have written that piece myself five years ago.
But since then, I’ve learned that systems can be better. They MUST be better. Our systems are getting so rapidly more complex, they are outstripping our ability to understand and manage them using the past generation of tools. If we don’t change our ways, it will chew up another generation of engineering lives, sleep schedules, relationships.
Observability isn’t the whole story. But it’s certainly where it starts. If you can’t see where you’re going, you can’t go very far.
Get you some observability.
And then raise your standards for how systems should feel, and how much of your human life they should consume. Do better.
Because I couldn’t agree with that other post more: it really is all about people and their real lives.
Listen, if you can swing a four day work week, more power to you (most of us can’t). Any day you aren’t merging code to master, you have no need to deploy either. It’s not about Fridays; it’s about the swift, virtuous feedback loop.
And nobody should be shamed for what they need to do to survive, given the state of their systems today.
But things aren’t gonna get better unless you see clearly how you are contributing to your present pain. And congratulating ourselves for blocking Friday deploys is like congratulating ourselves for swatting ourselves in the face with the flyswatter. It’s a gross hack.
Maybe you had a good reason. Sure. But I’m telling you, if you truly do care about people and their work/life balance: we can do a lot better.
(With 🙏 to Joe Beda, whose brilliant idea for a blog post this was. Thanks for letting me borrow it!)
Interviewing is hard and it sucks.
In theory, it really shouldn’t be. You’re a highly paid professional and your skills are in high demand. This ought to be a meeting between equals to mutually explore what a longer-term relationship might look like. Why take the outcome personally? There are at least as many reasons for you to decide not to join a company as for the company to decide not to hire you, right?
In reality, of course, all the situational cues and incentives line up to make you feel like the whole thing is a referendum on whether or not you personally are Good Enough (smart enough, senior enough, skilled enough, cool enough) to join their fancy club.
People stay at shitty jobs far, far longer than they ought to, just because interviews can be so genuinely crushing to your spirit and sense of self. Even when they aren’t the worst, it can leave a lasting sting when they decline to hire you.
But there is an important asymmetry here. By not hiring someone, I very rarely mean it as a rejection of that person. (Not unless they were, like, mean to the office manager, or directed all their technical questions to the male interviewers.) On the contrary, I generally hold the people we decline to hire — or have had to let go! — in extremely high opinion.
So if someone interviews at Honeycomb, I do not want them to walk away feeling stung, hurt, or bad about themselves. I would like them to walk away feeling good about themselves and our interactions, even if one or both of us are disappointed by the outcome. I want them to feel the same way about themselves as I feel about them, especially since there’s a high likelihood that I may want to work with them in the future.
So here are the real, honest-to-god most common reasons why I don’t hire someone.
If you’ve worked at a Google or Facebook before, you may have a certain mental model of how hiring works. You ask the candidate a bunch of questions, and if they do well enough, you hire them. This could not be more different from early stage startup hiring, which is defined in every way by scarcity.
I only have a few precious slots to fill this year, and every single one of them is tied to one or more key company initiatives or goals, without which we may fail as a company. Emily and I spend hours obsessively discussing what the profile we are looking for is, what the smallest possible set of key strengths and skills that this hire must have, inter-team and intra-team dynamics and what elements are missing or need to be bolstered from the team as it stands. And at the end of the day, there are not nearly as many slots to fill as there are awesome people we’d like to hire. Not even close. Having to choose between several differently wonderful people can be *excruciating*.
No, not that kind. (Yes, we care about cultivating a diverse team and support that goal through our recruiting and hiring processes, but it’s not a factor in our hiring decisions.) I mean your level, stage in your career, educational background, professional background, trajectory, areas of focus and strengths. We are trying to build radical new tools for sociotechnical systems; tools that are friendly, intuitive, and accessible to every engineer (and engineering-adjacent profession) in the world.
How well do you think we’re going to do at our goal if the people building it are all ex-Facebook, ex-MIT senior engineers? If everyone has the exact same reference points and professional training, we will all have the same blind spots. Even if our team looks like a fucking Benetton ad.
3. We are assembling a team, not hiring individuals.
We spend at least as much time hashing out what the subtle needs of the team are right now as talking about the individual candidate. Maybe what we need is a senior candidate who loves mentoring with her whole heart, or a language polyglot who can help unify the look and feel of our integrations across ten different languages and platforms. Or maybe we have plenty of accomplished mentors, but the team is really lacking someone with expertise in query profiling and db tuning, and we expect this to be a big source of pain in the coming year. Maybe we realize we have nobody on the team who is interested in management, and we are definitely going to need someone to grow into or be hired on as a manager a year or two from now.
There is no value judgment or hierarchy attached to any of these skills or particulars. We simply need what we need, and you are who you are.
4. I am not confident that we can make you successful in this role at this time.
We rarely turn people down for purely technical reasons, because technical skills can be learned. But there can be some combination of your skills, past experience, geographical location, time zone, experience with working remotely, etc — that just gives us pause. If we cast forward a year, do we think you are going to be joyfully humming along and enjoying yourself, working more-or-less independently and collaboratively? If we can’t convince ourselves this is true, for whatever reasons, we are unlikely to hire you. (But we would love to talk with you again someday.)
5. The team needs someone operating at a different level.
Don’t assume this always means “you aren’t senior enough”. We have had to turn down people at least as often for being too senior as not senior enough. An organization can only absorb so many principal and senior engineers; there just isn’t enough high-level strategic work to go around. I believe happy, healthy teams are comprised of a range of levels — you need more junior folks asking naive questions that give senior folks the opportunity to explain themselves and catch their dumb mistakes. You need there to be at least one sweet child who is just so completely stoked to build their very first login page.
A team staffed with nothing but extremely senior developers will be a dysfunctional, bored and contentious team where no one is really growing up or being challenged as they should.
6. We don’t have the kind of work you need or want.
The first time we tried hiring junior developers, we ran into this problem hardcore. We simply didn’t have enough entry-level work for them to do. Everything was frustratingly complex and hard for them, so they weren’t able to operate independently, and we couldn’t spare an engineer to pair with them full time.
This also manifests in other ways. Like, lots of SREs and data engineers would LOVE to work at honeycomb. But we don’t have enough ops engineering work or data problems to keep them busy full time. (Well — that’s not precisely true. They could probably keep busy. But it wouldn’t be aligned with our core needs as a business, which makes them premature optimizations we cannot afford.)
7. Communication skills.
We select highly for communication skills. The core of our technical interview involves improving and extending a piece of code, then bringing it in the next day to discuss it with your peers. We believe that if you can explain what you did and why, you can definitely do the work, and the reverse is not necessarily true. We also believe that communication skills are at the foundation of a team’s ability to learn from its mistakes and improve as a unit. We value high-performing teams, therefore we select for those skills.
There are many excellent engineers who are not good communicators, or who do not value communication the way we do, and while we may respect you very much, it’s not a great fit for our team.
8. You don’t actually want to work at a startup.
“I really want to work at a startup. Also the things that are really important to me are: work/life balance, predictability, high salary, gold benefits, stability, working from 10 to 5 on the dot, knowing what i’ll be working on for the next month, not having things change unexpectedly, never being on call, never needing to think or care about work out of hours …”
To be clear, it is not a red flag if you care about work/life balance. We care about that too — who the hell doesn’t? But startups are inherently more chaotic and unpredictable, and roles are more fluid and dynamic, and I want to make sure your expectations are aligned with reality.
9. You just want to work for women.
I hate it when I’m interviewing someone and I ask why they’re interested in Honeycomb, and they enthusiastically say “Because it was founded by women!”, and I wait for the rest of it, but that’s all there is. That’s it? Nothing interests you about the problem, the competitive space, the people, the customers … nothing?? It’s fine if the leadership team is what first caught your eye. But it’s kind of insulting to just stop there. Just imagine if somebody asked you out on a date “because you’re a woman”. Low. Fucking. Bar.
10. I truly want you to be happy.
I have no interest in making a hard sell to people who are dubious about Honeycomb. I don’t want to hire people who can capably do the job, but whose hearts are really elsewhere doing other things, or who barely tolerate going to work every day. I want to join with people who see their labor as an extension of themselves, who see work as an important part of their life’s project. I only want you to work here if it’s what’s best for you.
11. I’m not perfect.
We have made the wrong decision before, and will do so again. >_<
As a candidate, it is tempting to feel like you will get the job if you are awesome enough, therefore if you do not get the job it must be because you were insufficiently awesome. But that is not how hiring works — not for highly constrained startups, anyway.
If we brought you in for an interview, we already think you’re awesome. Period. Now we’re just trying to figure out if you narrowly intersect the skill sets we are lacking that we need to succeed this year.
If you could be a fly on the wall, listening to us talk about you, the phrase you would hear over and over is not “how good are they?”, but “what will they need to be successful? can we provide the support they need?” We know this is as much of a referendum on us as it is on you. And we are not perfect.
Yesterday we had a super fun meetup here at Intercom in Dublin. We split up into small discussion groups and talked about things related to managing teams and being a senior individual contributor (IC), and going back and forth throughout your career.
One interesting question that came up repeatedly was: “what are some reasons that someone might not want to be a manager?”
"Things would be different if I was in charge", the all belief that authority is an all powerful magic wand you can wave and fix things.
Fascinatingly, I heard it asked over the full range of tones from extremely positive (“what kind of nutter wouldn’t want to manage a team?!”) to extremely negative (“who would ever want to manage a team?!”). So I said I would write a piece and list some reasons.
Point of order: I am going to focus on intrinsic reasons, not external ones. There are lots of toxic orgs where you wouldn’t want to be a manager for many reasons — but that list is too long and overwhelming, and I would argue you probably don’t want to work there in ANY capacity. Please assume the surroundings of a functional, healthy org (I know, I know — whopping assumption).
it's a huge responsibility. if you are having trouble advocating for yourself and your own needs/career goals/work output, then you may not have the capacity to do it for the people you're responsible for managing. i take the role extremely seriously, and it takes a toll.
Never underestimate this one, and never take it for granted. If you look forward to work and even miss it on vacation; if you occasionally leave work whistling with delight and/or triumph; if your brain has figured out how to wring out regular doses of dopamine and serotonin while delivering ever-increasing value; if you look back with pride at what you have learned and built and achieved, if you regularly tap into your creative happy place … hell, your life is already better than 99.99% of all the humans who have ever labored and lived. Don’t underestimate the magnitude of your achievement, and don’t assume it will always be there waiting for you to just pick it right back up again.
I got into tech because I like writing code. As a manager, I didn’t get to do that. Becoming a not-manager lets me do that again.
2. It is easy to get a new engineering job. Really, really easy.
Getting your first gig as an engineer can be a challenge, but after that? It is possibly easier for an experienced engineer to find a new job than anyone else on the planet. There is so much demand this skill set that we actually complain about how annoying it is being constantly recruited! Amazing.
It is typically harder to find a new job as a manager. If you think interview processes for engineers are terrible (and they are, honey), they are even weirder and less predictable (and more prone to implicit bias) for managers. So much of manager hiring is about intangibles like “culture fit” and “do I like you” — things you can’t practice or study or know if you’ve answered correctly. And soooo much of your skill set is inevitably bound up in navigating the personalities and bureaucracies of particular teams and a particular company. A manager’s effectiveness is grounded in trust and relationships, which makes it much less transferrable than engineering skills.
Someone has probably said it, but management will always be an option, but going back from management to writing code again can be very difficult (after some period of time). Anyway, looking forward to the post.
I am not claiming it is equally trivial for everyone to get a new job; it can be hard if you live in an out-of-the-way place, or have an unusual skill, etc. But in almost every case, it becomes harder if you’re a manager. Besides — given that the ratio of engineers to line managers is roughly 7 to one — there will be almost an order of magnitude fewer eng manager jobs than engineering jobs.
Regardless of org health, there's a _lot_ of emotional labor involved. Whether that's good for you personally depends a lot on circumstances, and how much of it you tend to take home with you. If it's too much to take, probably not good to manage, either for you or your team.
Engineers (in theory) add value directly to the bottom line. Management is, to be brutally frank, overhead. Middle management is often the first to be cut during layoffs
Remember how I said that creation is the engineering superpower? That’s a nicer way of saying that managers don’t directly create any value. They may indirectly contribute to increased value over time — the good ones do — but only by working through other people as a force multiplier, mentor etc. When times get tough, you don’t cut the people who build the product, you cut the ones whose value-added is contingent or harder to measure.
Another way this plays out is when companies are getting acquired. As a baseline for acquihires, the acquiring company will estimate a value of $1 million per engineer, then deduct $500k for every other role being acquired. Ouch.
I noticed that as soon as I had a competent manager, I never considered going into management ever again 😀
Where it’s completely normal for an engineer to hop jobs every 1-3 years, a manager who does this will not get points for learning a wide range of skills, they’ll be seen as “probably difficult to work with”. I have no data to support this, but I suspect the job tenure of a successful manager is at least 2-3x as long as that of a successful IC. It takes a year or two just to gain the trust of everyone on your team and the adjacent teams, and to learn the personalities involved in navigating the organization. At a large company, it may take a few times that long. I was a manager at Facebook for 2.5 years and I still learned some critical new detail about managing teams there on a weekly basis. Your value to the org really kicks in after a few years have gone by, once a significant part of the way things get done resides in your cranium.
As a PE who deliberately "leads" but has no interest in "management": I have stomach-churning aversion to the disciplinary/compensation/downsizing side of management, and a nontrivial chunk of my job satisfaction still comes from learning/exploring hard technical problems.
You know the type. Sneering about how managers don’t do any “real work”, looking down on them for being “less technical”. Basically everyone who utters the question “.. but how technical are they?” in that particular tone of voice is a shitbird. Hilariously, we had a great conversation about whether a great manager needs to be technical or not — many people sheepishly admitted that the best managers they had ever had knew absolutely nothing about technology, and yet they gave managers coding interviews and expected them to be technical. Why? Mostly because the engineers wouldn’t respect them otherwise.
7. As a manager, you will need to have some hard conversations. Really, really hard ones.
Do you shy away from confrontation? Does it seriously stress you out to give people feedback they don’t want to hear? Manager life may not be for you. There hopefully won’t be too many of these moments, but when they do happen, they are likely to be of outsized importance. Having a manager who avoids giving critical feedback can be really damaging, because it deprives you of the information you need to make course corrections before the problem becomes really big and hard.
Being a good manager takes emotional maturity, and it can be exhausting to always handle interpersonal problems well. Idk, I like to think I did better than ave, but holding people accountable? Giving the tough talks? If you hate that, do us all a fav and don't be a mgr.
As an engineer, if you really feel strongly about something, you just go off and do it yourself. As a manager, you have to lead through influence and persuasion and inspiring other people to do things. It can be quite frustrating. “But can’t I just tell people what to do?” you might be thinking. And the answer is no. Any time you have to tell someone what to do using your formal authority, you have failed in some way and your actual influence and power will decrease. Formal authority is a blunt, fragile instrument.
For a technical person, being a principal in a company with a two track career ladder, is all the best parts of managing a team without the down sides.
There is still plenty of room to learn and grow, career wise.
Best companies enable people to swap tracks back and forth.
3. If you go become a manager because you want to be the one making the decisions, imagine how happy you'd be with a manager like that. Also remember you're also going to have your own manager 4. Your current skillset is irrelevant. Humans are random & heterogenous. It's hard.
10) Use your position as an IC to bring balance to the Force.
I LOVE working in orgs where ICs have power and use their voices. I love having senior ICs around who model that, who walk around confidently assuming that their voice is wanted and needed in the decision-making process. If your org is not like that, do you know who is best positioned to shift the balance of power back? Senior ICs, with some behind-the-scenes support from managers. For this reason, I am always a little sad when a vocal, powerful IC who models this behavior transitions to management. If ALL of the ICs who act this way become managers, it sends a very dismaying message to the ranks — that you only speak up if you’re in the process of converting to management.
Not the optimal way to achieve impact given the setup of our organization, my personal skills, and work it would necessarily trade off with.
11) Management is just a collection of skills, and you should be able to do all the fun ones as an IC.
Do you love mentoring? Interviewing, constructing hiring loops, defining the career ladder? Do you love technical leadership and teaching other people, or running meetings and running projects? Any reasonably healthy org should encourage all senior ICs to participate and have leadership roles in these areas. Management can be unbundled into a lot of different skills and roles, and the only ones that are necessarily confined to management are the shitty ones, like performance reviews and firing people. I LOVE it when an engineer expresses the desire to start learning more management skills, and will happily brainstorm with them on next steps — get an intern? run team meetings? there are so many things to choose from! When I say that all engineers should try management at some point in their career, what I really mean is these are skills that every senior engineer should develop. Or as Jill says:
I tell people all the time that you can do most of the "fun" management things (mentoring, coaching, watching people grow, contributing to decision making) as an IC without doing all the terrible parts of management (firing, budgeting, serious HR things).
That dopamine drip in your brain from fixing problems and learning things goes away, and it’s … real tough. This is why I say you need to commit to a two year stint if you’re going to try management: that, plus it takes that long to start to get your feet under you and is hard on your team if they’re switching managers all the time. It usually takes a year or two to rewire your brain to look for the longer timeline, less intense rewards you get from coaching other people to do great things. For some of us, it never does kick in. It’s genuinely hard to know whether you’ve done anything worth doing.
As a manager who frequently falls down a mental hole about not being totally sure I ever achieve anything or add value: sometimes you can go for long periods unsure you have achieved anything or added value 🙂
13) It will take up emotional space at the expense of your personal life.
When I was an IC, I would work late and then go out and see friends or meet up at the pub almost every night. It was great for my dating life and social life in general. As a manager, I feel like curling up in a fetal position and rolling home around 4 pm. I’m an introvert, and while my capacity has increased a LOT over the past several years, I am still sapped every single day by the emotional needs of my team.
As an engineer who's survived this long in the biz I know two things: a) I'm really good at dealing with technical stuff, and b) I'm really not good at dealing with people.
Schedule flexibility is an often overlooked reason. Coming back from maternity leave, big trip, sick days are easier if you don’t have a team whose day to day you are responsible for. Also meetings tend not to be very movable time wise.
16) If technical leadership is what your heart loves most, you should NOT be a manager.
If you are a strong tech lead and you convert to management, it is your job to begin slowly taking yourself out of the loop as tech lead and promoting others in your place. Your technical skills will stop growing at the point that you switch careers, and will slowly decay after that. Moreover, if you stay on as tech lead/manager you will slowly suck all the oxygen from the room. It is your job to train up and hand over to your replacements and gradually step out of the way, period.
For a while, I personally struggled to switch my mindset from deriving my sense of personal success on the code I shipped to the impact the team(s) I supported were delivering. I have definitely seen others fail to make that change and personally suffer for it.
Wish we could avoid the either/or of manager vs individual contributor. There’s also practice leaders who might not manage within a formal org sense but are specialists and still lead teams and innovative thinking. Best job at the company IMHO
Given all this, why should ANYONE ever be a manager? Shrug. I don’t think there’s any one good or bad answer. I used to think a bad answer would be “to gain power and influence” or “to route around shitty communication systems”, but in retrospect those were my reasons and I think things turned out fine. It’s a complex calculation. If you want to try it and the opportunity arises, try it! Just commit to the full two year experiment, and pour yourself into learning it like you’re learning a new career — since, you know, you are.
"If you want to spend your emotional energy outside of work "
But please do be honest with yourself. One thing I hate is when someone wants to be a manager, and I ask why, and they rattle off a list of reasons they’ve heard that people SHOULD want to become managers (“to have a greater impact than I can with just myself, because I love helping other people learn and grow, etc”) but I am damn sure they are lying to themselves and/or me.
Introspection and self-knowledge are absolutely key to being a decent manager, and lord knows we need more of those. So don’t kick off your grand experiment by lying to yourself, ok?
And also, the people who excel at all those management tasks, the ICs who would actually make *great* managers but don't want to do it? They make the *best* ICs. Literally a dream. They make my job so much easier in so many ways. Wouldn't trade them.
Seven years ago I was working on backend infra for mobile apps at Parse, resenting MongoDB and its accursed single write lock per replica with all my dirty, blackened soul. That’s when Miles Ward asked me to give a customer testimonial for MongoDB at AWS reinvent.
It was my first time EVER speaking in public, and I had never been more terrified. I have always been a writer, not a talker, and I was pathologically afraid of speaking in public, or even having groups of people look at me. I scripted every word, memorized my lines, even printed it all out just in case my laptop didn’t work. I had nightmares every night. For three months I woke up every night in a cold sweat, shaking.
And I bombed, completely and utterly. The laptop DIDN’T work, my limbs and tongue froze, I was shaking so badly I could hardly read my printout, and after I rushed through the last sentences I turned and stumbled robotically off the stage, fully unaware that people were raising their hands and asking questions. I even tripped over the microphone cord in my haste to escape the stage.
Afterwards I burned with unpleasantries — fear, anger, humiliation, rage at being so bad at anything. It was excruciating. For the next two years I sought out every opportunity I could get to talk at a meetup, conference, anything. I got a prescription for propranolol to help manage the physical symptoms of panic. I gave 17 more talks that year, spending most nights and weekends working on them or rehearsing, and 21 the year after that. I hated every second of it.
I hated it, but I burned up my fear and aversion as fuel. Until around 18 months later, when I realized that I no longer had nightmares and had forgotten to pack my meds for a conference. I brute forced my way through to the other side, and public speaking became just an ordinary skill or a tool like any other.
I was on a podcast last week where the topic was career journeys. They asked me what piece of career advice I would like to give to people. I promptly said that following your bliss is nice, but I think it’s important to learn to lean into pain.
“Pain is nature’s teacher,” I said. Feedback loops train us every day, mostly unconsciously. We feel aversion for pain, and we enjoy dopamine hits, and out of those and other brain chemicals our habits are made. All it takes is a little tolerance for discomfort and a some conscious tweaking of those feedback loops, and you can train yourself to achieve big things without even really trying.
But then I hesitated. Yes, leaning in to pain has done well for me in my career. But that is not the whole story, it leaves off some important truths. It has also hurt me and held me back.
Misery is not a virtue. Pain is awful. That’s why it’s so powerful and primal. It’s a pre-conscious mechanism, an acute response that kicks in long before your conscious mind. Even just the suggestion of pain (or memory of past trauma) will train you to twist and contort around to avoid it.
When you are in pain, your horizons shrink. Your vision narrows, you curl inward. You have to expend enormous amounts of energy just moving forward through the day inch by inch.
Everything is hard when you’re in pain. Your creative brain shuts down. Basic life functions become impossible tests. You have to spend so much time compensating for your reduced capacity that learning new things is nearly impossible. You can’t pick up on subtle signals when your nerves are screaming in agony. And you grow numb over time, as they die off from sheer exhaustion.
I am no longer the CEO of honeycomb.
I never wanted to be CEO; I always fiercely wanted a technical role. But it was a matter of company survival, and I did my best. I wasn’t a great CEO, although we did pretty well at the things I am good at or care about. But I couldn’t expand past them.
I hated every second of it. I cried every single day for the first year and a half. I tried to will myself into loving a role I couldn’t stand, tried to brute force my way to success like I always do. It didn’t get better. My ability to be present and curious and expansive withered. I got numb.
Turns out not every problem can be powered through on a high pain tolerance. The collateral damage starts to rack up. Sometimes the only way to succeed is to redefine success.
Pain is a terrific teacher, but pain is an acute response. Chronic pain will hijack your reward pathways, your perspective, your relationships, and every other productive system and leave them stunted.
Leaning in to pain can be powerful if you have the agency and ability to change it, or practice it to mastery, or even just adapt your own emotional responses to it. If you don’t or you can’t, leaning in to pain will kill you. Having the wisdom to know the difference is everything. Or so I’m learning.
From here on out I’ll be in the CTO seat. I don’t know what that even means yet, but I guess we’ll find out. Stay tuned. <3
Last night I was out with a dear friend who has been an engineering manager for a year now, and by two drinks in I was rattling off a long list things I always say to newer engineering managers.
Then I remembered: I should write a post! It’s one of my goals this year to write more long form instead of just twittering off into the abyss.
There’s a piece I wrote two years ago, The Engineer/Manager Pendulum, which is probably my all time favorite. It was a love letter to a friend who I desperately wanted to see go back to engineering, for his own happiness and mental health. Well, this piece is a sequel to that one.
It’s primarily aimed at new managers, who aren’t sure what their career options look like or how to evaluate the opportunities that come their way, or how it may expand or shrink their future opportunities.
The first fork in the manager’s path
Every manager reaches a point where they need to choose: do they want to manage engineers (a “line manager”), or do they want to try to climb the org chart? — manage managers, managers of other managers, even other divisions; while being “promoted” from manager to senior manager, director to senior director, all the way up to VP and so forth. Almost everyone’s instinct is to say “climb the org chart”, but we’ll talk about why you should be critical of this instinct.
They also face a closely related question: how technical do they wish to stay, and how badly do they care?
Are you an “engineering MANAGER” or an “ENGINEERING manager”?
These are not unlike the decisions every engineer ends up making about whether to go deep or go broad, whether to specialize or be a generalist. The problem is that both engineers and managers often make these career choices with very little information — or even awareness that they are doing it.
And managers in particular then have a tendency to look up ten years later and realize that those choices, witting or unwitting, have made them a) less employable and b) deeply unhappy.
Lots of people have the mindset that once they become an engineering manager, they should just go from gig to gig as an engineering manager who manages other engineers: that’s who they are now. But this is actually a very fragile place to sit long-term, as we’ll discuss further on in this piece.
But let’s start at to the beginning, so I can speak to those of you who are considering management for the very first time.
“So you want to try engineering management.”
COOL! I think lots of senior engineers should try management, maybe even most senior engineers. It’s so good for you, it makes you better at your job. (If you aren’t a senior engineer, and by that I mean at least 7+ years of engineering experience, be very wary; know this isn’t usually in your best interest.)
Hopefully you have already gathered that management is a career change, not a promotion, and you’re aware that nobody is very good at it when they first start.
That’s okay! It takes a solid year or two to find new rhythms and reward mechanisms before you can even begin to find your own voice or trust your judgment. Management problems look easy, deceptively so. Reasons this is hard include:
Most tech companies are absolutely abysmal at providing any sort of training or structure to help you learn the ropes and find your feet.
Even if they do, you still have to own your own careerdevelopment. If learning to be a good engineer was sort of like getting your bachelor’s, learning to be a good manager is like getting your PhD — much more custom to who you are.
It will exhaust you mentally and emotionally in the weirdest ways for much longer than you think it should. You’ll be tired a lot, and you’ll miss feeling like you’re good at something (anything).
This is because you need to change your habits and practices, which in turn will actually change who you are. This takes time. Which is why …
The minimum tour of duty as a new manager is two years.
If you really want to try being a manager, and the opportunity presents itself, do it! But only if you are prepared to fully commit to a two year long experiment.
Commit to it like a proper career change. Seek out new peers, find new heroes. Bring fresh eyes and a beginner’s mindset. Ask lots of questions. Re-examine every one of your patterns and habits and priorities: do they still serve you? your team?
Don’t even bother thinking about in terms of whether you “enjoy managing” for a while, or trying to figure out if you are are any good at it. Of course you aren’t any good at it yet. And even if you are, you don’t know how to recognize when you’ve succeeded at something, and you haven’t yet connected your brain’s reward systems to your successes. A long stretch of time without satisfying brain drugs is just the price of admission if you want to earn these experiences, sadly.
It takes more than one year to learn management skills and wire up your brain to like it. If you are waffling over the two year commitment, maybe now is not the time. Switching managers too frequently is disruptive to the team, and it’s not fair to make them report to someone who would rather be doing something else or isn’t trying their ass off.
It takes about 3-5 years for your skills to deteriorate.
So you’ve been managing a team for a couple years, and it’s starting to feel … comfortable? Hey, you’re pretty good at this! Yay!
With a couple of years under your belt as a line manager, you now have TWO powerful skill sets. You can build things, AND you can organize people into teams to build even bigger things. Right now, both sets are sharp. You could return to engineering pretty easily, or keep on as a manager — your choice.
But this state of grace doesn’t last very long. Your technical skills stop advancing when you become a manager, and instead begin eroding. Two years in, you aren’t the effective tech lead you once were; your information is out of date and full of gaps, the hard parts are led by other people these days.
More critically, your patterns of mind and habits shift over time, and become those of a manager, not an engineer. Consider how excited an engineer becomes at the prospect of a justifiable greenfield project; now compare to her manager’s glum reaction as she instinctively winces at having to plan for something so reprehensibly unpredictable and difficult to estimate. It takes time to rewire yourself back.
If you like engineering management, your tendency is to go “cool, now I’m a manager”, and move from job to job as an engineering manager, managing team after team of engineers. But this is a trap. It is not a sound long term plan. It leads too many people off to a place they never wanted to end up: technically sidelined.
Why can’t I just make a career out of being a combo tech lead+line manager?
One of the most common paths to management is this: you’re a tech lead, you’re directing ever larger chunks of technical work, doing 1x1s and picking up some of the people stuff, when your boss asks if you’d like to manage the team. “Sure!”, you say, and voila — you are an engineering manager with deep domain expertise.
But if you are doing your job, you begin the process of divesting yourself of technical leadership responsibilities starting immediately. Your own technical development should screech to a halt once you become a manager, because you have a whole new career to focus on learning.
Your job is to leverage that technical expertise to grow your engineers into great senior engineers and tech leads themselves. Your job is not to hog the glory and squat on the hard problems yourself, it’s to empower and challenge and guide your team. Don’t suck up all the oxygen: you’ll stunt the growth of your team.
But your technical knowledge gets dated, and your skills atrophy.. The longer it’s been since you worked as an engineer, the harder it will be to switch back. It gets real hard around three years, and five years seems like a tipping point.
And because so much of your credibility and effectiveness as an engineering leader comes from your expertise in the technology that your team uses every day, ultimately you will be no longer capable of technical leadership, only people management.
On being an “engineering manager” who only does people management
I mean, there’s a reason we don’t lure good people managers away from Starbucks to run engineering teams. It’s the intersection and juxtaposition of skill sets that gives engineering managers such outsize impact.
The great ones can make a large team thrum with energy. The great ones can break down a massive project into projects that challenge (but do not overwhelm) a dozen or more engineers, from new grads to grizzled veterans, pushing everyone to grow. The great ones can look ahead and guess which rocks you are going to die on if you don’t work to avoid them right now.
The great ones are a treasure: and they are rare. And in order to stay great, they regularly need to go back to the well to refresh their own hands-on technical abilities.
There is an enormous demand for technical engineering leaders — far more demand than supply. The most common hackaround is to pair a people manager (who can speak the language and knows the concepts, but stopped engineering ages ago) with a tech lead, and make them collaborate to co-lead the team. This unwieldy setup often works pretty well.
But most of those people managers didn’t want or expect to end up sidelined in this way when they were told to stop engineering.
If you want to be a pure people manager and not do engineering work, and don’t want to climb the ladder or can’t find a ladder to climb, more power to you. I don’t know that I’ve met many of these people in my life. I have met a lot of people in this situation by accident, and they are always kinda angsty and unhappy about it. Don’t let yourself become this person by accident. Please.
Which brings me to my next point.
You will be advised to stop writing code or engineering.
Everybody’s favorite hobby is hassling new managers about whether or not they’ve stopped writing code yet, and not letting up until they say that they have. This is a terrible, horrible, no-good VERY bad idea that seems like it must originally have been a botched repeating of the correct advice, which is:
Stop writing code and engineering
in the critical path
Can you spot the difference? It’s very subtle. Let’s run a quick test:
Authoring a feature? ⛔️
Covering on-call when someone needs a break? ✅
Diving on the biggest project after a post mortem? ⛔️
Code reviews? ✅
Picking up a p2 bug that’s annoying but never seems to become top priority? ✅
Insisting that all commits be gated on their approval? ⛔️
Cleaning up the monitoring checks and writing a library to generate coverage? ✅
The more you can keep your hands warm, the more effective you will be as a coach and a leader. You’ll have a richer instinct for what people need and want from you and each other, which will help you keep a light touch. You will write better reviews and resolve technical disputes with more authority. You will also slow the erosion and geriatric creep of your own technical chops.
I firmly believe every line manager should either be in the on call rotation or pinch hit liberally and regularly, but that’s a different post.
Technical Leadership track
If you love technology and want to remain a subject-matter expert in designing, building and shipping cutting-edge technical products and systems, you cannot afford to let yourself drift too far or too long away from hands-on engineering work. You need to consciously cultivate your path , probably by practicing some form of the engineer/manager pendulum.
If you love managing engineers — if being a technical leader is a part of your identity that you take great pride in, then you must keep up your technical skills and periodically invest in your practice and renew your education. Again: this is simply the price of admission. You need to renew your technical abilities, your habits of mind, and your visceral senses around creating and maintaining systems. There is no way to do this besides doing it. If management isn’t a promotion, then returning to hands-on work isn’t a demotion, either. Right?
One warning: Your company may be great, but it doesn’t exist for your benefit. You and only you can decide what your needs are and advocate for them. Remember that next time your boss tries to guilt you into staying on as manager because you’re so badly needed, when you can feel your skills getting rusty and your effectiveness dwindling. You owe it to yourself to figure out what makes you happy and build a portfolio of experiences that liberate you to do what you love. Don’t sacrifice your happiness at the altar of any company. There are always other companies.
Honestly, I would try not to think of yourself as a manager at all: you are an “engineering leader” performing a tour of duty in management. You’re pursuing a long term strategy towards being a well-respected technologist, someone who can sling code, give informed technical guidance and explain in detail customized for to anyone at any level of sophistication.
Organizational Leadership Track
Most managers assume they want to climb the ladder. Leveling up feels like an achievement, and that can feel impossible to resist.
Resist it. Or at least, resist doing it unthinkingly. Don’t do it because the ladder is there and must be climbed. Know as much as you can about what you’re in for before you decide it’s what you want.
Here are a few reasons to think critically about climbing the ladder to director and executive roles.
Your choices shrink. There are fewer jobs, with more competition, mostly at bigger companies. (Do you even like big companies?)
You basically need to do real time at a big company where they teach effective management skills, or you’ll start from a disadvantage.
Bureaucracies are highly idiosyncratic, skills and relationships may or may not transfer with you between companies. As an engineer you could skip every year or two for greener pastures if you landed a crap gig. An engineer has … about 2-3x more leeway in this regard than an exec does. A string of short director/exec gigs is a career ender or a coach seat straight to consultant life.
You are going to become less employable overall. The ever-higher continuous climb almost never happens, usually for reasons you have no control over. This can be a very bitter pill.
Your employability becomes more about your “likability” and other problematic things. Your company’s success determines the shape of your career much more than your own performance. (Actually, this probably begins the day you start managing people.)
Your time is not your own. Your flaws are no longer cute. You will see your worst failings ripple outward and be magnified and reflected. (Ditto, applies to all leaders but intensifies as you rise.)
You may never feel the dopamine hit of “i learned something, i fixed something, i did something” that comes so freely as an I.C. Some people learn to feel satisfaction from managery things, others never do. Most describe it as a very subdued version of the thrill you get from building things.
You will go home tired every night, unable to articulate what you did that day. You cannot compartmentalize or push it aside. If the project failed for reasons outside your control, you will be identified with the failure anyway.
Nobody really thinks of you as a person anymore, you turn into a totem for them to project shit on. (Things will only get worse if you hit back.) Can you handle that? Are you sure?
It’s pretty much a one-way trip.
Sure, there are compensating rewards. Money, power, impact. But I’m pointing out the negatives because most people don’t stop to consider them when they start saying they want to try managing managers. Every manager says that.
The mere existence of a ladder compels us all to climb.
I know people who have climbed, gotten stuck, and wished they hadn’t. I know people who never realized how hard it would be for them to go back to something they loved doing after 5+ years climbing the ladder farther and farther away from tech. I know some who are struggling their way back, others who have no idea how or where to start. For those who try, it is hard.
You can’t go back and forth from engineering to executive, or even director to manager, in the way you can traverse freely between management and engineering as a technologist.
I just want more of you entering management with eyes wide open. That’s all I’m saying.
If you don’t know what you want, act to maximize your options.
Engineering is a creative act. Managing engineers will require your full attentive and authentic self. You will be more successful if you figure out what that self is, and honor its needs. Try to resist the default narratives about promotions and titles and roles, they have nothing to do with what satisfies your soul. If you have influence, use it to lean hard against things like paying managers more than ICs of the same level.
It’s totally normal not to know who you want to be, or have some passionate end goal. It’s great to live your life and work your work and keep an eye out for interesting opportunities, and see what resonates. It’s awesome when you get asked to step up and opportunistically build on your successes.
If you want a sustainable career in tech, you are going to need to keep learning your whole life. The world is changing much faster than humans evolved to naturally adapt, so you need to stay a little bit restless and unnaturally hungry to succeed in this industry.
The best way to do that is to make sure you a) know yourself and what makes you happy, b) spend your time mostly in alignment with that. Doing things that make you happy give you energy. Doing things that drain you are antithetical to your success. Find out what those things are, and don’t do them.
Don’t be a martyr, don’t let your spending habits shackle you, and don’t build things that trouble your conscience.
And have fun.
Yours in inverting $(allthehierarchies),
 Important point: I am not saying you can’t pick up the skills and patience to practice engineering again. You probably can! But employers are extremely reluctant to pay you a salary as an engineer if you haven’t been paid to ship code recently. The tipping point for hireability comes long before the tipping point for learning ability, in my experience.
 It is in no one’s best interest for money to factor into the decision of whether to be a manager or not. Slack pays their managers LESS than engineers of the same level, and I think this is incredibly smart: sends a strong signal of servant leadership.