Background textures of work An Article by Lucy Keer lucykeer.com One thing I've been enjoying about working as a technical writer is that the minute-by-minute texture of the work feels right. Something about formatting text, faffing about with SVGs, trying to rewrite a sentence more clearly... it's just enjoyable in itself, and I feel at home with it. ...Working as a programmer was very much not like that. There's something in the rough vicinity of professional dev work that I do like, which I could probably label as 'iterative hobbyist tinkering with websites'. I like working on something with a strong visual component, and I like to be inside of a fast feedback loop, and I'm mostly interested in just somehow bodging through until it works. I'm not very interested in either the computer-sciencey side of programming — data structures, algorithms — or the software-engineerey side of making things run reliably at scale in a maintainable way. So maybe it's not surprising that the minute-by-minute texture of professional programming was just... kind of bad. Occasional fun bits when I got into something, but the background experience was not fun. workproductivitymaking
Kokoro A Novel by Natsume Sōseki www.penguinrandomhouse.com Vibrations in the airThat delicate and complex instrumentThe great soundless whirl of darknessUnderfootNot them he despised+2 More zenabsurdity
Vibrations in the air Words are not just vibrations in the air, they work more powerfully than that, and on more powerful objects. words
That delicate and complex instrument Could that delicate and complex instrument that lies in the human breast ever really produce a reading that was absolutely clear and truthful, like a clock’s hands pointing to numbers on its dial? lovetruth
The great soundless whirl of darkness I could not know that even then the little light was being drawn irresistibly into the great soundless whirl of darkness and that I was watching a light that was destined soon to blink out and disappear. lightdarknessmelancholy
Underfoot The memory of having sat at someone’s feet will later make you want to trample him underfoot.
Not them he despised For all his unresponsiveness to others’ affection, I now see, it was not them he despised but himself. melancholy
Reading I suppose it’s because I believe you don’t really become a finer person just by reading lots of books. learningcommonplace
A circle of beads If you count off a circle of beads, you never reach an end. At what point, and with what feelings, would his fingers cease to move those beads? This may be a silly question, but it haunts me. ending