The essence of software engineering is solving problems.

The first impression of this insight will almost certainly be that it seems like a good thing. If you have a problem, then solving it is great!

But software engineers are more likely to have mental health problems¹ than those who perform mechanical labor, and I think our problem-oriented world-view has something to do with that.

So, how could solving problems be a problem?

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As an example, let’s consider the idea of a bug tracker.

For many years, in the field of software, any system used to track work has been commonly referred to as a “bug tracker”. In recent years, the labels have become more euphemistic and general, and we might now call them “issue trackers”. We have Sapir-Whorfed² our way into the default assumption that any work that might need performing is a degenerate case of a problem.

We can contrast this with other fields. Any industry will need to track work that must be done. For example, in doing some light research for this post, I discovered that the relevant term of art in construction³ is typically “Project Management” or “Task Management” software. “Projects” and “Tasks” are no less hard work, but the terms do have a different valence than “Bugs” and “Issues”.

I don’t think we can start to fix this ... problem ... by attempting to change the terminology. Firstly, the domain inherently lends itself to this sort of language, which is why it emerged in the first place.

Secondly, Atlassian has desperately been trying to get everybody to call their bug tracker a “software development tool” where you write “stories” for years, and nobody does. It’s an issue tracker where you file bugs, and that’s what everyone calls it and describes what they do with it. Even they have to protest, perhaps a bit too much, that it’s “way more than a bug and issue tracker”⁴.

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This pervasive orientation towards “problems” as the atom of work does extend to any knowledge work, and thereby to any “productivity system”. Any to-do list is, at its core, a list of problems. You wouldn’t put an item on the list if you were happy with the way the world was. Therefore every unfinished item in any to-do list is a little pebble of worry.

As of this writing, I have almost 1000 unfinished tasks on my personal to-do list.

This is to say nothing of any tasks I have to perform at work, not to mention the implicit א‎₀ of additional unfinished tasks once one considers open source issue trackers for projects I work on.

It’s not really reasonable to opt out of this habit of problematizing everything. This monument to human folly that I’ve meticulously constructed out of the records of aspirations which exceed my capacity is, in fact, also an excellent prioritization tool. If you’re a good engineer, or even just good at making to-do lists, you’ll inevitably make huge lists of problems. On some level, this is what it means to set an intention to make the world — or at least your world — better.

On a different level though, this is how you set out to systematically give yourself anxiety, depression, or both. It’s clear from a wealth of neurological research that repeated experiences and thoughts change neural structures⁵. Thinking the same thought over and over literally re-wires your brain. Thinking the thought “here is another problem” over and over again forever is bound to cause some problems of its own.

The structure of to-do apps, bug trackers and the like is such that when an item is completed — when a problem is solved — it is subsequently removed from both physical view and our mind’s eye. What would be the point of simply lingering on a completed task? All the useful work is, after all, problems that haven’t been solved yet. Therefore the vast majority of our time is spent contemplating nothing but problems, prompting the continuous potentiation⁶ of neural pathways which lead to despair.

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I don’t want to pretend that I have a cure for this self-inflicted ailment. I do, however, have a humble suggestion for one way to push back just a little bit against the relentless, unending tide of problems slowly eroding the shores of our souls: a positivity journal.

By “journal”, I do mean a private journal. Public expressions of positivity⁷ can help; indeed, some social and cultural support for expressing positivity is an important tool for maintaining a positive mind-set. However, it may not be the best starting point.

Unfortunately, any public expression becomes a discourse, and any discourse inevitably becomes a dialectic. Any expression of a view in public is seen by some as an invitation to express its opposite⁸. Therefore one either becomes invested in defending the boundaries of a positive community space — a psychically exhausting task in its own right — or one must constantly entertain the possibility that things are, in fact, bad, when one is trying to condition one’s brain to maintain the ability to recognize when things are actually good.

Thus my suggestion to write something for yourself, and only for yourself.

Personally, I use a template that I fill out every day, with four sections:

• “Summary”. Summarize the day in one sentence that encapsulates its positive vibes. Honestly I put this in there because the Notes app (which is what I’m using to maintain this) shows a little summary of the contents of the note, and I was getting annoyed by just seeing “Proud:” as the sole content of that summary. But once I did so, I found that it helps to try to synthesize a positive narrative, as your brain may be constantly trying to assemble a negative one. It can help to write this last, even if it’s up at the top of your note, once you’ve already filled out some of the following sections.

• “I’m proud of:”. First, focus on what you personally have achieved through your skill and hard work. This can be very difficult, if you are someone who has a habit of putting yourself down. Force yourself to acknowledge that you did something useful, even if you didn’t finish anything, you almost certainly made progress and that progress deserves celebration.

• “I’m grateful to:”. Who are you grateful to? Why? What did they do for you? Once you’ve made the habit of allowing yourself to acknowledge your own accomplishments, it’s easy to see those; pay attention to the ways in which others support and help you. Thank them by name.

• “I’m lucky because:”. Particularly in post-2020 hell-world it’s easy to feel like every random happenstance is an aggravating tragedy. But good things happen randomly all the time, and it’s easy to fail to notice them. Take a moment to notice things that went well for no good reason, because you’re definitely going to feel attacked by the universe when bad things happen for no good reason; and they will.

Although such a journal is private, it’s helpful to actually write out the answers, to focus on them, to force yourself to get really specific.

I hope this tool is useful to someone out there. It’s not going to solve any problems, but perhaps it will make the world seem just a little brighter.

As I mentioned previously, I’ve recently been medicated for ADHD.

Everyone’s experience with medication, even the same medication, is different, but my particular experience — while hugely positive — has involved not so much a decrease in symptoms, but rather a shifting of my symptom profile. Some of my executive functions (particularly task initiation) have significantly improved, but other symptoms, such as time blindness have gotten significantly worse. This means, for example, I can now easily decide to perform a task, and actually maintain focus on that task for hours¹, but it’s harder to notice that it’s time to stop, and still somewhat difficult to tear myself away from it.

I’ve tried pomodoro timers before and I’ve had mixed success with them. While I tend to get more done if I set a pomodoro, it’s hard to remember to set the timers in the first place, and it’s hard to do the requisite time-keeping to remember how many pomodoros I’ve already set, how many more I’ll have the opportunity to set, etc. Physical timers have no associated automation and data recording, and apps can be so unobtrusive that I can easily forget about them entirely. I’ve long had an aspiration to eventually write my own custom-tailored app that addresses some of these issues.

As part of a renewed interest in ADHD management techniques, I watched this video about ADHD treatments from Dr. Russell Barkley, wherein he said (I’m paraphrasing) “if I don’t put an intervention into your visual field it might as well not exist”.

I imagined timer that:

1. was always clearly present in my visual field;
2. recorded the passage of intervals of time regardless of any active engagement from the user; the idea is to record the progress of the day, not give you a button you need to remember to push;
3. rewarded me for setting active intentions about what to do with those chunks of time, and allowed me to mark them as successful or failed.

So, last weekend, leveraging my newly enhanced task-initiation and concentration-maintenance abilities, I wrote it, and I’ve been using it all week. Introducing Pomodouroboros, the pomodoro timer that reminds you that the uncaring void marches on regardless of your plans or intentions.

I’ve been using it all week and preliminary results are extremely positive.

This thing is in an extremely rough state. It has no tests, no docs, and an extremely inscrutable UI that you need to memorize in order to use effectively. I need plenty of help with it. I contemplated keeping it private and just shipping a binary, but a realistic assessment of my limited time resources forced me to admit that it already kind of does what I need, and if I want to enhance it to the point where it can help other people, I’ll need plenty of help.

If this idea resonates with you, and you’re on macOS, check out the repo, make a virtualenv somehow, install its dependencies, I don’t know how you make virtualenvs or install dependencies, I’m not your dad², and run ./runme. If you’re on another platform, check out the code, ask me some questions, and maybe try to write a port to one of them.

On August 4, I received a clinical neuropsychiatric diagnosis of ADHD.

squirrel on gold
Brunetto Latini, Li Livres dou Trésor, Rouen ca. 1450-1480
Bibliothèque de Genève, Ms. fr. 160, fol. 82r

I expected this to be a complete non-event. I’ve known I have ADHD for the last 16 years or so, so in principle this should not have been news to me.

The formal diagnosis was also unlikely to affect my treatment. Prior to testing, I’d had an initial consultation with a psychiatry provider and based on that was prescribed Buproprion. While this medication is more commonly used for depression, it’s increasingly commonly used off-label for ADHD. Good evidence of its efficacy for ADHD has emerged in the last few years. It has fewer side-effects than stimulant medications. I’ve been tolerating it well — almost no experience of side-effects. More importantly, it’s helping to manage my symptoms. Doctors are unlikely to switch treatments if the one with fewer side-effects is working well. Furthermore, my extremely offensively named, specific subtype of ADHD¹ is correlated with somewhat poor performance of methylphenidate specifically and sometimes stimulant medication more generally, so I have low expectations of improved performance if I take something stronger. And I certainly wouldn’t look forward to the much more annoying process for managing the prescription for those medications.

And yet.

One of the quirks of the particular way that I went about getting a diagnosis was that I had a battery of neuropsychiatric psychometric tests to go along with the traditional interview-based evaluation process for ADHD. At the time, this was just a huge annoyance. I was subjected to a lot of psychometric testing in my early childhood, and given the circumstances of that testing², I have very negative associations with the experience. Moreover, since these tests were all administered remotely due to COVID, they were on a website, and unfortunately, as you probably already know, computers. JavaScript almost stopped me from getting critical mental health care.

I already knew what the interview portion of the testing would say, more or less. I’d been roughly aware of the diagnostic criteria for many years, I knew what my childhood was like, I knew how the symptoms still affected me today, so there wasn’t a whole lot of variation that I’d expect there. However, I’d never self-administered any neuropsychiatric evaluations, and when I’d been subjected to psychometric testing as a child, I’d never gotten to review the results in detail, just given a high-level summary.

So, given this quirk, included with my diagnostic results was clear evidence of additional ADHD symptoms, such as a gap between general intelligence and cognitive performance explained by a deficit in working memory.

I already knew many of my issues were caused by ADHD. I knew that I have a neurodevelopmental disorder that affects roughly 3% of the adult population; i.e. fewer than 1 in 20 people. I knew that despite public perception of this disorder as something frivolously over-diagnosed and “not real”, it’s been possibly the best-researched condition in clinical psychiatry for decades.

And yet.

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Reading through my diagnosis, after the fact, I was surprised to discover that despite having known this for years, despite having written extensively about how this specific paradigm about ADHD was both incorrect and unhelpful, there was still somehow a part of me which subconsciously believed that it was just a collection of character defects. That neurotypical people must feel like this all the time as well, and that they just try harder than me somehow.

One can easily believe that any behavior out “in the world” is simply a result of character. Failing to complete assignments in school, blowing through estimate after estimate at work, needing 3 different “upcoming meeting” reminders on every device to ensure that one doesn’t miss appointments, having a slavish dedication to to-do lists so intense that it literally borders on an obsessive compulsion... one can believe that these are all just quirks, responses to things that everyone must struggle with to some degree, and that one’s behavior in these areas might be colored a little bit by a disorder but ultimately it’s down to choices.

But what influence could “character” have on the performance on totally synthetic psychometric tasks? “Repeat this string of numbers backwards.” “Sort the numbers and repeat them in descending order.” “Describe the relationship between these two words.” “Describe some property of this baffling arrangement of shapes and colors, then do it again faster and faster.”

These are completely value-neutral activities. They take a few minutes each. They couldn’t possibly require sticktoitiveness or will-power, ambition or drive. They’re just arbitrary test results. And from the aforementioned childhood experiences of psychometrics, I know that I am hilariously, almost pathologically competitive about these sorts of things, so there’s no way I’m not going to give these brief tests my full attention and effort.

And yet, the raw data that these tests produced are consistent with my diagnosis. I really can’t help it. It’s not a choice.

I knew I might feel externally validated by receiving an official-sounding clinical diagnosis. I know that I crave validation, so I expected this to feel a little good. What I didn’t expect was the extent to which this would subtly allow me to align my subconscious, emotional self-concept with the one that I’d rationally accepted a long time ago.

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The medication that came along with the same process has been life-changing, but I’ll cover that in a separate post. The diagnosis itself (along with the medication changing my symptom profile somewhat) has also lead me to re-investigate coping strategies for ADHD, and to discover that quite a bit of useful research has been done since I last checked in on this disorder. There are new strategies, techniques, and medications to use since the last time I read a book on it. As annoying and tedious as the whole process was — the first step to getting treatment for ADHD is to prove you don’t have ADHD — it has absolutely been worth it.

So fine, I had a non-intuitive but ultimately positive experience with a psychiatric diagnosis, but why’d I write this? There are a few reasons.

In part, I just needed to work through my own complex feelings. I wanted to have something long-form written out that I can refer to which explains the journey that I’ve been on for the last couple of months, instead of haltingly re-deriving the explanation in every personal conversation I have.

I also wanted to “normalize”, as the kids say, talking about struggles with mental health issues. I’m too self-conscious and private to lay out the full extent of my struggles in public, but I can at least gesture towards the fact that I have struggles, and thereby give people some comfort.

As a consequence of my particular … idiom … I guess, it seems to have taken the form of an essay. Every good essay has a call to action, so here’s one: consider that getting help might be worth it. If you believe you’ve got a mental health condition—whether it be ADHD, anxiety, depression, or anything else—and you believe that you’ve been managing it on your own, I think it’s worth considering: maybe not. Particularly after this hellish 18 months. I really was managing my disorder on my own reasonably well, until one day, I wasn’t. Maybe you could really use a little help, too.³ If you can afford to, seek therapy. Seek treatment.

Good luck, and be well.

Some of you out there are still stuck on old deployment workflows that drop software directly onto shared hosts. Maybe it’s a personal thing that you just don’t have the energy to maintain particularly well. Maybe it’s a service at work stuck without any dedicated owner or maintenance resources that keeps limping along.

This post is a call to action for doing the minimum possible work to get it into a container, and to do that transition badly and quickly. I’ve done it for a bunch of minor things I maintain and it’s improved my life greatly; I just re-build the images with the latest security updates every week or so and let them run on autopilot, never worrying about what previous changes have been made to the host. If you can do it¹, it’s worth it.

Death is Coming

Your existing mutable infrastructure is slowly decaying. You already know that one day you’re going to log in and update the wrong package and it’s gonna blow up half of the software running on your box. Some .so is going to go missing, or an inscrutable configuration conflict will make some network port stop listening.

Either that or you’re not going to update religiously, and eventually it’ll get commandeered by cryptocurrency miners. Either way, your application goes down and you do a lot of annoying grunt work to get it back.

These boxes won’t survive forever. You’ve gotta do something.

Eat Trash

You don’t need to follow the daily churn of containerization “best practices” in order to get 95% of the benefit of containers. The huge benefit is just having a fully repeatable build process that can’t compromise your ability to boot or remotely administer your entire server. Your build doesn’t have to be good, or scalable. I will take 25 garbage shell scripts guaranteed to run isolated within a container over a beautifully maintained deployment system written in $YOUR_FAVORITE_LANGUAGE that installs arbitrary application packages as root onto a host any day of the week. The scope of potential harm from an error is orders of magnitude reduced.

Don’t think hard about it. Just pretend you’re deploying to a new host and manually doing whatever faffing around you’d have to do anyway if your existing server had some unrecoverable hardware failure. The only difference is that instead of typing the commands to do it after an administrative root@host# prompt on some freshly re-provisioned machine, you type it after a RUN statement in a Dockerfile.

Be Free

Now that you’ve built some images, rebuild them, including pulling new base images, every so often. Deploy them with docker run --restart=always ... and forget about them until you have time for another round of security updates. If the service breaks? Roll back to the previous image and worry about it later. Updating this way means you get to decide how much debugging effort it’s worth if something breaks in the rebuild, instead of inherently being down because of a bad update.

There. You’re done. Now you can go live your life instead of updating a million operating system packages.

Twitter is horrible. Everyone already knows this. ^{1 2 3}

But, Twitter can also be good, sometimes, after a fashion.

Throughout the pandemic, I have personally found Twitter to be a helpful tool for self-regulation. The little hits of dopamine on demand throughout the day have allowed me to suppress and modulate some truly unpleasant intrusive thoughts, during times when I have had neither the executive function nor sufficient continuous uninterrupted time allocated to focus on other, more useful things. Twitter has allowed me to anesthetize the internal doom-sayer during the absolutely most mind-shatteringly stressful period of my — and, presumably, most living humans’ — entire life.

Like any anesthetic, however, there comes a point where administering additional doses is more harmful than beneficial, even if the pain it’s suppressing is still there. It’s time for me to take a break, and it seems like it would be wise to take one long enough for new habits to form.

To that end, I’ll be taking the entirety of June off from Twitter; depending on how that goes, I might see you back there on 2021-07-01, or, should I find the fortitude in the meanwhile, never.

The “I’m taking a break from social media” genre of post is certainly a bit self-indulgent⁴, so it behooves me to say why I’m bothering to post about this rather than just, you know, doing it.

There are three reasons:

1. Changing times: I’m naturally distractable so I tend to keep an eye on my social media usage. I periodically look at how much time I’m spending, the benefits I’m getting, and the problems it’s causing. For most of the pandemic I could point to at least one or two useful actions per week that I’d taken because of something I’d learned on Twitter. Sometimes I’d learn about risk modeling or health precautions, emerging understanding of impacts of isolation on mental health, and ways to participate to address the exhausting, non-stop political upheaval of 2020/2021. But now I’m mostly just agonizing over the lack of any useful guidance for parents with young children who cannot yet get vaccinated for COVID-19 at this late stage of the crisis, and getting directionlessly more angry about the state of the world. The benefits have slowly evaporated over the last few weeks but the costs remain.⁵

2. Accountability: simply deleting the app, logging out of the website, etc, is clearly not enough to stay away, so an audience who can notice me posting and say “stop posting” should hopefully be enough to keep me honest. Please do note that I will still be allowing certain automated systems to post on my behalf, though. This post, for example, and any other posts I put on my blog, will show up in my Twitter feed automatically, I don’t post those manually.

3. A gentle prompt for others: maybe you’re having similar issues. Maybe you’d like to join me. During the pandemic I’ve found that many types of unpleasant mental states that I’ve described are more relatable than usual. Some so much so that they’ve got whole articles about jargon to describe them, like “disenfranchised stress”⁶ and “vicarious trauma”⁷. Feel free to ignore this: I’m not saying you should join me. Just that if you’ve already been thinking you should, you can take this as a challenge to do the same.

In the meanwhile, I’ll try to do some longer-form writing, particularly writing that isn’t about social media.

If you’d like to get in touch, I won’t be replying to DMs, so feel free to send me an email directly. If you want to interact in real time, I am still on IRC, as glyph on irc.libera.chat. Feel free to drop by #glyph and say hi.