“According to Greek mythology, humans were originally created with four arms, four legs and a head with two faces. Fearing their power, Zeus split them into two separate parts, condemning them to spend their lives in search of their other halves.”

The Symposium, Plato

I sit before you now, dear reader, pyjamed past midday on a weekday, fuelled by the cheapest drip coffee my local supermarket offered, amidst an equal parts messy and organised tiny Japanese 1K apartment, partaking in my most detested of traits: overthinking.

Several years prior, I had what one might perceive as a successful life: a home in the south of Spain; married to a charming lady; a fluffy dog demanding my regular attention; a solid if unspectacular career. Satisfying, splendid even.

Nevertheless, I was searching. For purpose, reason, a mission upon my life.

I had taken an easy road at most junctures of my life. At school, I selected the path of Computer Science, for I was adequate enough at maths, and it was plain to see that programmers will be in high demand for decades to come. Coming from a financially mediocre background, guaranteed employment and an above-average salary seemed a sensible choice. Indeed, it was. But a desolate one.

Endless sprint meetings. Task estimations. Sprint reviews. Zoom calls. Teams meetings. Bug reports. Circling back. New technologies. Outdated tech stacks. Spaghetti-code. Arrogance. Hubris. Incompetence. Wrapped around a subject, software development, thoroughly uninteresting and most importantly, inhuman.

There is no humanity to code, not like writing. Writing reflects the soul. Code reflects desperation. Duct tape and string wrapped around fidgeting components lurching to and fro to escape the confines of an architecture. Of all the programmers I have meant, every single one has been smarter than I, yet not a single one carried any confidence in what they wrote. They all knew that no matter how hard they worked, how hard they studied, how refined or elegant their code, it could all come crashing down like a house of cards for the most frivolous of reasons. Should a certificate expiration coincide with the retrograde of Saturn, we could we a systemwide collapse, triggering the scrambling of middle-managers desperate to book crisis meetings to deduce who should actually bear the responsibility to fix the problem. Meanwhile those introverted programmers, lacking the charisma to ascend to management roles, calmly set about saving stockholder profits.

This is my cynicism run rampant, I admit. I grew exhausted of this world. The cold, intense, scrutinizing realm of software. I jumped from company to company, with the excuse that I was merely seeking a higher salary, but in reality I was escaping the accumulation of duties and expectations. Starting afresh, expectations were lower, and I could keep my head down for a year or two before the seniors really expected more of me.

Against the dedicated programmers, I wilted. Those who spent even their free time studying the craft, writing code for their own projects. Their knowledge and expertise eclipsed my own.

In interviews I was always asked for a portfolio of projects I could use to demonstrate my skill. None, I would answer, for I spent my free time freely. Free from the blinking lights and wanting cursor. I read books, played games, studied, spent time with my wife and dog. Why would I infect my free time with such soul-destroying activities as coding? Stunned, the interviewer’s face. Perplexed, my own. Then I learnt, it was not the answer they sought. They did not want humans working for them. They wanted machines. Unfeeling, unemotional bots, latched to their PCs, solely dedicated to generating software to, ultimately, drive up revenue into the open hands of the C’s and shareholders. A human of passions was unwelcome.

I tried. I really did. I studied software. I created basic projects to demonstrate the mediocre skills I had acquired over my career. Nevertheless, mediocre skills will only generate mediocrity.

How I managed to survive for so long was simply to my charisma. I am no confidence-man, mind you, but simply that despite not having a natural affinity for human interaction, I had developed enough skills and cues to mimic the behaviour. Talking with me, I am kind, considerate, a good listener, a pleasure. So that in interviews I could distract the host from my disappointing CV and instead charm them into thinking that I would be a positive influence on the team.

And so I passed almost every interview I took. Once in, I would endear myself to everyone in the team and to the management so that I would have friends on my side. I am sure that deep down their opinion of my work was the reality, that it was satisfactory at best, late and lacking at worst. Enough to keep my head afloat.

“Will this continue for another 35 years?” I asked myself. It was then I realised, staring at more code I could not comprehend, that I refuse. I must quit IT and find something better suited for me.

Then what of my married life? The wife I shared my life with did not fit either. I realised I played a role with her. Always, everyday, I performed for her dutifully. My true nature voluntarily suppressed. Days without her were a freedom. I will not go into further detail, but suffice it to say, after much much contemplation and meditation, I came to the same conclusion: I must quit her too.

So back to the UK with my darling dog I went, moving into the spare bedroom of my mother’s small home. My dog was old and sick, I knew that she did not have much left in her. Not that I wished for her passing, I loved her so greatly that I am certain the aftershocks of her loss will forever shake my heart. But her time came eventually. It was at once an easy and most difficult decision to send her away. Her pain was evident so that I wished her suffering to end. But her company was a north star in my life, a beacon of joy. I sent her on her way, and fell into depression.

I had destroyed my life because I believed it to be false. I had lived the safe, secure, expected life of me. Certainly slightly adventurous, having moved to Japan and then Spain, but that is primarily a consequence of my hatred for the direction the UK has stumbled down (Brexit and xenophobia being the faults, not immigration, I would like to emphasize. It is only thanks to immigrants that the UK is not worse off).

For what did I do this? Because I see something. There is something inside of me I need to realise. A story. And behind that, more stories. I have always held in the back of my mind that given the opportunity, I could tell a terrific story. Countless times had I attempted, secretly, to start writing a novel, and every time I failed as I realised I lacked the composure, training and knowledge.

So now I will study the craft of writing and literature. I am reading the classics, most recently Dracula, The Haunting of Hill House, and next will be Frankenstein. I am reading books on the craft, such as Ursula K Le Guin’s Steering the Craft, E. M. Forster’s Aspects of the Novel, and currently the edX course “How to Write an Essay” by Maggie Sokolik of UC Berkley.

With some luck, I hope to secure work as a writer for some Japan-focused publication. I will attempt to write and submit my own articles. In the mean time, English teaching will pay my bills. It is an enjoyable pursuit, if low paying. Such is the way of our capitalist systems. The most human of jobs are those that pay least, bar the exceptional few.

I turn 34 this year. I am late to change careers, perhaps. But I will try. I have but one life to live, and now I choose to live it in challenge. To search for that deeper self, the true self. Am I simply a mediocre man, destined to a bland fate? Or can I achieve something great, create some work that will move the hearts of my fellow beings?

Time will tell. For today, I push forward another step.

This writing started as a journal entry but ended up being a rambling screed, as I am oft to day. Overthinking, my greatest of skills.