I’ve grown tired. I really have. It seems almost paradoxical that one can love what they do so much (software engineering, problem solving) – and yet grow so tired of feebly attempting to answer the inevitable question: “So, what is it you do, exactly?”

It becomes more complicated in that much of my work is short-term engagements. One month I’m consulting for a Vancouver firm coding back-end server-side distributed Java code, and the next month I’m using Ruby to write an e-commerce system that integrates with Authorize.net, Fedex, UPS, USPS and QuickBooks APIs for a company in Texas that sells motorcycle leathers.

If that weren’t enough, I’m consistently dabbling on the side with a few close friends / developers / business partners working on building our own company (Micro ISV / Consultancy).

So, not only does Person X not have the foggiest idea about what it means to “write software” (that’s not meant to be a derogatory statement, but it is plain fact), but it becomes more aggravating in that one week I’m doing one thing, and the next week I’m onto the next.

My business card says that I’m a “Problem Solver”. I like this title. It accurately and succinctly describes exactly what I do. The fact that I utilize technology to solve problems is incidental. The problem with “Problem Solver” (heh, that sounds funny) is that for most people, it’s too abstract. “What do you mean you solve problems? What kind of problems? Give me a concrete example.”. And here it seems to break down.

Maybe I ought to take a different approach, and say “I build web applications.” Technically it’s correct. Most of the problems that I solve involve the development of some sort of web application for somebody. Even this answer involves a lot of confused glances. “Um. What’s a web application?”. Usually at this point I have to try to think of some web application that this person has used, and so I usually choose Gmail or Hotmail as an example. “So um, you build Gmail?” At this point, I really want to lower and shake my head in hopelessness and find myself a glass of Shiraz.

At least if I went and got a ‘real job’ I could just say “I work for XYZCompany”. Unfortunately no such luck. When I have more time to really think about this, I hope to put a half decent article or essay together. One of the best examples I have seen of this was an article entitled Palaces of Abstraction that I found years ago (April 2003) at Netcrucible. It since seems to have been lost – I’m very happy that I saved a copy as a PDF and still have it kicking around on my drive. From that article:

If you went back a century or two and asked your great-great grandfather to describe his job, quite likely you would report back that “He built houses”, or “he constructed locomotives”. People used to be able to touch their work, smell it, see it. Computer people can do none of these things. I push electrons around. None of what I do really exists; it is all imaginary.

And again:

Between keyboard, screen, and hard drive, I build palaces of abstractions. Layer upon layer, and when the abstractions become simple enough to do my so-called work, I feel happy. When the abstractions let me down, I refine them. Hopefully I can wrestle these abstractions into submission and accomplish what I want. When everything is done, I will have built a shiny new abstraction for someone else to use to do so-called work. If lots of people use my abstraction in their palaces, I will be very happy.