Every now and then, I pause to appreciate the remarkable world we inhabit. Here I am in Brazil, a place I never thought I'd call home when I was young. I work remotely, tapping into my passion for programming, which I've been nurturing since 2004.
We have access to opportunities that were unheard of in the past, like online learning. I remember when internet access was rationed, tethered to the telephone line, with pages taking minutes to load. We'd then disconnect, mindful of our limited 6-hour internet allocation.
Always curious, I yearned for knowledge. Yet, in those days, Wikipedia was unfamiliar territory. I recall learning about Linux from computer security magazines, interacting on message boards, and IRC. Buying a discounted course on computer security introduced me to TCP/IP, XSS, and SQL injections.
I can still feel the sting of data loss after installing Mandrake, and the triumph of successfully installing Debian, thanks to Alexis de Lattre's tutorial. The pride of compiling the kernel for the first time is indelible.
I remember when Intel and Ubuntu would send manuals and CDs by mail. I have to admit, it took me years to understand the books.
Eventually, the internet became commonplace, ending my exclusive membership. Despite the crowd, it was enjoyable connecting with people on MSN Messenger, AIM, and ICQ. Some of my online friendships even outpaced those in my daily life.
I reminisce about downloading from Kazaa, eDonkey/eMule, and later, BitTorrent.
Nostalgia might paint a rosier picture of the past, but the reality wasn't as glamorous. Being a software engineer then wasn't an envied job, just about as appealing as an accountant. For me, though, it was a chance to be unique, intelligent, and distinct.
While the magic has faded somewhat, I'm still delighted to build and learn continuously.
Our world has evolved to be more permissive. Anyone can create, learn, and share freely on the internet. The feedback can be brutally honest—popularity is the reward for good work, and obscurity the penalty for mediocrity. Your identity matters less than the quality of your work.
While the world is far from perfect, and we've seen our share of regressions, I feel blessed to be living in these times.