How to beat the Ravenous Bugblatter Beast of Traal
Suffering from Impostor Syndrome? Always carry a towel!
In my late teens, I read and reread Douglas Adams’ sci-fi comedy novel ‘The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy’. I reveled in Adams’ bizarre humor and the outlandish universe he created. The novel tells the story of Arthur Dent, the only* human to survive after the Vogons have destroyed Earth to make room for an intergalactic highway. On his subsequent travels of the (un)known universe, Dent crosses paths with countless extraordinary characters and creatures.
It didn’t take the destruction of the Earth to get me started on my journey into software development. But Arthur Dent has crossed my mind more than a few times over the last months. I too sometimes feel like I’m venturing into a galaxy where nothing feels familiar. A galaxy with a sheer infinite amount of civilizations, each with their own norms, tools, languages and technologies. And there is no Hitchhiker’s Guide to this galaxy to keep you from becoming intimidated or losing your way.
Granted, I haven’t met any aliens yet. The people I deal with in my ‘day job’ differ tremendously from the ‘code-generating humans’ that I’ve met over the last few months. Still, the latter seem pretty human to me — although, of course, you never can tell for certain.
There is, however, one very real creature that I have had the displeasure of meeting on an almost daily basis. A monster so ferocious and voracious that it can only be the Coding Galaxy’s equivalent of the Ravenous Bugblatter Beast of Traal that is so vividly described in ‘The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy’.
Ironically, my monster is not ‘out there’: it lives here, right inside my mind — and maybe in yours, too. The Ravenous Bugblatter Beast is known for its never-ending hunger, and my particular specimen has an appetite for my self-confidence and sense of achievement.
This monster lives here, right inside my mind — and maybe in yours, too.
Let’s say I’m having a good day, working on some programming assignment. I’m ‘in my zone’, absorbing new and exciting concepts, applying them and actually getting my app to build and work. Almost immediately after the initial excitement, I can hear the terrifying growl of The Beast, woken by the smell of its favorite food. Within minutes, it starts whispering in my ear: “You know very well that this is not your achievement… you just cobbled together some code that other people wrote. People who actually know what they’re doing — unlike you, my friend. It’s sheer luck that you got this to work in the first place! You’re a fraud, a poseur, a disgrace to the profession. This code could be so much cleaner, more maintainable… and look, it’s not even properly documented! And how about security? And unit testing? You don’t have clue, do you? You better pray that no real programmer ever looks at this piece of code!” And so on, and so forth.
On a good day, The Beast devours my sense of achievement and feasts on the remains of my self-confidence. Need I still explain what foul language it whispers in my ear on the days that I’m not making any real progress?
On a good day, The Beast devours my sense of achievement and feasts on the remains of my self-confidence.
Even though I’ve experienced this ego- and productivity-undermining thought pattern to a certain degree in previous jobs, it has become much more prominent since initiating my career switch to software development. It took me a while to discover that this is a very common condition— not only among programmers, but across a wide range of professions. My Beast even has an official name: ‘Impostor Syndrome’. Wikipedia defines it as ‘the psychological pattern in which an individual doubts their accomplishments and has a persistent internalized fear of being exposed as a ‘fraud’.’
At first, I was amazed to find so many excellent articles and podcasts on Impostor Syndrome. But then I learned how common this pattern actually is: “It has been estimated that nearly 70 percent of individuals will experience signs and symptoms of impostor phenomenon at least once in their life.” The Wikipedia article continues with something that is clearly relevant to my situation: “This can be a result of a new academic or professional setting.”
Given the huge amount of academic research and other publications on the subject, it would be completely superfluous to present yet another in-depth analysis of the Syndrome's causes and cures here. But I would like to share with you the practical habits and mental techniques I use to deal with my Beast.
- Step back. I have found that the more I try to prove to myself (or to ‘the world’) that I can ‘do this’, the more I set myself up as an easy prey for my beastly companion. I tend to spend way too much time on a problem even when I’m obviously stuck. I become frustrated, and the first one to flee the scene is my creativity — leaving the door wide open for The Beast to enter and get the rest of me. Stepping back can be as easy as taking a walk, a quick shower or an afternoon off. Or just hitting the sack at a decent hour for once. But I have also found that I could easily solve a problem after I hadn’t looked at it for a few days, even when I had learned nothing new on that specific topic during those days. And, most importantly: when I actually did solve it, it really felt like my solution — not some ‘copy & paste’ solution that I didn’t even understand one hundred percent. No amount of Bugblatter Beasts could take that sense of accomplishment away from me!
- Record my learning. I keep a log (in Evernote) of everything I do and learn. I do that primarily for practical purposes: it solidifies my learning because not only do I solve a problem, I also ‘explain’ to myself how I solved it, where I got stuck, what other solutions I tried or considered and what parts of the solution could be embellished or refactored. But this habit has an unexpected ‘Beast-neutralizing side-effect’: when Impostor Syndrome kicks in, I go over my old notes and see the amazing amount of stuff I’ve learnt and built over the last few months. A great deal of that stuff, especially the earlier work, consisted simply of ‘coding along’ with some tutorial or online course. And I’m afraid that quite a bit has already been transferred to the ‘oh-yeah-I-almost-forgot-tinkering-with-that’ zone. But even so: my records show I now do and understand stuff that I had literally never even heard of six months ago. And that’s an accomplishment by any standard. Eat that, you filthy Beast!
- Talk (and listen) to others. Almost anyone I meet in this field knows about Impostor Syndrome. It really is a very, very common problem. When my Beast stirs, I remind myself that I’m not alone in this, and that this sense of inadequacy will become more manageable along the way — or so everybody says. A while ago I heard a podcast (can’t remember which one, unfortunately) in which a software developer explained that she had learned to embrace this feeling of inadequacy — to her, it was an indication that she was indeed growing and learning. I kept that in mind: I try to think of The Beast as my ‘Proof of Progress’, so to say.
Now these were a few of my coping strategies. But we are not all alike, and your Beast may differ from mine. Still, I do have one universal truth to offer for those who are terrorized by their own Ravenous Bugblatter Beast. According to ‘The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy’, the Beast is not only known for its never-ending hunger, but also for its mind-boggling stupidity. One of the main features of the Beast is that if you can’t see it, it assumes it can’t see you. Due to this it has been considered one of the least intelligent creatures in the Universe.
The Beast is known for it’s mind-boggling stupidity. One of its main features is that if you can’t see it, it assumes it can’t see you.
This is one of the reasons that ‘The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy’ urges anyone who travels the galaxy to always carry a towel. A towel can serve many purposes, and one of them is to cover your face when you meet the Ravenous Bugblatter Beast of Traal. Make sure you don’t see it, and it will assume it can’t see you and go about its business.
So consider the irony: the Beast that keeps telling you that you’re not worthy, that you are ignorant, a total and utter failure… is itself considered one of the least intelligent creatures in the Universe. And it can’t see you if you refuse to let it. So don’t panic, bring a towel to work and be absolutely awesome at whatever it is you do.
Happy coding!
*Except for Trillian Astra, of course :-)