Struggling to Think.

• brain: "Did you work in tech?"
• brain: No! That's a dumb question
• brain: "Are you a software engineer?"
• brain: Hmm. Maybe ask "Did you study computer science?"

I just got off a long flight, sitting next to someone for close to three hours, and found myself paralyzed, struggling to say anything as these questions swirled in my head. I had so many potential conversation starters, so many permutations of what to say, but I struggled to think through how to share my ideas clearly. It felt like my thoughts were there, but getting them out in a coherent way was the problem.

This feeling reminded me of high school English class. Learning English felt strange to me as a teenager. Unlike subjects like mathematics and biology, bursting with new, complex information you weren't aware of, I always wondered what the point was of formally learning something I spoke every day. English felt like the most subjective subject when it came to grading. Once you memorize the periodic table, the bones in a specific part of the body, or practice derivatives using first principles for your test, there's an almost predictable outcome based on the effort you put in. But writing or speaking? That seemed highly dependent on the grader. Don't get me wrong, it's usually easy to agree on what makes a good read or who qualifies as a compelling orator, but the line between A and A+ felt arbitrary.

So, heading into computer science for my undergraduate degree, I dreamed of purely technical classes, free from writing assignments. My naive assumption? Companies pay us to ship code, not prose. Boy, was I in for a shock. College computer science courses came with reading and writing assignments. It always felt like a chore, making me wonder why I was being asked to do things seemingly unrelated to what I was going to do in a future job.

Obviously, in hindsight, this was limited view. Because software isn't just syntax. It's systems design, team collaboration, product specs, post-mortems, RFCs, and wikis. The recent rise of sophisticated code-generating software, Large Language Models (LLMs), forces a reassessment of what a software engineer's role truly entails. This might be a more jarring realization for junior engineers compared to more experienced ones who have already grappled with problems beyond pure programming. They've likely already realized that software engineering is a far more multifaceted field.

The landscape is shifting. We're entering an era of "Chat-oriented programming (CHOP)," where engineers increasingly work with LLMs as pair partners, engaging in design discussions and problem-solving dialogues, not just instructing them to write code snippets. This emphasizes skills beyond raw coding, like the ability to clearly define problems and design solutions upfront, skills crucial when collaborating even with human teammates. Clarity with words matters as much as clarity in code.

A couple of things converged over the past few years to make me re-evaluate my initial dismissal of writing:

• During my senior year of college, I took a history course where we learned about historical groups and tribes. A recurring pattern emerged throughout the semester: those that didn't effectively use writing for communication and record-keeping often struggled or faded over time.

• I stumbled upon Paul Graham's essay, "Writing, Briefly". It emphasized that writing helps you think, and think clearly. The essay quotes Leslie Lamport:

“If you're thinking without writing, you only think you're thinking.”

Honestly, I had to reread that line a couple of times to let it sink in.

After some personal reflection, it dawned on me. I spend so much time thinking, letting partially formed thoughts simmer and swirl around in my head. This likely affects my communication and interactions – like that awkward silence on the plane. I've spent countless hours unconsciously generating thoughts but haven't rigorously practiced forcing them into cohesive, structured order through the act of writing.

Maybe that struggle on the plane wasn't just about social anxiety. Maybe it was a symptom of not practicing the very skill that transforms nebulous thoughts into clear, shareable ideas. Maybe writing isn't just about communication; maybe it's the missing step in my own thinking process. I'm starting to believe that Lamport quote applies directly to me, and this blog post is, perhaps, my first conscious step towards actually thinking by writing it down.