Sometimes I wonder if I’ll ever be able to code as well as I cook.

And that wondering often turns to worrying that I won’t, or worse, can’t.

Recently my friend Owen shared on Twitter how he just couldn’t get the hang of making a grilled cheese in his cast iron pan.

I saw his tweet and instantly responded:

I did so with total confidence that my advice was sound and useful. I have decades of experience probing the routine and edge cases of cast iron and know well its charms and idiosyncrasies.

If someone were to pop up and say “yeah low and slow, but also this” it wouldn’t have bothered me in the slightest.

Or even if they had said “low and slow? pah. what you really need is…” I’d read it and consider it, and move on. But I wouldn’t doubt my advice.

I have a level of experience and familiarity with my craft that that makes me, well, confident!

Confidence does not, however, mean I that I am especially proud of my fearlessness in the kitchen. It’s not something I examine or reflect on or question. It just…is. I have become a cook who is adventurous and unafraid and willing to try all kinds of stuff. It is who I am.

So why is it so painfully obvious to me when I don’t have it—for example, with coding?

When I’ve mastered something, I take it for granted. It “just is“.

When I struggle, I grind on myself. I make it about a lack of character: I’m not committed enough or clever enough or ___ enough. Subtext: I’m not enough.

But this is a fraught path.

I didn’t become a cook because I was especially anything. I just was. Already fully enough, I started cooking daily. I chopped onions, made roux, tried different spices, read cookbooks.

I took action, over and over and over again, and with time, it became second nature.

Low and slow, friend.

When I start to wonder, and then worry, that I’ll never code as well as I cook, I remind myself of the path of daily practice.

I am not so little or lacking that I cannot improve with practice. My current state is not due to a fundamental flaw, and my path to greatness is ordinary.

Like a well-toasted grilled cheeze: what a comfort!

My friend Jesse shared a recording of a talk he gave recently called “When generosity turns to rage, and what to do about it.” You can listen here.

It’s about how we can intend to be generous and then become angry at the way someone responds to our gift. It’s a call to treat others compassionately and offer welcome without expectation of reward, and how to deal productively with your feelings when the ugly stuff surfaces anyway (as it often will).

It is an important message.

Many of us struggle with finding balance between caring for ourselves so we can be effective and making ourselves available to others because we value giving and sharing. So, when we do prioritize helping someone, and we don’t feel appreciated, it can be painful.

Jesse’s talk was a good reminder that so much of the negativity that roils in our minds is our own making. Yes, we should trust our inner teacher to surface for us when we’re truly being taken advantage of. It’s a nasty feeling that tends to make itself known readily after repeated interactions with someone with ill will.

But we must remember and respect that different people express gratitude differently.

For example, while it may be my practice to write a florid thank you note after being invited to give a conference talk, it’s not a standard, and it certainly doesn’t mean that other ways of expressing thanks are not legitimate and valuable.

It may be that the best way a person thinks they can thank you for an opportunity to speak is by pouring themselves into preparing for the talk by dedicating hours to writing the clearest version of what they want to say, by rehearsing it so it is delivered powerfully, and by ultimately giving the talk.

After all, that’s what you asked for, right? Not the note.

Now, I am concerned about the incivility I hear daily. Our connectedness makes it as easy for poisonous words to spread as compassionate ones, and the poison often gets a lot of play. Name-calling and body-shaming and othering have become heartbreakingly de rigueur.

And I do happen to have a regular practice of writing thank you notes and reaching out privately to individuals who have given me opportunities.

It is a core hope that we might all value expressing gratitude to the people who have helped us.

But that is with the strong caveat that humans express gratitude differently, and with an understanding that it’s useless for me to judge another person’s expression. There is so much I cannot see. Gratitude can be expressed privately because of the personality of the giver or the preferences of the recipient.

And ultimately, I take Jesse’s words to heart: remember my intention. I didn’t do the kind thing because I wanted praise or expected gratitude in a certain form. The expression of gratitude is lagniappe–a precious extra gift that makes the world a little softer and gentler.

“Beware of practicing your piety before others in order to be seen by them… but when you give alms, do not let your left hand know what your right hand is doing.”

As far as we can tell, this was originally intended as clear direction about the particular act of almsgiving to some of Christ’s early followers. I’m not very religious, but since childhood, I’ve cherished these words.

There is so much that I do to help others that the public is not aware of, and, to my preference, it never will be. Like Jesse, I give a lot of my time and money away to help strangers in specific and actionable ways–as a mentor, sponsor, counsel, and advocate.

Sure, I’ll always appreciate a thank you note or a public announcement that something I’ve done has made a real difference in your life. Your specificity helps me quiet my very real, daily inner harasser that insists I’m not good enough and don’t deserve to be here.

We are all poor in some way, seeking the company and counsel and charity of others to move towards wholeness.

But ultimately, I seek to give away some of my power in supporting you because I believe in your message and the way you personally can make a lasting difference in our shared world. As long as you and I live under the same sun, anything you do to promote peace and understanding and compassion and justice will benefit me. So go on and keep doing that, please, and know that I’ll feel it somehow.

No thank you note required.

My friend MeShell inspired me to share a little more about myself and how I’m taking care this month with a “30 Days of Cozy” theme.

Most people know me from my work and involvement in lots of different open source communities. But like another dev friend insisted to me recently, I’m a people too! I have lots of interests outside code & documentation, although those are certainly favorites.

Recently I got some feedback that while I’m making a hugely positive difference at my day job as Director of Engineering (running sprints, 1:1s, promoting positive management culture, subduing JIRA), I need to remember to take care of myself and celebrate my successes. This month, at least, can be about that first one. (The second one? The challenge of a lifetime!)

So here goes. Tonight cozy looks like this:

There are a lot of cozy elements here. To start, I love sending mail, and this desk is clearly ready for some quality letter-writing. The Nashville card will go to a Postcrosser in China. After, I’ll write and decorate and carefully stamp cards to my penpal Danielle, grandmother, and friends Lars and Paul.

I’ve also got a cup of tea in a mug made for me by Michelle at Utilitarian Pottery, a gift from my penpal, on a coaster knit by that penpal! The tea is a chamomile blend, purchased in Copenhagen at a small Danish natural foods store ’round the corner from a friend of a friend’s flat where I stayed for a week. Of course this brings up happy memories. The candle is lavender: clearly, I am trying to relax.

Here’s the after:

A messy desk and a happy one, and a happy me. 💕💌💕💌