I was as new to software as I was to snow. I trudged through thick swathes of iced sludge on my way to work each morning - taking in the frosted grass, overcast sky and ear-splitting train. In the evenings, the snowflakes fell softly in view outside my window as I wrote code that, usually, would never see the light of day.
Minnesota was different from California in that the world felt small. It was more still, far colder, but had pockets of grace lying around in unsuspecting places.
It also felt that way at work: much like the systems we strived to create - there was a certain 'boredom' that propagated down from the small-life ambiance of Minnesota. A good system was reliable, correct, and "boring", and so too was the corporate culture.
This was a contrast to the hot-headed and turmoiled Shelwin that hailed from California. In the day to day toil, I shared almost everything with my colleagues. What I built, what I read, what I ate, who I met - sure I was, at times, annoying, but at all times I was honest. This was only possible because of that pervasive 'littleness'.
Overtime developed a camaraderie that made up for much of the "College" experience that I missed. You spend half of your waking hours at work; so important, I felt, it was to do it with people you can look forward to.
Eventually, I realized that what I really wanted, the impact I wanted to have, and the person I wanted to be - wasn't going to be found in Minnesota. Not through any fault of a company or a place, but because I lingered constantly to the promise of a change that I knew I could help make. If I stay in Minnesota - how long would it take for my work to materially make a difference?
To my friends, I owe a debt I cannot repay. And to my close colleagues, I'm always there to chat on a rainy day.